zach, a man of joy!

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

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

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

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!

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

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?

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?

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