tierra nueva blog

expecting and not (yet) seeing Jesus’ healing power

2011-09-28T14:22:00.000-07:00

september 28, 2011

bob ekblad

Continuing to expect Jesus’ healing here and now is often harder than writing it off as unrealistic or something to be awaited on the other side of death. Everywhere I travel lately I meet people and communities crippled by disappointment. A man in Iceland prayed for days that his sister would come back to life after a drug overdose. A pastor in the UK died of cancer in spite of massive prayer efforts. A friend in a Pakistani Christian who advocated for minorities was gunned down in Islamabad. I myself have been discouraged by the slew of revenge killings in a Honduran community dear to my heart—and now by a close friend’s decline in a long prayer-bathed battle against cancer. What disappointments do you have, small or big?

“How many of you have been disappointed by God?” I asked a group of inmates back in July. Many were honest enough to admit disappointments: their girl friends’ refusal to turn away from drug habits or the courts’ denials of their requests to be admitted into drug court rather than going straight to serve long prison sentences.

I have been learning to bring my complaints to Jesus, and encouraging many to risk transparency with God through the clear articulation of disappointments. Martha and Mary have been helpful teachers, and I’ve discovered the fresh relevance of John 11—a chapter dedicated mostly to people’s complaints to Jesus—who doesn’t punish them (or us) for being real but goes with them and us to the depths of grief—through the darkness and towards the light.

The story begins in John 11:1-3, where Mary and Martha are mentioned, and Mary is forefronted as the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair—a bold act of transparent worship in the house of a judging Pharisee (see Lk 7:36-50). Mary is a true devotee who represents those in relationship with Jesus who come to him expecting answers to prayers.

Mary and Martha send word to Jesus about their brother Lazarus: “Lord, he who you love is ill” (v. 3). Jesus deliberately stays where he is for two days, and Lazarus dies. By the time Jesus approaches Bethany, Lazarus has been dead four days.

Martha goes out to meet Jesus, while Mary stays back, grieving in the house. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give whatever you ask him” (v. 21).

Martha’s complaint is strong and so is her faith. Yet in the ensuing conversation it is clear that she has no expectation that Jesus can or will resurrect her brother before the last day (v. 24). Jesus responds, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me shall never die,” and invites her to believe. Her affirmation of faith in the face of premature death--that he is Christ, Son of God, the coming one--energizes her as she stands before him. She goes back and takes pastoral liberties, tricking her despondent sister into approaching Jesus with two well-intentioned lies.

“The teacher is here and is calling you” (v. 28). Jesus was not yet in the village, as the next verse clearly states. Nor had Jesus called for Mary. Martha’s faith jumpstarts Mary’s. She gets up quickly and goes to him.

When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and repeated Martha’s exact complaint but without Martha’s confession of faith: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Jesus does not explain or in any way justify his absence. Yet a series of verbs shows Jesus’ increasing closeness in response to Mary. He sees her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he is “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.”

Jesus shows God’s willingness to go with us fully into our pain. Rather than distancing himself through theological reflection Jesus asks: “Where have you laid him?” (v. 34). The people invite him deeper into the concrete details of their upset: “Come and see,”-- and Jesus weeps.

Jesus’ empathy leads some in the crowd to complain as I sometimes do: “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” (v. 37). The crowd doesn’t complain directly to Jesus as Martha and Mary do, but talk about him in the third person. In contrast I’m finding myself launching more and more into direct lament and complaint: “Why didn’t you Jesus keep the men of Mal Paso from murdering and being murdered? Couldn’t you Jesus have raised to life my friend’s beloved sister in Iceland, protected Shahbaz Bhatti in Pakistan or can’t you heal now our dear friend Tina of cancer?”

Once again the text says nothing to justify Jesus. Rather Jesus shows a willingness to go even deeper into the very root disappointment and loss, inviting the people (and us) to intercession to the point of discomfort and even offense.

Jesus is described as being “deeply disturbed” but not intimidated as he comes to the tomb, a cave with a stone lying against it. Jesus commands: “Take away the stone.”

Martha represents the realist. She’s the voice of those who accept the finality of death and impossibility of repair. “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Martha resists Jesus’ descent into the grave.

Jesus addresses her unbelief with a challenge: “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”

They take away the stone and Jesus is there, face-to-face with the rotting corpse of his friend. He cries with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “unbind him, and let him go.”

Many of the Jews witnessing the event believed in Jesus, and I have been feeling compelled to put my faith more fully in the person of Jesus than ever before. Though opponents sought to kill Lazarus and did manage to kill Jesus, and John the Baptist while Jesus was still alive—his resurrection means he himself continues to be the resurrection and the life for us—before and after death.

I’ve spent untold hours these past months grieving the death of the men of Mal Paso and of my own and Tierra Nueva’s seeming powerlessness to stop the violence. Yet the violence has actually stopped now, a calm appears to be returning to the village and TN’s Honduran leader David is feeling encouraged.

Please continue to pray with us for the Kingdom of God to come more and more to this village and to Minas de Oro—and for wisdom and strength for our leader David. Please continue to pray for Tina’s healing.

May Jesus increase your faith to bring your uncensored disappointments, complaints and grief directly to him in prayer. May you experience first-hand God’s presence, goodness and power as you come into Jesus’ Presence and he goes with you into your difficulties to bring resurrection and life.

2011-07-13T09:57:00.000-07:00

disappointment and expectation

bob ekblad

In my travels I often minister in places where people’s expectations of God’s intervention to bring healing or any kind of transformation are low. This is usually because they’ve suffered big disappointments: praying for friends and family who haven’t been healed but remain ill or in pain, or have died and not been resurrected.

Disappointment naturally leads people to accommodate to the status quo. We too often adjust our theology and practice to make room for prayers not being answered. On a recent trip to England Gracie and I ministered in a church that had been through some major trials and big losses, including the death of their beloved pastor from cancer five years before.

I was speaking on Acts 6-8, one of my favorite sections of Scripture these days—and was struck in a whole new way by the realism and idealism in this story. Acts 6 begins with the apostles’ selection of seven people “of good reputation, full of the Spirit and of wisdom” to serve widows at an early church version of a soup kitchen. The apostles feel called to prayer and ministry of the word, and lay hands on these seven to serve in keeping with Jesus’ way of indiscriminate love.

I continue to be amazed to read how the first of the seven, Steven is consequently “full of grace and power, performing great wonders and signs among the people” (v. 8). Then right away in Acts 7 he preaches a mega sermon that enrages his audience to such an extent that they stone him to death and widespread persecution of Jesus’ followers results.

Such a big blow to these first Christians, who’d already been through so many devastating disappointments. Jesus’ betrayal by one of their own and his arrest and execution were fresh in their memories. His resurrection certainly brought radical hope, but Jesus then left them in his ascension.

Gathering and waiting was not in vain. The Holy Spirit was poured out at Pentecost, and frightened, timid apostles were transformed overnight into bold witnesses. But persecution followed swiftly: arrests, threats, beatings, orders to not speak in Jesus’ name again. Acts 5 ends with the apostles going away from their flogging “rejoicing that they had been considered worthy to suffer shame for his name” (v. 41).

The apostles laying on of hands leads to empowerment for healing and preaching, which leads once again to martyrdom and unprecedented persecution that scatters the remaining six table servers throughout Judea and Samaria, leading to house-to-house searches, arrests and imprisonment (8:1-3). As I was preaching a verse I have mostly overlooked struck me as critical for my English audience:

“Some devout people buried Stephen, and made loud lamentation over him” (8:2).

Loud lamentation over Stephen shows how seriously these early Christians took their disappointment and pain. Lamentation, the public and private expressions of grief, of disillusionment is essential. I wondered whether this community needed to give louder voice to pain, to complaint, risking the loss of faith to receive faith anew.

I invited people suffering from deep disappointment and despondency to come forward for prayer and was surprised by how many came to the front, some of them weeping. As Gracie and I began to pray the Holy Spirit came strong and people were being visibly touched. People were comforting and praying for each other and the love of God was so tangible and deeply moving. The presence of God was so strong that many people where not able to remain standing.

After a while Gracie and I both received some words of knowledge for healing and we invited people with various conditions to come for prayer. Person after person was being healed as we had people praying for each other and Gracie and I ministered to many.

I’ve been recalling many examples in the Gospels where people who come to Jesus expressing their grief or honest assessment of their lack of relief are met with Jesus’ apt response. I feel inspired anew to bring my uncensored laments, complaints and needs before Jesus, and am finding my expectations for his saving touch increasing together with an intense longing for God’s realm to come here and now.

It’s important to note that lamentation is not a technique that guarantees immediate breakthrough. After loudly lamenting Stephen’s death, things don’t get immediately better. Saul does house-to-house searches and drags people off to prison (8:3). But in the next story Philip, the second person ordained to care for widows, flees to Samaria where crowds hear his preaching and see miraculous signs.

“For in the case of many who had unclean spirits, they were coming out of them shouting with a loud voice; and many who had been paralyzed and lame were healed. So there was much rejoicing in that city” (Acts 8:7-8).

Persecution leads to scattering, which brings God’s strong presence to the excluded Samaritans and soon to the African continent through Philip’s next encounter (8:25ff). Philip's dramatic faith adventure continues as the Spirit transports him to his next assignment, inviting us into ours.

2010-09-22T14:36:00.000-07:00

i do what i hate:

more stories from the women's jail

by amy muia

On Sunday in the women’s jail Bible study, we addressed the very difficult but foundational topic of powerlessness. It’s one of the steps in alcoholics anonymous . . . admitting that our lives are out of control. The women said they had been to hundreds of “meetings;” the idea was quite familiar. But they were surprised to find it in Scripture: I don't really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it. Instead, I do what I hate. (Romans 7:15)

This raised some interesting questions . . . who is to blame? They’ve spent a lot of time blaming others (boyfriends, fathers, mothers, friends who betrayed them). And they’ve spent a lot of time blaming themselves (I’m no good; I can’t change; I must be defective). Yet Paul scandalously says, “So I am not the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.” (v.17)

“Yeah, but we need to take ownership of what we’ve done,” one woman said. “I need to admit that I was the one, and not somebody else.”

“But admitting you’re powerless is the first step to freedom,” another woman said. “That you’re out of control.”

I mentioned a conversation I’d had with a woman earlier in the week: “I met a guy who was a drug dealer, and he wanted to go on a date,” she had told me. “In my head, I knew it was death. And in my heart, I didn’t want to go. But I watched myself get into the car. I watched myself drive to his house. I watched myself use. I didn’t even want to. I don’t understand myself.”

I told them of the many times I’d seen women stand before the judge and say, “This isn’t me. I don’t belong in jail.” Judges are usually unsympathetic to this line of reasoning, but I could see that each woman was very sincere as she said it. Like Paul, they meant it when they said, “This isn’t really me.”

The women around the circle were all nodding. They could relate to the idea of forces acting upon them, as Paul describes. Something pushing them to do just the opposite of what they really want to do.

We continued to talk about powerlessness. There was a woman present with two black eyes, numerous abrasions, and a large gash on her forehead. I remembered her from past Bible studies; she never asked prayer for herself, but she always wanted prayer that her dog was safe. She began speaking—her speech peppered with profanity—and no attempt made to look religious, as many of the women do in ‘church.’

“I was raped last night,” she said. “I was thrown in the back of a truck and a guy was choking me. They were taking me to the river. I was completely powerless. But my last thought before I blacked out was, ‘I believe in Jesus, so I have eternal life if I die . . .’”

“That sounds like the same prayer Jesus prayed before he died,” I said. “'Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.'”

“It was?” the woman asked, shocked that she could have prayed the same prayer as Jesus did. Amazed that Jesus felt the way she felt. She grabbed a pencil and began writing. “How does it go again?”

We continued to grapple with the mystery. Choice is important. Human agency—the power to choose—is God-given. But if it were only about making good choices, the jail would be empty. All the women had made choices to do right; all had made promises. And yet, here they were. We agreed: willpower and best intentions often don’t work. Perhaps what is left is Paul: Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord. (v. 24-25)

Maybe, I proposed, we should put the blame where it belongs. On the enemy. He is the source of evil, death, and destruction. Our part is that we agree with him, for lots of reasons. We feel unworthy of anything good. We self-sabotage because we’re afraid. We want numbness because it’s too painful to go to the deep places of hurt. We’re angry and want to punish others or ourselves. We don’t trust God; we don’t really know God. Would we be willing to break agreement? To pray Jesus’ prayer: “Father God, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

The women were willing, and we ended with the prayer. I wished we could have debriefed more, but the time was short. The guard banged the door open and the ladies filed out. Please continue to pray for breakthrough for them and for us, as we go deeper into these mysteries of the kingdom of God.

2010-06-02T09:48:00.000-07:00

Jail Bible Study on John 5:1-9 – the pool at Bethesda

by Amy Muia

¹After these things there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. ²Now there is in Jerusalem by the sheep gate a pool, which is called in Hebrew Bethesda, having five porticoes. ³In these lay a multitude of those who were sick, blind, lame, and withered, [waiting for the moving of the waters; ⁴for an angel of the Lord went down at certain seasons into the pool and stirred up the water; whoever then first, after the stirring up of the water, stepped in was made well from whatever disease with which he was afflicted.] ⁵A man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. ⁶When Jesus saw him lying there, and knew that he had already been a long time in that condition, He said to him, "Do you wish to get well?" ⁷The sick man answered Him, "Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, but while I am coming, another steps down before me." ⁸Jesus said to him, “Get up, pick up your pallet and walk.” ⁹Immediately the man became well, and picked up his pallet and began to walk.

-------------------------------------------------

On Sunday, Sara and I met with the M&M pod (medical and medium security) in one of the little conference rooms in the Skagit County Jail. Four women came—two trustees in bright orange uniforms, and two women with medical problems. One had broken her back and neck in a car accident. The other, a native woman, was six weeks into a high-risk pregnancy—at thirty years old, she has had five miscarriages, all drug-use and domestic violence related.

We began by reading the story of the crippled man at the pool of Bethesda. We asked the women, “What stands out to you in the story?”

“The man had a lot of faith,” one of the trustees said. “He waited and waited until God answered him.”

This has been a common answer when we’ve looked at this text in the past. The women immediately assume that the man had great faith, and therefore was rewarded by God. “I see that the man had perseverance,” I said, wanting to give weight to the woman’s idea. “But did he really show evidence of great faith?”

We talked about how the man didn’t have much choice but to lie beside the pool. It was the hospital of the day, Sara observed. But it doesn’t look like a place of much hope. There doesn’t seem to be enough. All those sick people, and the angel only comes once in a while, for one person.

“Do we experience this ‘lack of enough’ in the world today?” The women agree. There aren’t enough treatment beds for addiction programs, so lots of people sit in jail, waiting. There aren’t enough social services. There isn’t enough money to pay bills. There isn’t enough hope or strength to keep going.

We look at the text again. “Does the man answer Jesus with great faith?” I ask. The women are quiet, reflecting. “He seems to offer an excuse,” Sara says. “’Someone always gets into the pool in front of me.’ He doesn’t even say that he wants to be well, when Jesus asks him.”

“Why do you think Jesus even asks him, ‘do you want to be well?’” I propose.

We talk about the role of our desires, of readiness. The woman who has suffered the miscarriages begins to speak. She’s on the verge of tears. “I feel like God’s always been waiting for me. Like God is ready, but I’m not ready.” She relates a story of praying with a friend who was sick. “I was there, commanding the pain to leave, and I was snapping my fingers, just like you guys do . . . and suddenly the presence of God was in the room, and we were lying on the floor all night with our hands in the air, just saying ‘thank you, God!’”

She continues, “But it’s so much easier just to do what I’ve been doing since I was thirteen . . . sell drugs, sell my body, steal things from stores. Instead of doing what I should be doing, I go back to what I’ve always done. ‘It will be so much easier just to do it this way,’ I tell myself. ‘I’ll save so much more money if I just do this.’ And God is standing there asking me, ‘I’m here. What are you waiting for?’”

“What I love about this story is that Jesus heals the man both from his sickness, and his excuses,” Sara says. We talk about how Jesus is enough . . . it doesn’t matter that someone else was always ahead of the man, or that there wasn’t enough angel-power to heal everyone. Jesus doesn’t wait for the angel. He just heals the man.

The trustee says again, “The man had a lot of faith. He just kept staying there until it happened. . .”

“True,” Sara says. “But Jesus pulled ‘someday’ into ‘now.’ Is there anything we’d like to see happen now, instead of waiting for ‘someday’? Something we’d like to ask Jesus for?”

The women name the things that are on their hearts: more hope, more strength, physical healing, protection for the baby. We take turns praying for each woman. The session stretches on in a beautiful way. It turns out there is a fight in one of the men’s pods. We can’t be released from the conference room until it’s dealt with, so we have extra time. We keep praying.

Suddenly a Scripture drops into my mind as we’re praying for the woman with the broken neck. “I feel like God wants you to know that he neither slumbers nor sleeps.”

“Okay,” she says, trying to deflect attention from herself. But Sara presses further. “Do you have trouble sleeping?”

“Actually I stay awake all night and sleep during the day. I can avoid all the drama that way. I have my ear plugs and my eye-shade, and I sleep all day. Then I stay up at night, when it’s calmer and I have some time to myself.”

“I guess God is saying that he’s awake, too—he’s with you through the night. He’s near you,” I say. We turn to Psalm 121 and read: I will lift my eyes to the mountains; from where shall my help come? My help comes from the Lord. He will not allow your foot to slip; he who keeps you will not slumber . . .”

The woman deflects again, awkward from the focus on herself. There are tears in her eyes. “I’m worried about Wendy’s baby,” she says. “That’s why I’m crying.”

We pray for the other women, and end with a song. The guard comes in to retrieve Wendy; she’s being released on bail. We laugh about verse 8: He will guard your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forever... The women thank us for coming, and we thank them for their transparency and humility in sharing their stories. May God keep us all.

we got podcasts!

2010-05-28T13:15:00.001-07:00

Tierra Nueva is now offering podcasts!

We know it's not always possible to attend every event at TN. But now you can enjoy recordings of teaching, testimonies, special events, and services . . . for free!

Click here to visit our podcast site and listen to the latest updates from Tierra Nueva. Check back often to see what's new!

Are you an iTunes user? Click here for our iTunes page, where you can subscribe to the Tierra Nueva podcast. When you subscribe, you'll receive the most recent offerings automatically, whenever you open your iTunes program. And you can unsubscribe at any time.

Thanks for listening!

zach, a man of joy!

2009-12-16T11:55:00.000-08:00

This is the second 700 Club interview to feature Tierra Nueva!

Click here to view the video of Zach Joy, coffee project manager, telling the testimony of how God changed his life after 17 years of drug addiction and violence.

Zach is one of our most precious friends, with a powerful story to tell! When you're finished with this video, scroll down to the next video about Ramon Luna.

from violence to forgiveness

2009-12-10T15:44:00.000-08:00

TN Spanish-worship leader and lay pastor Ramon Luna (pictured center) appeared this month on the 700 Club, telling his testimony of forgiveness and how God changed his life through the jail ministry of Tierra Nueva.

Not to be missed! Click here to watch the video. It's amazing how God continues to bring different streams of the body of Christ together!

the face of forgiveness

2009-12-04T08:56:00.000-08:00

by Sara Wevodau

It was the week after Amy had prayed for legal miracles in the jail with the women and I was there to find out what might have happened. Not surprisingly, two women had experienced exactly that. One had been given custody of her son. Another had her sentence shortened when a mistake was found in her paperwork (they rarely re-read paperwork, but she had asked a question they couldn't answer).

As I listened to their excited stories, a new woman with dark circles around her eyes who was listening turned to me, saying that she was considering forgiving her mom for 26 years of pain in her life, but that pride was getting in the way. So the woman whose sentence had just been cut down and I were all ears. The more we talked, she seemed to be realizing the way her unforgiveness was keeping her from experiencing freedom and healing in her own life, even though it gave her a kind of power to hold her mom at fault for the very real ways she was wronged and abandoned. She was realizing that unforgiveness is a tremendous burden to carry and Jesus' invitation to throw it at his feet was looking more and more attractive.

But she was self-conscious, didn't want to pray in front of people. She would do it later that night, alone. So we asked if we could pray for pride and shame to get out of the way and for the courage to follow through. By the time we had finished praying for her and blessing her, she had suddenly changed her mind and wanted to pray right then. After assuring her that it was okay not to close her eyes and that there was no right way to do it, we put our heads down on the table so she could not feel watched, just supported.

What proceeded was one of the most beautiful unreligious prayers I've heard in a long time. She chose to not only release her mom and to bless her, but entirely unprompted, said, "Jesus, I want to walk through the gate of life with you and have you with me instead of the heavy things I've been carrying."

When I lifted my head, there were tears in my eyes. "Did I do it right?" she asked. "That was so powerful," was all I could reply.

Over the next ten minutes, I watched this woman changing before my eyes. She was suddenly smiling, visibly lighter, asking me to teach them all a song that they could sing while they clean the jail at night. Her releasing had released her--and she was putting a face on forgiveness in a drastic way, turning into a new creation right in front of me.

So while she's locked up the next five months for identity theft, will you pray with us, that a new identity as a child of God would spread out in Cindy* and strengthen her for a hard life on the outside.

*name changed

a model of local christian economics

2009-11-20T13:09:00.000-08:00

by Chris Hoke

Recently at our Spanish-and-Mixteco Language Service, Evaristo brought his mother for the first time. She is out of work, and trying to make ends meet, and so made 120 tamales to sell for a dollar each. Evaristo asked if I knew anyone who would want to buy some. I told him to bring his mom, as many tamales as she could make and come to the soup gathering after our English Language service. Epifania, a shy, indigenous Oaxacan migrant, a single mother of four came with her cooler of tamales and sold them all. We invited her to come downstairs for our Spanish-Mixteco Language service. The text was about Jesus, the good shepherd who gathers scattered sheep and brings them to pastures where they can eat and drink and be together.

After the service, she explained that work has run dry, and she is prepared to go back down to Oregon for two months for a secure job picking mistletoe. She would still pay rent at her one bedroom apartment, but doesn't want her two youngest kids there alone. Her request was whether Janet, 14, and Junior, 11, could sleep for two months at the Tierra Nueva building where her son Evaristo was now living with his wife Alicia and baby Alex.

The situation would be strained, and against our building policy at this point. Not to mention a burden to the newly married couple, and hard on the two kids to be away from their mother so long. It didn't look good, we told her, but we could pray and ask God for a solution, a salida, a way out. We would seek this Jesus we'd just read about, who offers to provide for us as a shepherd, and gather us with other sheep.

Her plan was to leave Wednesday morning. Every normal farm we mentioned, she said they weren't hiring as the season is over.

As we prayed, I kept getting the sense that God would give her an unexpected job, tomorrow, Monday. But I didn't share that. When finished praying, and before saying goodnight, Bob said, "What's the name of that one farmer...?" and we gave him a call. A good man who had employed migrant friends of ours in the past. The season was over, but we gave the man a call, and he invited her to an interview the next morning!

Listen to this. After asking a few last questions about her character, he told me he couldn't hire new workers at the farm as he has to lay off the season's workers this week. His plan, then, was to put Epifania on his payroll, but that she would work at a thrift store that supports a local Christian school.

"So...you're paying for her hours, for nothing--essentially donating labor to another business? To give Epifania, a woman you just met, a job?"

"Yes," the Dutch farmer explained cheerily in his singsong voice. "Am I making sense to you? I don't need labor here now, but you and Bob said you needed help. So I'll employ her to work at this other business where she can be around English speaking people, learn English, see? She can get off by 2:30 to pick up her daughter after school, see? She needs to be with her kids, not off in Oregon, right? And I figure that will be enough to meet the amount of money she told me she would need each week. She starts this Wednesday morning."

"Wow!" I was in disbelief, so used to fanagling with unbudging lawyers, judges, social workers, and employers. "You're a total minister!"

"Oh, we were put on earth to do more than collect money and stuff," he said with no preachy air, this Dutch immigrant who knows what it is to be a foreigner, and a Christian, even if he isn't as involved in the CRC church services so much these days. "We live in a society where we have more stuff than the whole world put together, and people are miserable everywhere you go in this country. That's the way I see it."

"Oh," he continued, "I also gave her daughter Janet a job. I told her if her mom has been in the states for ten years now, and should learn English! So I'm paying the girl one hour every day to teach her mom English. You know, told her to get simple Dr. Suess books and start with that an hour a day. So Janet's on the payroll now, too, right after school gets out."

I can't tell you how happy I am, so surprised. What if this is an example of "sustainable community," "Kingdom economics," or faith-based initiatives? Not a program, but a spirit that makes anything possible if you're converted on a heart level. Epifania got more than she expected, I think, on her first visit to "church." I'm happy to be part of such a Body as this in our valley. May Jesus be the one who gathers us, keeps us from being scattered by environmental forces, and guides us to green pastures to grow together in His presence.

this has to be a trick!

2009-10-15T11:32:00.001-07:00

by Amy Muia

Last Sunday as I was preparing to visit the women in the jail, I asked Jesus what Scripture he wanted to bring. The story of Jacob's dream clearly came to mind.

It makes sense; Jacob was on the run after committing the crime of theft. I was sure the women could relate--many of them were brought in on warrants for their arrest. They are used to evading the law.

"Jacob is the last person you would expect to get a visit from God," I told them. "Here he is, lying on the ground with a rock for a pillow . . . "

"Kind of like our jail cots," one woman says. The others laugh.

We continue to read the story. Suddenly the Lord shows up and blesses Jacob with an open heaven experience, and a promise of blessing not only for himself, but his children. We talked about how we sometimes feel like we don’t deserve a visit from God, but how God is eager to bless us, and not just us, but our kids. We talked about how Jacob felt the only way he could get what he needed was to steal it, but here was the Lord, eager to give everything to him and more.

The women shared testimonies of times when they felt that God was very near to them . . . some amazing stories. Then we prayed together. Several of the women had pain, so we asked God for an open heaven in the jail, and had the women lay their own hands on themselves. They prayed a simple prayer, “God, I thank you that you’re my healer. I receive my healing now in Jesus’ name.” Then I commanded all pain to go, in Jesus’ name.

Suddenly one of the women, who had been smirking a little bit through the lesson, began shaking her head and saying, “No way, no way. This is some kind of trick! No way. Huh-uh.” She was shaking her finger at the other women, as if they were all in on some kind of joke.

I said, “Your pain is all gone, isn’t it?”

She said, “This isn’t true.” But then she stuck her face inside her uniform shirt--the only place one could find privacy in the jail--and began sobbing. All her pain had gone. The other women were crying too, because they knew she had been in so much pain that she couldn’t sit up straight. It was definitely an open heaven moment!

Of all the women in the room, she was the "least likely" to receive a touch from God. She came without faith, without focus, interest, or expectation. And yet it was God's pleasure to open the heavens above her and meet her need.

May God bless you with an open heaven today!

Luke 21:28 Straighten up and lift up your heads, for your redemption is drawing nigh!

art in the stairwell

2008-04-08T11:37:00.000-07:00

This e-testimony is written by Troy Terpstra, a member of the Tierra Nueva staff. Troy is currently working on a mural in the Tierra Nueva office stairwell. Below, he shares with us some of the details. Feel free to come take a look! If you would like more information, email us at info@peoplesseminary.org.

At the center of the mural is Christ. He will be tattooed, appearing to be an ex-con. Jesus is an ex-con of sorts, but the idea is inspired by drawings done by prisoners and given to the staff here at Tierra Nueva. Many prisoners feel a deep sense of shame and inadequacy when invited to know a God they have always perceived as judgmental and harsh. This portrayal of Christ as a modern day convict aims to contextualize the Gospel into our present culture. Jesus of the ghetto, Jesus of the barrio, is the Jesus of Nazareth. We want the men in the Skagit Valley Jail to know the Jesus who rolled with his society's misfits and outcasts, and who longs to be with them today. On the left, the character of Jesus embraces a young prisoner in a county jail uniform. The jail chaplaincy has been an amazingly fruitful ministry, and I am continually amazed at the stories of healing and renewal that come out of the jail every week.

On the right, Jesus has his arm around a campesina (female farm worker) who stands in the strawberry fields. She is weary and a palette of harvested fruit rests on her hips. Much of Tierra Nueva's ministry is to farm workers, who continuously move to follow the seasonal work, uprooting their families and working sun-up to sun-down for less than minimum wage. Our Family Support Center assists these people in finding housing, obtaining legal help, and in many other basic needs. I want to honestly portray the labor endured by migrant farm workers, as well as the closeness to the heart of Christ they have.

At the top of the wall, the Hands of our Abba pour out the baptism of the Holy Spirit, which is made of water and takes the shape of a dove. The waters pass through a gaping wound in the torso of the living Christ, the self-giving sacrifice of love which conquers death. Many characters, addicted, accused and accusing, rich and poor, liberated and bound up, undergo the baptismal outpouring. Chains, addiction, resentment, guilt, and death itself drown under the waters.

Coming up from the waters (the wings of the dove) two joyful worshippers emerge, a woman pounding the drums of mercy and a man blowing the horn of justice, crashing through the oppressive orderliness of the vertical prison bars and the horizontal field rows. I love the idea of the Holy Spirit breaking into prison. The prison cells sit under the night sky of a city contrasted with the field under the full sun of a summer day.

I have taken over a year to settle on the design, and I don't think I quite understood the process of mural making when I began this project, so the slowness has been very educational. I have drawn and redrawn this design several times, and God willing I am nearing the day when I will begin to paint it.

Bruce Cockburn has a line in his song 'Mystery' that goes "come all you stumblers who believe love rules – stand up and let shine." I like to think that this e-testimony is addressed to the 'stumblers who believe love rules.' Come by and check out the mural if you are in the neighborhood. Also, when the mural is completed, we are going to have an opening party, and I will be honored if any of you could be present for that.

Father, what's my role?

2008-03-11T16:34:00.000-07:00

Part of Tierra Nueva's jail ministry is answering letters from prison, and accepting collect phone calls from inmates. A recent letter from our friend Nick S, from prison, beautifully shows in several small hand-written psalms an authentic movement of new faith in his thought process. Facing the melancholy of his situation, he then remembers how God has been with him in the worst moments. He expresses gratitude and praise, which leads him into a new approach—reaching out and asking for prayer from his community.

Nick writes:

I've been spiritually down lately. You know how I get all schizo, manic. I really want to overcome the shortcomings that keep me hostage. You and a lot of the Tierra Nueva Family really instilled some type of wisdom about God, healing, and talking with God. For that I'm truly grateful. I'm sure you get tired of hearing me say this; I feel I can't help it: Gracias! Muchas gracias for having my back thru my chaotic, insane drug addiction. Even when I was sick, someone was there! Taking me to the hospital, to detox for no reason [often it was just anxious cravings]. You loved me at my worst. Helped take care of me and my family when I was unable. Because I was too unstable. I'm praying that God shows more mercy on my health. My liver's whacked after all the drugs I've done; I'm seeing a doctor this month. Tell everyone I send my love, respect, and blessings.

The Redeemed One/Won

--

I hear the sound ringing in my ear

The devil's voice and it gettin' real near

Frustrations and Temptation I see in my rear-

View mirror smashin' down the calle a heart consumed with fear

I wish I could fly to my own little spot

Away in the islands where there's no drugs to be bought

No crimes to commit and no reason to be caught

But "No, I'm a Sureño*"—that's what I was taught

I can't stand being in this cell

I cry to Jesus but I still feel like I'm in hell

When I go to heaven

I'm gonna have one hell of a story to tell

I have faith that the Lord will prevail

He'll send his love like a piece of X-Mas mail

To the heart and to the soul!

Father tell me, What's my role?

-----------

*Sureño: translated “southsider,” largest Chicano gang on the West Coast

new grounds!

2008-01-18T12:53:00.001-08:00

pictured: roasters Jesse, Chris, and Zach

So right now there are 3,000 pounds of green coffee beans in our basement. They're in massive burlap sacks that say "Honduras" on them, and "TIERRA NUEVA" in bold stencil. This is referring less to our ministry in Washington and more to our Tierra Nueva cooperative of organic coffee growers who have benefited from the ministry's sustainable agricultural promotion. They grew these beans.

This is a dream come true.

And it smells wonderful.

Because there is also a big shiny coffee roaster in this basement. We've been using it to roast all kinds of interesting varieties. We're learning. But after two days of experimenting, it's already tasting pretty awesome.

When I say "we," I'm talking about Zach Joy and Jesse Garcia. Over the years, if you've been getting newsletters from our ministry, you've probably heard a number of stories about these two men. Healings, reconciliations, Biblical insights. But their stories are now becoming bigger than isolated anecdotes. This coffee project is about people like them.

And Salvio Hernandez, a Mixteco migrant among us who's feeling a call to become a pastoral worker, a lover or God's, to his own context, to the handful of migrant camps in the valley and the hundreds of Oaxacan families that fill them.

Zach and Jesse have been sought out, defended, loved, accompanied through years of struggle, setback, letdowns, and spiritual growth. They are more and more radiant now as we give them responsibility.

Jesse is a natural in our Family Support Center. He grew up bi-lingual, navigating the streets, court systems, jails, state structures, migrant apartments, and substance abuse recovery. Families coming into the office are now asking, "Esta Jesse?"

Way up in Whatcom County, Zach can't help but be ministering to many men he comes into contact with after years of connections in the underground drug scene. He's ready to do this full time. And it's already becoming obvious he will be our Master Roaster with his passion and instant knack for this business and art.

Hidden underground beneath our ministry building, God is moving. Young guys I know from the gangs I work with and even new kids doing their court-appointed community service hours at Tierra Nueva, are beginning to weigh and bag the glossy espresso beans, cleaning and organizing the space, taking ownership of the operation. Which is what we want.

As churches begin to supply their coffee needs with these extremely unique and top-quality Tierra Nueva "UNDER GROUNDS," more and more lives from the streets will be blending together in our basement. Love might be happening. Community. A project and craft to be proud of. A legitimate check one day in the hands of intelligent young men who have only used their business skills to deal drugs to pay the bills for years. More people like Zach, Jesse, Salvio and Eugenio Benitez will be able to live out their callings to serve and love their people--and be supported as real staff, real mission workers.

This is just a taste of the new earth God is creating in low places among us.

-Chris Hoke

what I have, I give you!

2008-01-11T12:19:00.001-08:00

Amy Muia
Volunteer Jail Chaplain

Did you know that Tierra Nueva also has a women's jail ministry? As part of the Skagit County Jail Ministry (a ministry of TN), volunteers visit the women inmates each week for prayer and Bible study. Lately God has been growing some beautiful fruit. I thought you might be encouraged by a recent story of God's presence touching the women in the jail.

A few weeks ago, Virginia (my ministry partner) asked the women if they felt that the Bible study and prayer were making any difference.

"Totally!" one woman responded. "When you pray for us, we can feel it for days."

"Really?" I asked. "What do you mean? What does it feel like?"

"When you lay hands on me, I can feel my whole head tingling."

"Yup," added another. "And you know what it really feels like—" She stopped, looking a bit sheepish. "It feels like getting high! Last week when you prayed for me, I was totally high. And it lasted for two days!" The women laugh. "It feels like love—you can feel the love."

I laugh with them. I guess this is the real meaning of 'do not get drunk with wine, but be filled with the Holy Spirit.' The women are feeling the love and presence of God, who is coming to visit them right where they are. They are discovering a superior kind of high—that lasts longer and is without cost.

"You can also pray for each other when we're not here," I tell them. "Just lay hands on each other and pray."

"Yeah, I guess we can," one woman says. "But you're the 'head-tingler!'"

I often feel like I don't have any resources to offer these women—I'm not the most gifted Bible teacher, and I can't fully understand the world they are coming from. But I'm reminded of Peter's words from Acts 3:6—"Silver and gold I do not have, but what I have, I give you!" It's an amazing thing to have the love of God, and be able to transfer it to another. The women continue telling stories of recent answers to prayer—a brief release to visit a dying parent, a quick and miraculous resolution in court, a feeling of unexplained peace.

Maybe today you find yourself in a place where you need a love that really satisfies—love that doesn't wear off or have negative ramifications. I just wanted to tell you that it's available right now. Lord, please bless each person reading this blog. Satisfy the deepest longings of their hearts. Show them how real you are, and fill them with your presence!

i feel kind of vulnerable asking for this . . .

2007-12-14T12:06:00.000-08:00

Bob Ekblad
Executive Director

I’d like to share with you about a beautiful healing that happened last Thursday night in a jail Bible study.

I first met Santos (“holy” in Spanish) twelve years ago when he was a 20-year-old Latino gangster doing six months in Skagit County Jail. Santos is unforgettable because of his warm, sensitive spirit. He also has a nervous wince that hits his left eye like a crashing wave every thirty seconds. Halfway through a Bible study about Jesus' healing of a blind man by applying spit to his eyes, Santos said: "I feel kind of vulnerable asking for this, but can you pray for me to be healed of this nervous tic in my left eye? It's been bothering me my whole life, but more and more lately."

With only five minutes before the guards came, I invited the other inmates to gather around Santos, and placed my hand on his left eye. Immediately I got the strong impression that his father had hit him in the head. I asked whether this was true, and Santos began to cry and say he was beaten a lot when growing up. Later he told me that as the oldest, he'd often taken the blame for things his younger brother and sister had done, to keep them from beatings.

I briefly told him that when someone sins against us, it brings great suffering, but if we hold resentment and unforgiveness, the sins of the other person infect and continue to hurt us. He said he was willing to forgive. I led him in a prayer of forgiveness, and he even began to bless his father. I prayed that the peace of Christ would come over his face and that the nervous flinching would be calmed in Jesus' name. The presence of God came over all of us. It was very peaceful.

The next day, I called Santos to check on him. He said he was 100% healed and the twitching had stopped. I called him four days later and he says he's still completely healed—the tic has not returned. He has had this problem for 32 years. “People who know me are all noticing it!” he said. He also told me that the night he forgave his father, his dad called his girlfriend's house looking for him—something his father rarely if ever does.
We are profoundly grateful for the ways we see the kingdom of God coming to those on the margins—physically, emotionally, and spiritually!

i don't know where that came from!

2007-12-14T12:01:00.000-08:00

Chris Hoke
Assistant Jail Chaplain

Sometimes a few unsolved problems come together and solve each other perfectly, like separate unfinished song fragments completing each other minutes before a performance. I love it when that happens.

There are these two guys we've accompanied through drug and alcohol recovery, and now they're not sure what their next step is. And neither are we. One, Marco*, is living in the building with us at Tierra Nueva, working a night shift in a lumber mill, and trying to stay clean. His smiles, honesty and sobriety are growing daily with us. Another, Dan, we met in jail when he felt touched by God's Spirit and almost wouldn't leave us alone after he got out, eager to grow and quick to ask for the care he needs. After years of meth use, in and out of jail, he now lives three blocks away, works drywall construction, and is part of our faith community. Both Marco and Dan are hitting that space where they feel God is calling them to work with others who are caught in the life they are leaving. But they don't know where they are supposed to start, or if God can use them at all.

Enter John. I've been feeling increasingly irritated with his every knock on our back door. Most people who come to Tierra Nueva from the jail or streets are open about their real problems and we work together. John just uses the phone and asks for rides, always with a new, sketchy story and a forced smile. Acquaintances in the drug business tells us he's a known addict in the area, but I haven't known how to tell him that I know, you know? It's tricky, since I'm younger than John and don't want to accuse him. I want to offer real help, not facilitate his hustle and self-harm by playing along with the act.

So here's where the two pieces came together. Marco and I are in the apartment, hanging out. Dan bounds in with usual enthusiasm after a good day at work. Then the knock.

It's John. Can I take him to the place where I know he shoplifts and then exchanges with his dealer? Come on inside, John. He sits down with our two friends who are in their own process of recovery and faith. I try to tell John I want to be straight, not keep pretending. He acts shocked, confused, defensive. I am stuck.

Dan then speaks with sudden grace, maturity, and compassionate directness to John. "I've been there before, man. I recognize all the signs. I know—we know—what it's like. Tierra Nueva is here to help guys like us in recovery. You don't have to pretend. They don't call the cops, but help you however you need it most." This spoke so disarmingly to John that he had nothing to say—for the first time ever. We said we're here for him when he's ready. He nodded and bolted for the door with no argument.

A new feeling followed the slam of the door. Dan burst open, "I don't know where those words came from! It felt like something just pouring out of my mouth—it was perfect! I normally woulda cussed the guy out, or been arrogant . . . that was awesome! That was totally the Holy Spirit." Marco was all smiles. He felt he was part of something new: no longer ashamed of his odd position between old drug buddies and Christian community, like some sort of fake who's known for occasional relapse, but instead an example of that difficult transition who can invite others into honesty and grace in community. We stopped and prayed for John, blessing him in this decisive moment between bitterness or breakthrough, and dropping any arrogance or judgments we had toward him.

The interaction with John was small. But it was a perfectly timed, inaugural practice of Marco's and Dan's callings. John was addressed with grace and openness by his peers. Marco and Dan felt their first step towards reaching out to current users—with God backing them up with the right spirit and words.

There was such a feeling of unity and possibility afterwards that none of us wanted to go on with our day. Instead, Marco treated us to coffee across the street and we watched a documentary on meth in my bedroom, talking late into the evening like new, giddy friends.

*names changed

the psalm my people sent me away with

2007-11-21T10:02:00.001-08:00

by Sara

We keep hearing the stories of how immigration realities we confront with our friends in the Skagit Valley are tearing families apart. But today I realized that until you have a personal example, until it somehow affects you, it doesn’t quite hit home.

Today someone from our very faith community came to us after a phone call that he said “destroyed him.” After several days of working in the fields and feeling a sense of restlessness and deep concern, he phoned his wife in Central America begging to know if anything wasn’t right at home. She leveled with him, saying she’s just decided to leave him for someone else. “It has been too difficult,” she said, the same woman who two years ago prayed and agonized with him about the decision to risk his life by crossing the border to come make money for his family and village. In the end, they decided together that he should go.

As we listened to him, to his grief, he wanted us to understand that he doesn’t question God’s goodness in this. He is aware of the struggle against an enemy that is out to rob, kill and destroy any piece of that goodness he can get his hands on. But that doesn’t change the deep sadness he feels—we all feel—at this news, at what it’s like for him to call each of his children far away and explain the situation. It doesn’t change the fact that as we stood in the kitchen and talked tonight, he held my biggest kitchen knife to his heart and said, “I wish I could just cut it out so I wouldn’t have to feel this, but I know I cannot.”

This morning as we surrounded him to pray for the Comforter to come near, one of the women in our circle said she had a psalm to read. As the words of Psalm 91 were read in Spanish, rich promises of God’s covering and protective care spilled from the text. Slowly, our friend reached for his wallet, opened it, and took out a worn but neatly folded paper. Interrupting, he said: “Look. This is the same psalm my people sent me away with, to remember God’s care for me as I crossed the desert and the border and came here.” And there it was, each verse of Psalm 91 written down the page.

What a way for God to remind him that it is still true, even now, even when the worst he could have imagined has happened. What a God, who enters into the darkness with us and holds us—holds our friend—there.

even when you think God's ignoring you . . .

2007-10-09T13:21:00.000-07:00

by David

I really like cocaine. I used to like it to the tune of about $800 or so a week. While most people use cocaine to "party," I used it to work—and I am very good at software development, which is how I could afford the drugs. I'm what you might call a professional addict, having regularly used some form of illicit substance or other for about 13 years.

I would go on a programming jag and shut everyone out of my life. My sinuses were infected and my nose bled; I lost a lot of weight. I still managed to hold onto my job, but I'm sure my coworkers wondered about me. Obviously, things needed to change. I quit cocaine for a short period, and my friends at Tierra Nueva prayed for me. Most churches elevate Jesus to where he's inaccessible. I had done Christianity before, and ran from it. But Tierra Nueva made it possible for me to come back.

The problem was, the more they prayed, the worse off I was, until I finally relapsed and asked them to stop praying and leave me alone. I figured the prayer caused God to glance sharply in my direction and screw something up in my life. But now I know it was Satan just messing with me.

I ended up quitting my job and locking myself in my apartment. I started having one sided conversations with God. The subject was generally about God's absence, and my sense of entitlement. Finally, I found myself just asking for God to show himself to me, so that I could at least know that God was listening.

One night as I was lying in my bed, thinking that I really needed a friend, I was visited by a tree frog. He hung out in my apartment for about a month and a half. Somehow, this was a significant event, but I can't articulate why that is. I think it was God reaching out to me in a way that didn't threaten me.

After that, I just stopped using cocaine. More importantly, I haven't had the slightest desire to go back to it. I haven't had dreams about using it. I'd been contacted by the people I used to buy it from, and yet there was no temptation. God really comes through when you just step back and let God do his thing. I've been clean for almost two months, and I haven't experienced sobriety like this for 13 years.

God listens, even when you think he's ignoring you. God loves you, even if present circumstances make you believe otherwise. Nothing is beyond the reach of God, even if it's beyond yours. And finally, God's most amazing miracles are often delivered through mundane means. You just have to be open to receiving them.

she spent all she had on doctors . . .

2007-09-20T22:08:00.000-07:00

by Roger
Co-Director, Family Support Center

Juana* came in to the Family Support Center today. She wanted to talk about how her attorney said she'd have to find her own doctor and pay out of pocket if she wanted treatment for her pain. The chiropractor who had previously treated her had written a report that he couldn't do any more for her.

It reminded me of the Biblical account of the woman with the blood flow, who spent all she had on doctors and they weren't able to do anything for her. So she goes to Jesus, touches him, and gets healed!

We talked for a while about her immigration situation, but all the while I was getting the sense that I should ask Juana permission to pray for her lower back pain, caused by a car accident. She agreed to prayer, but me being in the Family Support Center alone (and she a woman), I decided to employ her three kids—Mario, Maria, and Mimi. I asked the kids to place their hands, one on top of the other, on their mom's lower back. Then I placed my hand on theirs, and began to pray.

I decided to just exercise my authority in Christ over the pain, binding it, and ordering it to leave in the name of Jesus. After speaking encouragement over Juana as I felt the Holy Spirit leading, I asked how she was feeling. She said the pain was leaving, so we kept ordering it to completely go in the name of Jesus.

Now she said she felt all better, and also intense heat, as if she'd just applied Ben-Gay ointment to her back! I told her that the heat could be a sign of the presence of the Holy Spirit, so I asked for more of the Spirit and more of the presence in Jesus' name.

We thanked the Lord for her healing, and I felt I should lead Juana in a prayer of receiving her healing as a free gift. Then I felt I should ask the Lord to seal the healing. Afterwards, Juana kept mentioning the heat—the intense heat, like Ben-Gay ointment!

Lord, I give you praise!

*names have been changed

no alternative but to trust God

2007-09-06T21:12:00.001-07:00

by Dave

Last October I got an e-mail about healing prayer on an upcoming Friday at this place I had never been to--called Tierra Nueva. I had recently gone through the chaos and dark pain of a divorce. It felt like my life was over. I received generous love from old and new friends and helpful counseling, but there was deeper healing needed that I was only partially aware of.

I waffled back and forth that week--feeling like I ought to go, but preferring to watch a World Series game with a friend. Then early Friday evening I sat down, still undecided, and read an interview with Stanley Hauerwas. The interviewer asks: "A lot of us seem to prefer living in anxiety to trusting God. How can we practice trusting God?"

Hauerwas answered, "What I try to do is put myself in positions where I don't have any alternative but to trust God."

Whoa. I set down the magazine, got in my car and drove down I-5 feeling drawn, called, magnetized to Tierra Nueva. I remember Chris playing guitar that night. We sang the song "more love, more power.” The Spirit cut deep into my core in the middle of singing. And I realized how much I had been holding back, holding onto. Tears came.

Later Tina prayed for me with compassionate boldness, moving me toward blessing my ex-wife and starting down the road of releasing her. And Tina prayed for God's presence and deep healing of my ragged wounds. I felt alive again. Resurrected.

Now that I have been going to Tierra Nueva more and more, I have discovered that they, as a way of life, take the plunge into risky trust and put themselves in places where they have no alternative but to trust God. And you know what? God shows up! That's attractive to me. That's real life. I want more and more. And I know there is much more yet to come! Thank you, Jesus.

when have you felt poor, blind, or captive?

2007-08-07T20:07:00.000-07:00

by Amy Muia
Tierra Nueva staff member

Last month, I found myself going to the weekly women’s jail visit alone on short notice, without chance to prepare. Normally that would be a bit unnerving, but I step into the chance to stretch myself a bit and rely on the Holy Spirit instead of my own planning. What springs to mind as I pull into the jail parking lot is one of our favorite TN texts, Luke chapter 4, and I decide to offer it to the women awaiting me inside.

I come through the two sets of steel doors, to be escorted by the guard through two more steel doors into the multi-purpose room. Gathered around me are the first group of female inmates. They're dressed in their red jail uniforms, short sleeved and revealing arms scarred with the deep pits that tell of years of drug use. Some of the faces look hopeless, others defensive, and some glad to see me. One is already crying.

I start with a prayer. We join hands. I know the women around the circle have conflicts with each other in their pod--fights over an extra blanket or a bag of chips, inflammatory remarks and offense-but they never reveal that side in front of the "church ladies." But I don't want to be a church lady--I want people to feel free to be authentic with me.

We turn to Luke 4:18 and one of the women starts to read: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

"This is Jesus speaking, telling everyone what he came to do," I begin. "Can we look at each of the parts of his ministry? Let's start with good news to the poor. When have you felt poor?"

The women tell stories of having no resources--either monetary or emotional. "And we're captives," one says. "Not just captives in the jail, but trapped by drugs." Another adds, "And captives in bad relationships." "Also stuck in ways of thinking that we can't change," adds a third. "How about being blind?" I ask, after a bit. "In what ways have you felt blind?"

The women are warming to the subject. "Blind to seeing any hope." "Blind to the consequences of our actions-just doing whatever, and not seeing where it leads." We continue. "Jesus came to proclaim the year of God's favor," I say. "Do you feel you're under God's favor?" Some women nod, others remain silent. We continue discussing the ways we are all poor, blind, or captive. Our 25 minutes is almost up. "Can we pray?" I ask. They are ready.

I move around the circle, laying hands on each one, praying that God would come and set them free. By now, many are crying. They are hungry for the news that Jesus came for this--to break every power and principality, to set the captives free, to announce the good news of God's love.

The doors clang open with a loud bang, causing us all to jump. "Not done?" the guard says. "Let me say the blessing, then. The Lord bless you and keep you!"

"You can bless us," one woman mutters, "But don't keep us!"

i left all my youth in the fields

2007-07-19T11:03:00.000-07:00

by Epifania

I come from Guerrero, Mexico. I passed through the Rio Bravo for the first time as a young girl, with my brother. In that river, people often drown. The boat we were traveling in flipped over, and I give thanks to God because my brother and I were saved. It was horrible watching people drown. But we arrived in Texas to work in the oranges. I was 11.

From the time I was 11, I worked a lot. I got married and kept working for my six children, even when I became single. I struggled a lot. I lost one of my sons; this emptiness I'll always carry. I have another son that's particularly rebellious. But I give thanks to God because through him, I found Tierra Nueva. I've known Bob and Rocio for 14 years. They're like family members to me. Rocio picks me up and brings me here, and helps me with appointments and errands because I don't have car.

I left all my youth in the fields. I've worked for years and years. I don't understand the situation with immigration law. We don't come here to take anyone's work. We come to help. We harvest the crops even when it's raining and snowing. We harvest the crops and the pay is a misery. I made .75 an hour when I first came here. When I started to make 1.25 an hour, I cried for joy because I was making a lot of money.

I've seen many miracles. One time, before I had papers, immigration was taking all the people from the fields. I said, "Oh, Lord, I'm in your hands. I know you can cover me so immigration doesn't see me." I made all my kids get on their knees. Immigration took whole families from the strawberry field. But I was just sitting there and they didn't see me. The boss was an American. He said, "You must have a pact with the devil." I said, "No, I have a pact with God." All of my children were hugging me. That happened to me four times. God doesn't discriminate against us. I give thanks to God and pray that God protects everyone coming from Mexico, because I've suffered through that.

I've gone through times of hunger. I used to sleep in my van with six children. I've even slept here at Tierra Nueva because they've made a place for me. They don't discriminate against anyone. In other churches, they look at how you come here. At Tierra Nueva, they help everyone.

Epifania shared this testimony at our recent "Open Your Eyes" course. For more information about courses and events at Tierra Nueva, visit our website, www.tierra-nueva.org .

what Tierra Nueva means to me

2007-07-17T08:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

I'm writing to tell you what Tierra Nueva has meant to my family. Tierra Nueva has helped us in many ways, as much spiritually as materially. Sometimes I haven't had anyone to help me, and I go to Tierra Nueva. They've helped me fill out applications, and when we've had appointments—especially because we don't have good command of English—they've interpreted for us.

I believe Tierra Nueva has done the maximum for us. May God reward them for all they've done for us, the poor. For my part, I want to give thanks to all who've worked with Tierra Nueva, especially the ones who fund it, because Tierra Nueva is where the poor find refuge. They never turn anyone down who asks for help, when it's within their ability.

For this I am grateful with all my heart, to all those who've extended a hand, so that Tierra Nueva can continue giving help to those who need it in the future.

Many thanks,
Salvio Hernandez

heaven on earth in the jail

2007-06-05T10:09:00.000-07:00

Chris Hoke
Assistant Jail Chaplain

More and more we've been experimenting in the jail with the authority that God gives us over spiritual forces that afflict the men from all sides. Here's the latest experiment that got me thinking...

A young man with trial the following morning came anxiously into our one-on-one room a few weeks ago. He'd brought his legal papers, thinking it was a lawyer visit. He showed me the dry, all caps, official criminal charges with multiple counts that filled the first two sheets of an inch-thick stack of intimidating legal jargon. As we were praying later, listening to the words and feeling the presence God was pouring out over this man, I became increasingly uncomfortable with the hefty charges stacked beside us. They were official condemnations standing squarely against the twenty-something who was at that moment crying and relaxing into God's completely Other judgment of forgiveness. This love made the legal stack intolerable to me. A verse came to mind, and I had him read it aloud:

"And when you were dead in your trespasses..., God made you alive together with him, when he forgave us all our trespasses, erasing the written record that stood against us with its legal demands. He set this aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and made a public example of them, triumphing over them in it." (Colossians 2:13-15)

We talked about how this record stood against him like a gun pointed at him on the street, and how God's forgiveness does not tolerate judgments over his children that are out of line with his will, which is to forgive and restore, not condemn and degrade.

So, not quite sure how to appropriate this "death penalty" of sorts God gives to the written record ("nailed it to the cross"), I said, "Hey man, you know how we always lay our hands on people's back pain and take authority over what hurts God's kids, and a lot of times it goes away?" So we laid our hands on the stack of Skagit County legal charges and rebuked them, broke their power in Jesus' name for violating God's forgiveness.

Later that week at jail Bible study, while we were discussing the same Colossians text, that original young man came bounding in, not knowing the Bible study was about him. He exclaimed for two minutes straight-- "Oh, Chris! The trial the next day...it was a total miracle!"

He described before all the accused men how he felt God's presence beside him at the stand, how it felt like everyone in the room looked at him differently. At his first trial, people had whispered vile things upon hearing the allegations that echoed through the room—but this time the prosecutor didn't seem to even look at the papers, and even the guard with whom he has tension cried when he got to share before the judge. One or two of the charges were completely dropped, and restitution was cut in half. He was ecstatic.

Often when we pray for physical pain, not all of it will go away immediately. But rather than be discouraged, we're encouraged and so we've learned to press in with more prayer. It makes me wonder if we can press in and confidently take spiritual authority with God's forgiveness over our accused brothers until all the pain and charges are wiped clean, nailed to the cross. It would be ridiculous. It would be like heaven's reality manifesting, happening on earth...

letters from the jail

2007-05-24T13:29:00.001-07:00

Winter 2007
Rocio Robles
Co-Director, FSC

Most of us at Tierra Nueva try to write to criminals, especially those in correction centers.

Some in the county jail must fulfill long sentences, and they often relocate to different jails, sometimes far from friends and relatives. When they are very isolated, they have a greater need to communicate with people they know, who understand how difficult isolation is. Our ministry never denies a call from the jail, which is always very expensive, although most of the inmates usually write to us.

One of those prisoners, known by Bob, began to write to me. His name is Juan, and he and I have constantly written since 2004. At McNeil Island Prison, he knew a young man named Jose that nobody wrote to, and he gave Tierra Nueva’s address to him.

Jose began to write to me with much timidity, giving multiple excuses and saying not to answer him. In the second letter, he told me he was from Honduras. I was excited and told him about our ministry in Minas de Oro, Honduras, and about the Hondurans that live in Skagit County, mentioning some names.

In the following letter, he thanked God over and over for having found Tierra Nueva, because he was born in Minas de Oro, Honduras, and recognized some of the names I had mentioned. In short, we found out that he was related to people living in this county. For almost five years, he had not been able to communicate with his mother. He had been consumed by anguish, knowing that his mother had perhaps given him up for dead. Now he feels much calmer to know that through our ministry in Honduras, he has found a way to let his mother know where he is and why he hasn’t communicated with her.

These small daily miracles are the force of our ministry—to be witnesses of how the hand of God extends to reach the good one, the bad one, the humble one, the needy one.

God's love catching the attention of inmates

2007-05-24T12:22:00.000-07:00

Winter 2007
Chris Hoke, Assistant Jail Chaplain

Men in jail have heard a lot of talk. Legal talk. Street talk. Religious talk.

One of the valley's top meth cooks told me two nights ago that he used to have zero interest in the Bible because "all those miracles" never seemed to happen to anybody.

But now he can't wait to be prayed for—since he's experienced God's presence in startling ways both in his trailer and in jail. He's seen many of the people he knows healed of swollen livers, back pain, knee problems and depression almost instantly in our Bible studies in recent months. He's especially attracted to Jesus now because what he's witnessing and experiencing himself seems to line up with the stories and message he's heard at Bob's Bible studies for years: that Jesus approaches, heals, and calls people that most often are not looking for him and have no stated faith at all prior to the encounter.

A young Latino gang leader I've been meeting with has similarly come from a place of neither faith nor knowledge of Jesus to astonishment and eagerness to hear more. Initially he was unable to imagine my paraphrases (he never learned to read) of the gospel accounts of Jesus' displays of nonviolent power, fearlessness, love, care of enemies, and authority amidst violence ever working in his gang. Now he gets updates about how this very love—this deeper way of "being down" for friends—is infiltrating and surprising his posse on the outside, many of whom I've gotten to know over the last year.

Their latenight phone calls are increasing, inviting me to their hidden backroom meetings, as well as calling in distress and arriving stained by blood, wanting prayer and praying for each other on my living room floor as both enemies and squad cars hunt them through the night. My faith and the faith of inmates—as well as an eagerness to join the risky discipleship of Jesus' adventure among “sinners”—swells when the Presence and reality of who God is confirms the Bible's past record in our own unsuspecting stories.

US citizen detained by immigration

2007-05-24T10:53:00.000-07:00

Winter 2007
Roger Capron
Co-Director of the Family Support Center

Who do we advocate for—the principality (in this case, the government)? Or the person?

Adriana called me last Thursday. Her young spouse, James, had been taken by ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the former Border Patrol) to the NW Detention Center in Tacoma. Adriana insisted that James was a US Citizen, born inCalifornia. She told me how the ICE officials didn’t believe him and had put him in removal proceedings.

My advocacy mode kicked in, and I began to ask more questions: Where exactly was James born? When? Do you have an original birth certificate? Any other identification? I told Adriana to ask for specific information when James called from the Detention Center. Next, I called the NW Detention Center and asked them to investigate our claim that James is a citizen. The
investigation results came the next day when James told his wife that ICE had reviewed his birth certificate and said he’d better get a lawyer. Adriana insisted that he was born in the USA,
thus making him a citizen.

Sometimes I wonder why I pass through a stage in advocacy when I trust more in American institutions than in the individual; or why I have tended to believe so blindly the individual under the influence of his or her allegiance to their office and position. Such was my weakness after hearing this news. Wondering why someone would go to the pains of making up a story about their citizenship, I reluctantly called an attorney friend of mine in Seattle to ask for advice. He expressed the same doubt about James’s story, but suggested that if it were true, it would best be handled by our US Congressman’s Office in Bellingham.

I didn’t expect to get very far with a congressperson on a case that didn’t sound too credible, but to my complete surprise, I was met with an enthusiastic desire to check into the validity of James’s situation. So, after more phone calls and a visit to the congressman’s office to let them take copies of James’s birth certificate and other identifying documents, we waited for the outcome. Two days ago James called to ask that someone come to Tacoma to pick him up! ICE had let him go and then backpedaled, claiming James never told them he was a citizen.

asthma healed!

2007-05-24T10:47:00.001-07:00

Winter 2007
Emily Martin

We’re used to the teaching that when you break the rules, here are the consequences. For example, in my house we had rules, and if I broke the rules, I knew for how long I would be grounded. That’s how most people are raised.

Last year when I was in Mexico, I suffered with asthma really bad because of all the pollution in the air. When I came home, I was really sick with asthma all through the winter. I came to Tierra Nueva and saw people being healed, but I didn’t ask God to heal my asthma, because I got asthma from smoking marijuana for so many years—I thought it was my punishment from God. I smoked weed for all those years, and so now I thought I had to live with asthma, because that was just the obvious consequence.

I never felt I could ask God to heal my asthma, because obviously it was a punishment for having done something I knew was wrong.

Then one Sunday at the Tierra Nueva worship service, Bob was telling stories about guys in the jail who had gotten in fights and broken their hands, and God healed their hands anyway. So I thought I would ask God to heal my asthma. That Sunday, there were so many people in the service who needed prayer for healing that Bob said we should all put our hand on whatever part of our body needed healing, and he would lead us in a prayer. I put my hand on my chest, and we prayed as a group.

Later, I realized that I could go outside in the cold air and still breathe. I played soccer at night with some of the guys from Tierra Nueva, and I was fine. Then I went to Oaxaca over the summer where the air pollution is really bad—protesters were burning busses and tires—but I was fine. When we went to Mexico City, the air pollution turned my eyes red, but I didn’t cough hardly at all.

Now I don’t have asthma. I learned that there are consequences, but that’s not the same thing as punishment, because God’s not about punishment.

saved from suicide

2007-05-22T11:03:00.000-07:00

Spring 2006
Rocio Robles, Co-Director, Family Support Center

Mario came to the Skagit Valley just for a visit, with a big pain in his heart because he had lost his family. Despairing because the woman he loved had betrayed him for another man, he later learned that it was all because of his alcoholism. So many times he told me his drinking history, crying like a child, telling how he wanted to kill his wife and then take his own life, and how he thought of his children that would be left as orphans.

He decided to go to the orchard and shoot two times in his chest, but the pistol didn’t discharge. He struck against tree trunks, his blood joining his tears of desperation.

All of us at Tierra Nueva have benefitted from the friendship with Mario. We’ve seen how God has placed his eyes upon him and changed him so much. He has more than a year of not trying even one beer, when before he drank on a daily basis. In spite of his vice, he was always working. In the morning, he weeded gardens, and in the afternoon he worked in a resturant. For months, I drove him to and from work because he didn’t want to drive at 1:00 am for fear the police would detain him. Finally he decided to work in a nursery.

When someone called to donate a pickup, Roger and I immediately thought of Mario. Now it’s much easier for him to transport his second hand pruning equipment, and he has a much easier time hauling off yard waste. Mario has always said that Tierra Nueva is his family. For us, it is a living miracle and a big motivator in our effort to humbly serve others.

recruited by Jesus!

2007-05-22T11:00:00.000-07:00

Spring 2006
Chris Hoke, Assistant Jail Chaplain

For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.
Matt 9:13

Why did Jesus hang out with and call sinners to follow him? I’m increasingly convinced that they were the people best suited for his mission.

Reading the gospels with dozens of inmates—especially first generation Latino street gang members—I ask the men, “If you were Jesus, what kind of people would you want to follow you?”

These are individuals who can operate outside the religious establishment, ready to lose family and all possessions for the sake of one thing. Many have already laid their lives on the line for a member of their gang. Most have few reservations in coming alongside the ill-repute in the community and getting arrested by the authorities. They often have stories of others plotting to kill them.

I’ve been involved with a network of the youngest, most notorious Chicano Sureños, and have been challenged when reading Jesus’ call in Luke 6: If you only show love and respect to members of your own, what makes you any different? Even Norteños and cops do that.

Though guards shake their heads at the names of men I request to meet, a number of these 18-22 year olds tell me how they are praying for each other inside and outside the jail. Two nights ago, a 19-year-old felon who goes by “Travieso” —Spanish for “Naughty”—was eager to tell me that he’d prayed for his prosecutor last week... who just that day had suddenly decided not to press half of his charges.

Covered in tattoos and smiles, these are the ones the Father chooses to adopt, who Jesus chooses to follow him

my trip to TN Honduras

2007-05-22T10:54:00.000-07:00

Spring 2006 Nick Bryant

This winter, Nick visited and worked with the Tierra Nueva community in Honduras. For more information about the Honduras arm of TN, visit our website, www.tierra-nueva.org.

“Así es, Nicolas. Hay que sufrir.” He said it so nonchalantly, like a flat and unsatisfying period to punctuate so many problems and pain. You have to suffer.

As he stooped to heft one more brimming bag of beans to his shoulder, I couldn’t help but wonder where God was in the midst of this. Does the kingdom of God look like a gradual alleviation of poverty through the patient and persistent efforts of nine Tierra Nueva promoters, who share the good news of improved farming methods, natural medicine, and nutrition among the extremely poor? Is it the filling of church pews or the political empowerment of peasant campesinos?

“Go back and report to John what you hear and see: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor.”

“But Jesus,” I want to say, “you can heal this man’s back bent by too many heavy loads; you can even invite him out of the shame and condemnation that he believes he somehow merits.

But what are you going to do about his poverty, about third world debt and corrupt governments, about CAFTA and immigration legislation and the oppressive structures and institutions that caused these infirmities in the first place?”

Returning with more questions than answers, I’m beginning to see that our liberation is realized in both exodus and crucifixion: it is a salvation from the oppressive reality in which we find ourselves. And it is an invitation to live and die in such a way as to demonstrate that these earthly structures have no power over us. It is in this tension between the spiritual and the material that I pray with our Honduran brothers and sisters, “Kingdom of God, come!”

going outside the camp

2007-05-22T10:50:00.000-07:00

Spring 2006
Bob Ekblad, Executive Director

At Tierra Nueva, we’re hearing with increased clarity and urgency the need to embrace the excluded, tainted ones. Whether labeled and discarded by insiders as “illegal aliens,” “felons,” “homeless,” “drug addicts” “habitual offenders,” or “mentally ill,” Jesus calls his body to bear his shame and announce victory to all who find themselves “outside the camp.” This is in fact what we found ourselves doing during four back-to-back Bible studies on Hebrews 13:11-14 last Thursday night in Skagit County Jail.

For the bodies of those animals whose blood is brought into the holy place by the high priest as an offering for sin, are burned outside the camp.

“Unclean things were cast outside the Israelite camp, outside the city of Jerusalem to protect the rest from danger and contamination,” I explain to the first group of 20 red-uniformed inmates who sit in a circle. Outside the camp, animal carcasses were destroyed (Lev 16:27), lepers resided (Lev 13:46), menstruating women were sent (Num 5:2-3), and criminals were executed (Lev 24:14, 23; Num 15:35-36; Deut 22:24).

“Who are the people considered unclean and excludable by those who see themselves as ‘inside the camp’ today?” I ask.

“We are,” a number of them say immediately. “The homeless,” says someone else. Others mention undocumented workers, people living with AIDS, sex-offenders.

“So let’s see where God is located according to this Scripture,” I suggest, inviting a volunteer to read the next verse.

Therefore Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people through his own blood, suffered outside the gate.

The men are moved to see that Jesus identifies himself with the ones outside the camp. We read Luke 15:1-2, which states that “all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming to listen to him,” provoking the insiders to grumble.

“So Jesus is someone who suffers with the outsiders. What else does he do according to this verse?” I ask.

We discuss how Jesus sanctified them by his blood, which means that he made unholy, rejected ones holy, righteous or set apart—even special. I ask if any of them have tried and failed to make themselves holy or righteous. Everyone responds that they have tried and failed repeatedly.

The inmates are moved to discover that Jesus himself makes the unclean, excluded ones righteous through his blood, shed for them. On the cross, outside the camp (John 19:20; Mk 15:20; Matt 27:32), Jesus does what no human can do on their own. He makes us holy, righteous, and special through bloodshed, suffering among the damned. When I ask each group whether they want to receive the gift of holiness offered to them by Jesus, people in each of the four groups unanimously and enthusiastically say “yes.”

“Well, you don’t have to go very far to get Jesus’ help, because if you’re already outside the camp, Jesus is here with you,” I say, asking someone to read the next few verses: Hence, let us go out to him outside the camp, bearing his shame. For here we do not have a lasting city, but we are seeking the city which is to come (Heb 13:11-14).

“I’m the one who has to go father than any of you, as I’m inside the camp,” I say, realizing I’m the only one not dressed in a red jail uniform.

“No you don’t, because you’re here with us,” someone immediately responds, making me feel warmly included—strangely free of shame.

At the beginning of the fourth Bible study, I mention an impression I had received of someone with a painful knee. Everyone around the circle of eight begins to detail other pains in their bodies, ending with a man who has a painful left knee. I invite everyone to lay hands on themselves and pray that the healing power of the Spirit would flow through their hands into their bodies. Everyone has their hands on at least two places.

When I ask them to check their bodies after the prayer, I’m shocked to find that everyone—all eight—have been healed of all their pain. They respond to my repeated invitations to continue praying by insisting that all their pain is really gone. It is easy for this group to believe the good news of Jesus’ presence with them.

Jesus welcomes us to join him outside, where we find relief from striving for righteousness, and from our pain. Jesus has already done for us what we desperately desire and need, but can’t do for ourselves. He has done away with all “us-them” distinctions in a subversive act of removing all borders. This is the good news of the Kingdom of God that we enthusiastically welcome and boldly announce.

back pain healed!

2007-05-22T10:47:00.000-07:00

Winter 2006
Roger Wyatt, Jail Volunteer

I’ve had osteoarthritis in my lower back for five years. During the past six months it had become so severe that I could not sleep at night. I finally decided to consult my doctor and he prescribed pain killers and fifteen visits to the physical therapist.

I know God heals, but considering the pain Jesus and the other disciples endured, I was reluctant to ask prayer for myself. Finally, I shared my problem with my men’s Bible study, and they prayed for me. The next night, I shared it with inmates at the Skagit County Jail and asked prayer at the close of Bible study.

One of the men stood up and said, “We won’t wait until the end.” About twenty-five men got up and laid hands on me and prayed for healing. I was overwhelmed by their great faith, which seemed much greater than my own.

Next, I received a call from Bob Ekblad inviting me to a Bible study and time of prayer at Tierra Nueva. I really felt the leading of the Holy Spirit to attend. I listened to Bob relate many miraculous healings performed by Jesus, and Bob’s own testimony of receiving the power of healing at a pastor’s conference in Toronto.

After the study, the entire group prayed for my healing. From Bob’s hand, I felt warmth across my lower back, into my hip and down my left leg. I came away praising Jesus and feeling completely healed and pain free. The next morning I felt greatly improved and ready to cancel the remaining treatments, but since I still felt some residual pain, I decided to continue with the therapy.

I was able to share my healing experiences with one of the therapists on my next visit. The therapist told me she also believed in Jesus and had the gift of healing. We both rejoiced in the many ways God works in our lives. I believe I am on a journey with God concerning this whole episode, and God is not through using me. Thank you for your continued prayers!

miracles in Honduras

2007-05-22T10:44:00.000-07:00

Winter 2006
Bob Ekblad, Executive Director

This month, I traveled to Honduras to visit Tierra Nueva’s village trainers. I was encouraged to see them renewing their commitment to serve farmers in extreme poverty—the landless, single mothers, and those struggling with alcoholism, domestic violence, sickness and depression.

Near our center in Minas de Oro, I visited an impoverished village where promoters David and Jorge Calix live. They invited the villagers to a Bible study on Mark 1:21-34. We talked about how Jesus began his ministry at the margins of society, in Galilee. He preached, “The time is fulfilled, the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the Gospel,” and then began calling ordinary people to participate in his ministry of healing, deliverance and proclamation. We noted that Jesus spoke and acted with great authority, evident through his teaching and rebuking of unclean spirits. Jesus raised up Peter’s mother-in-law, sick with fever, and healed all the ill and demon-possessed.

Where did Jesus get his authority? We read the account of Jesus’ baptism, when the heavens were torn open and the Spirit descended like a dove and a voice announced God’s favor—even before Jesus had done any works. We invited the Spirit to be present and prayed for people suffering from pain and sickness. Several people said they experienced relief, and all of the fifteen participants desired prayer to receive more empowerment from the Spirit to become directly involved in Jesus’ ministry.

The next day, Elia (a TN promoter) and I visited women she attends in nearby villages. With every encounter, signs of God’s kingdom became increasingly visible. A family in the hamlet above had children suffering from Dengue fever.

“Let’s go pray for them, Roberto,” Elia said.

I agreed somewhat reluctantly, afraid of getting sick from the dreaded fever. But the thought of Jesus healing Peter’s mother-in-law from fever mobilized me. We hiked up a steep trail to a humble home with corn husks drying in the sun. We laid hands on the girl and her brother, commanding the fever to leave in Jesus name. In addition, we prayed for their father, who had continual pain in his lower back and leg. He said the pain completely lifted, and enthusiastically urged his wife to receive prayer for pain in her head, neck and spinal column. She reported a fuego (fire) from her head to her lower back, and the pain completely left. Now the
daughter was lying with her head propped up, smiling, and saying she felt better. The son had gotten up, his fever gone. Elia and l headed down the trail, giving thanks to God.

Next we visited Hector, a retired TN promoter who had led a phenomenal Bible study with thirty villagers for nine years. Sadly, the success of this study led the local Catholic delegate of the Word to close the study two years before. We prayed that God would help us see reconciliation and renewal in this community. When we arrived, the delegate greeted us warmly. I told him that Hector wanted us to lead a Bible study or perhaps pray for the sick. He invited us to a special service for the Virgin of Suyapa, a commemoration of a Honduran manifestation of mother Mary. I agreed to go, remembering Jesus’ frequenting of the synagogues in the villages he visited.

We proceeded up the dirt road past rows of adobe houses and were ushered into a crowed home with some fifty men, women and children. The service began, with songs commemorating Mary, Scripture readings and an inspiring homily by the delegate, who upon finishing announced that I was now going to lead the group in a service of healing. Shocked, I quickly sought a way to avoid being the gringo man of power for the hour—a role I have intensely disliked. I spoke briefly about Jesus’ passing his mission to the disciples, giving them power and authority to do the same. So Jesus desires to empower all of us, I concluded, inviting people to pair up and pray for each other to impart the Spirit of the Lord upon their partner as they repeated Luke 4:18-19 over each other.

The people enthusiastically responded, and I asked who needed healing. More than twenty-five people raised their hands. I invited everyone to lay hands on each other and we prayed, commanding pain to leave in Jesus’ name. We repeated: “This healing belongs to me because I am a child of God. I receive my healing now as a free gift in Jesus’ name.”

Over fifteen people experienced immediate and total healing. The group gave rounds of applause to Jesus, who had visited their village in such a concrete way. We then invited anyone needing more prayer to a nearby home, which was soon crowed to overflowing with others who had heard about the healings.

For the next hour, Elia and I prayed for the sick, including the delegate of the Word himself, who broke down weeping and confessing his need to humble himself and receive, even from people who weren’t Catholic. Elia and I returned to Minas de Oro late that night, amazed that the Kingdom of God had indeed come close. I return both humbled in awestruck by the new things that God is doing among us.

families split apart by deportation?

2007-05-22T10:40:00.000-07:00

Winter 2006
Roger Capron, Co-Director of the Family Support Center

“For just as the body has many members, and all the members are one body, so it is with Christ.”

At Tierra Nueva, we seek to incarnate this truth as we minister to wounded and threatened families.

Ramón’s wife came to the FSC asking for help to get her husband out of jail and back to his home and children. Ramón was being held on serious felony charges. He would likely end up in deportation proceedings and eventually be sent back to Mexico.

Rocío, Co-Director of the FSC, insisted that we help. While Ramón may have made a bad decision, deep down he was a loving and responsible father. If Ramón were deported, the family would be forced to the streets.

The FSC staff collected letters of reference for Ramón and arranged for trusted legal help. Nick, a long-term volunteer, set-up anger management classes. Chris, assistant jail chaplain, made regular contact with Ramón to give spiritual and emotional support.

The situation looked hopeful. The prosecutor agreed to a plea to non-deportable charges. But then the Border Patrol discovered an earlier conviction. They took Ramón to their Tacoma detention facility. Another flurry of phone calls and letters were sent, this time to the judge. Finally, Ramón walked free on bail. Because of ineffective representation four years ago, he should have never been charged. The faith communities at Tierra Nueva continued to pray for Ramón’s liberation out of the hands of the city attorney and the border patrol.

The verdict came: “Not Guilty plea will be accepted.” Eventually, Ramón’s attorney convinced the city attorney to drop the case without re-charging Ramón. Ramón’s green card and
legal immigration status were reinstated. Ramón was a free man!

All told, twelve members of the body of Christ labored in the unity of the Spirit to help our brother, Ramón, regain his freedom, his dignity, his family and his community.

fears about leaving jail

2007-05-22T10:36:00.000-07:00

Winter 2006
Chris Hoke, Assistant Jail Chaplain

Jose* throws on a clean shirt as he steps out of the trailer where he lives with his mom. She hands him a lunch she's prepared for his dinner at work, and smiles and waves as we pull out of the RV lot. This is the first of her four sons to return to her. She has been alone, with one dead and the rest in prison or jail, all from lives of drug addiction, violence and crime.

Already two months have passed since I picked up Jose from the curb in front of the jail and brought him to Tierra Nueva where Roger and I prayed with him, for his freedom from addiction to live into his destiny. Now, en route from his house to his stable job, we get to catch up in the car once again.

"That was one of my biggest fears: getting out of jail. Not having friends, other than the ones that tore me down, who were only there for me when drinking and drugging. But when I went straight to Tierra Nueva, and each time I come there now, I feel like I got family. I love coming to Tierra Nueva. Along with the Zion church."

Jose's excitement about his recent experiences at a lively, Spirit-led, Messianic congregation deepens our growing belief that people coming off lives of heavy substances and action have a spiritual thirst that needs to be met by the full vitality and experience of God's Presence and Life. If not, drugs will eventually be more satisfying than humdrum church or some 9-5 job that gives no meaning to their unique, God-breathed lives.

"When I was drinking and doping I always looked forward to Friday to get drunk, to numb my sadness. But after enough suffering, like now, I look forward to Saturday at Zion. There I can pour out my soul to God, you know, where we all sing, really loud."

*name has been changed

my testimony of renewal

2007-05-22T10:30:00.000-07:00

Fall 2006
Ryann Lachowicz

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt engulfed by darkness or in a pit of hopelessness, but I was just there.

I grew up “knowing” Jesus, but that knowing has been more like a constant anxiety in my stomach over not measuring up.

As I got older, I thrived in ministry involvement in college and academics, striving after a life of social justice to the marginalized. I had gotten really good at jumping through the necessary hoops to show others (and myself) that I was “ok.”

And then I fell apart. After graduating from Western, I received some personal blows that shattered the neat little path I had set up for myself. I felt lost. I didn’t have any direction to go . . . no clue what to do with this degree I’d slaved for. My heart hurt badly. Relationships failed. I felt so distant from God and even disdainful. I started to turn my face from God and for the first time in my life identified with the prodigal son of Luke 15 instead of the older dutiful son. It was deep shame that drove me away from the Father, and after returning, deep shame remained.

Sometime in late spring I found myself sitting in Tierra Nueva’s upper room at a migrant outreach training. I had been walking toward healing with God since November, but I was still severely disillusioned with the church, my life, and faith in general. That morning I came expecting a program. I came expecting to hear a list of good approaches and well-tested human efforts that would make an effective outreach. I expected to need to prove my
worthiness for the task.

Instead, I was met with something real. I was confronted with people’s hearts. I heard about their deep hunger for God, and that they had nothing to give without drawing life straight from God. I heard about how they were seeing God pour out life in supernatural, beautiful ways to people they minister to. There was peace in their eyes and it felt like life was seeping out of the baseboards and into my shoes.

From that day forward, deep in my gut something has been drawing me to Tierra Nueva. The first time I came to soaking prayer, I wept the entire two hours. It was the most overwhelming time of restoration and receiving God’s delight that I’ve ever experienced. As I practice lying on the floor not “doing” anything but receiving from God, I feel the heaviness, the duty, the rules and the strivings crumble away.

For the first time in my life, I am desperately hungry for God. There’s something strangely wonderful about being a major mess up. It’s freed me from thinking I have any chance of measuring up! This place of desperation and hunger has opened me up to receiving outpourings of the Holy Spirit, filling me up, knocking me over, feeding my soul, speaking words for my life or for others, and giving life to the scripture.

I feel a bit like a bewildered child, but I know now what an incredibly GOOD Father I have. I am so thankful God has led me to this Tierra Nueva community where we receive love, listen for the Father’s voice and minister out of a place of rest and empowerment by the Holy Spirit.

authority on the streets

2007-05-22T10:24:00.000-07:00

Fall 2006
Chris Hoke

So, how’ve things been going in the jail with you and pastor Robert?”

Sixers, 24, one of the demigods of the Skagit Valley’s Sureño gang scene, sits in the passenger seat, two days out of state prison and covered with new tattoos on his arms and face. He has just finished telling me about the inner-workings of prison gang violence and politics—how a person who oversteps a code is “marked” by a leader, and ruthlessly harmed by whomever gets the order. Within the hour.

I answer Sixers by telling him we’ve been seeing God move in even clearer ways that make inmates go “Whoa,” spreading news through whole jail pods about people actually being affected by God.

“It’s like God ‘marks’ dudes in the joint as well,” I tell him, “like you guys do. But instead of hurting them, he heals them, brings them life instead of death. Within the hour. Just this last Sunday, nine people were healed, man.”

“Nu-uh…” His tattooed fingers cover his surprised smile.

“Yeah, take last night for example. I’m meeting one-on-one with this Chicano man accused of murder. We’re praying, and I get this image in my head of toes. It’s like God is my ‘shot-caller,’ and he’s telling me to ‘get this guy,’ that there’s a problem with his toes. So I ask the man, ‘Do you have any pain in your toes?’ ‘Yes,’ he says, as he lifts his head. ‘You never told me that before, did you?’ ‘I’ve never told anyone about my toes—I hide this.’

‘I think God wants to heal you,’ I venture.

“So I scoot my chair around the table and lay my hands on his white-socked toes that have severely ingrown nails. Then in Jesus’ name, I tell the pain to leave. I command the nails to grow straight.

“It’s like you on the street, Sixers. You were just telling me the power your name has around here: you say something, it happens.”

“Yup,” and he snaps his fingers.

“Same with Jesus’ authority over death, sickness, and stuff like that. I used Jesus’ name and authority with the unwanted pain hurting this man whom God ‘marked,’ and a minute later he’s squeezing his toes, crying, saying all the pain is gone, that minutes before he couldn’t even touch them!

“Almost immediately, he wants to be closer to God. Like he’s ‘jumped in’ to the gang. He wants to roll with God, let him ‘drive the car,’” I continue with the prison terms Sixers has taught me.

“Daaamnnn, man, that’s cool.” His eyes light up and he pauses before getting out of the car, shaking his head.

Gang members on the streets and men locked in the system are tired of being helpless and pushed around. Sixers’ attraction to Jesus’ power—of life and not violence—shows that what poor and disrespected young men in and out of bars, unserved by a forever-pending world of bureaucratic solutions, are desperate for real authority, even more than their threatening codes. They are hungry for power to effect change in their everyday lives—within the hour.

So we at Tierra Nueva now want to listen to God even more closely and join the authority of Jesus’ name to take the streets back under God’s new, life-giving reign.

God loves and calls violent men

2007-05-22T10:22:00.001-07:00

Fall 2006
Bob Ekblad

Violent men make the headlines daily, and many people consider them deserving of banishment or death.

God has called me and many here at Tierra Nueva to seek, find, bind up, love, pray for and in various ways minister to violent men and women—both inside and outside jail.

God is calling the entire church to reach out in love to violent men and women, inviting them into a life filled with adventure, love and meaning as agents of transformation in the company of Jesus.

Every week I have the privilege of seeing hardened, violent men profoundly touched by God’s affectionate embrace. When people in our weekly jail Bible studies come to truly realize that God adores them, they respond to God’s call and become disciples—often 12-15 at a time.

Sinners’ attraction to Jesus should come as no surprise. In Luke 15:1 “all the tax-gatherers and [all] the sinners were coming near him to listen to him.” Jesus was known as a “friend ofsinners” (Matt 11:19). “The Son of Man has come to save that which was lost . . . it is not the will of your father who is in heaven that one of these little ones [lost sheep] perish” (Matt 18:11,14).

I often say to people in our jail Bible studies, “Take it as a compliment that you are harassed and targeted by the Enemy. He’s trying to take you down because he knows what a threat you’d be if you were an agent of love for the Kingdom of God.” This is not empty flattery, but a conviction repeatedly supported by Scripture.

Throughout Scripture we see God highly valuing violent men, calling them as God’s choice ministers. Moses was called after murdering an Egyptian to be Israel’s liberator. David was anointed after years of violence defending sheep and attacking Philistines, and became the author of our Psalms of worship.

Jesus met the Apostle Paul in the midst of his violent campaign against the first Christians. Paul writes powerfully about God’s choice of himself:

I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has strengthened me, because he considered me faithful, putting me into service; even though I was formerly a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent aggressor. And yet I was shown mercy, because I acted ignorantly in unbelief; and the grace of our Lord was more than abundant, with the faith and love which are found in Christ Jesus.

It is a trustworthy statement, deserving full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, among whom I am foremost of all. And yet for this reason I found mercy, in order that in me as the foremost, Jesus Christ might demonstrate his perfect patience, as an example for those who would believe in him for eternal life (1 Tim 1:12-16).

Violent offender types like Paul and many others were targeted and attacked both by enemies of flesh and blood and spiritual enemies. I believe that those most involved in violence today are at the top of God’s list of people God is seeking and calling—and should be our highest priority in a different kind of Jesus-inspired war on terror. God calls the worst as an example for those who would believe. So who and where might these big, bad “little ones” be?

Our county jails are filled with people charged with violent crimes as well as others labeled “felons” with violent convictions. Rather than demanding harsher prison sentences and fines that increase shame and violence, our incarcerated neighbors need much more love, respect and the honor of being invited to follow Jesus to bring life and liberation to the world.

Al-Qaeda and Taliban combatants and people who strap explosives to their bodies need to be placed at the top of our prayer and outreach priorities, and certainly not destroyed. We must stop excluding enemy combatants from those for whom we grieve, as if their deaths are less important than those of innocent civilians or US troupes. This grieves the Holy Spirit, who comes to comfort and defend.

The world’s many orphans definitely need to be sponsored so their needs are provided. But let us not forget that most violent men are grown-up neglected and abused children or orphans in need of love, healing and spiritual adoption—which includes a calling. Rather than letting them be easy prey for the military recruiters, drug dealers and other forces that would rob, kill and destroy, join us in recruiting them as workers in God’s harvest fields.

We have learned that loving our enemies is not an easy or natural task—but it is at the heart of our calling. This kind of extreme love can only come directly from God. We at Tierra Nueva are constantly humbled by both our weakness before the powers of violence, addictions and death and by the bigness of God’s love.

Saying “yes” to the call to seek after lost sheep until we find them requires more of God’s abundant love and the anointing of the Holy Spirit than we yet have. Thankfully, God is rich in mercy and full of love and goodness, and is eager to show up and fill us so we can “not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12).

Let’s join Jesus, who says, “I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners” (Mk 2:17). As more and more violent bad guys get recruited into God’s service as agents of love, the Kingdom of God will certainly be drawing closer.

hearts of compassion in Tierra Nueva Honduras

2007-05-22T10:10:00.000-07:00

Fall 2005
by Bob Ekblad

Fifteen Tierra Nueva promotores (trainers) serve the poorest of the poor in some fifty Honduran villages.

Every two weeks, David Calix, the 48-year-old coordinator, calls us from a scratchy internet phone. Third-grade educated David brilliantly pastors many of Tierra Nueva’s Honduran staff, only one of whom is educated beyond sixth grade.

“Roberto, I am trying to motivate the promoters to continue to reach out to the poorest farmers. I encourage them to remember where they have come from. But they are tempted to forget. It is too painful to remember the poverty.”

David tells me how TN promoters have all become successful farmers. Now the temptation is to pursue security, forget where they have come from, and harden their hearts. David gives examples that convict.

“Some are even wanting to ride motorcycles or cars instead of mules. There is even talk of each promoter having a cell phone,” he says in dismay.

David insists that people need to remember the pain of growing up with nothing, of losing their fathers to other women or alcohol, or siblings to dysentery.

“Remembering where we’ve come from is important, Roberto. In this way we will not harden our hearts to the most broken people—those who spend their money on alcohol rather than seeds, or who are discouraged to the point of apathy.”

Last week he told us of a hope-inspiring Bible study on the man born blind in John 9. “Jesus refuses to blame the man for his misfortune. This helped us to realize we must not blame the poor or ourselves.”

We end our conversation discussing how the man’s blindness and poverty, illnesses and calamities must not be seen as punishments for sin, but rather as opportunities for Jesus to visit them and offer healing, a new opportunity, a better system of farming, an irrigation project or inclusion into a faith community. We pray for the promoters, for David, for all of us—that we would have hearts of compassion.

a day in the Family Support Center

2007-05-22T10:07:00.000-07:00

Fall 2005
Rocio Robles

There’s never a typical day in the Family Support Center. I sit down to answer letters from the prison, or write to the believers in Honduras. But then a Mixteco or Triqui family comes in needing work clothes. It’s not just the clothing—it’s breaking down barriers so we can gain their confidence. The next time they have a problem, they won’t be afraid to come.

I’ve met many families this way—especially wives of prisoners and single mothers struggling to support their children. Most are undocumented and some can’t read or write. With great humility they ask me to fill out their work applications. Others are looking for a place to live with their children. Some don’t know how to drive.

For example, Yolanda has four children and is udocumented. But that’s not a barrier to working—she can count on us to help her fill out a money order, give her a ride, or just provide a place to talk about her pain.

Some people come with traffic violations and are afraid of landing in jail and being deported. Others have immigration applications and need to know how their case is going, or need a lawyer they can trust.

Other people live alone, carrying a heavy burden of loneliness. Tierra Nueva is like an oasis, because here they have someone to tell their stories to, even though they tell the same stories again and again.

It’s so beautiful when someone opens their heart to me for the first time. Even when they repeat the same thing over and over again, I realize our mission here is to be servants.

The people are our highest priority. They always have to come first—the ones who need attention, or a ride, or come anguished, worried, sad, or alone. We offer them a safe place where they can experience the love of Christ.

forgiveness sets the captives free

2007-05-22T10:03:00.001-07:00

Fall 2005
Chris Hoke

Another captive was set free last month. Ramón was facing thirty or more years in prison at age nineteen, under four counts of rape, burglary, and kidnapping.

One Thursday night he walked into the Bible study at Skagit County Jail, where we would ask the Holy Spirit for strength to bless and forgive our enemies.

While we stood in a circle, Ramón quietly forgave and blessed the young woman who had falsely accused him, as well as the man who had murdered his brother. The following week, Ramón was unable to contain his excitement. After he had released this woman from the bondage of judgments and anger, the very next morning the prosecutor’s office received a handwritten letter in which she confessed her accusations to be lies, dropping the charges and apologizing. That night in the jail, Ramón practically led our worship. He told how that week he gave his life over to Jesus. He then initiated prayer for other inmates in our group.

Last week, he insisted I go with him to his nephew’s trial. There, beside me on the back bench, he prayed with more maturity and simple conviction of God’s power than I’ve ever seen. After his nephew was released less than an hour later, Ramón stood with his mother, sister and nephew in the parking lot, under the blue sky. Ramón looked them individually in the eye: “God is real,” he said in Spanish, nodding firmly. “He’s stronger than any judge or prosecutor.”

Blessing our enemies is a teaching we have all heard, but not one I grew up seeing practiced in any congregational setting. Maybe it’s because we see no real or immediate benefit in it—a nearly impossible command.

Here on the margins, we are learning to trust the power of Jesus’ call to forgive and bless our enemies. Forgiving love breaks the chains that shackle us to our enemies.