The Upper Room

The cool night air sweeps in through the open door as a small group of believers gather in the upper room. They have grown accustomed to drawing attention to themselves as some of the only Gringos living in that small coastal town; here, however, their presence is inconspicuous. For the first time in two months, they find themselves lost in crowds of people who look like them, some who even talk like them, in an oasis of a city known as "El Jerusalen de Guatemala". They weave in and out of cafes and gift shops, their comings and goings completely unaccounted for. Somewhere in this freedom, the looming independence which awaits them in their respective homes feels more and more unsettling after living in community for such a long time. And so they come together, their faces weary and anxious, and assemble once more into a circle. Cars whisk past on the cobblestone roads outside, and the faint ting of Spanish bounces off the rustic tin roofs, but the believers' voices, wavering and small at first, rise with the strums of the acoustic guitar. 

In that moment I felt God wanting to pull our team into an intimate time of remembrance and reflection, not only on what He has done during our time here in Guatemala, but also on what He has done throughout the course of our lives and eternity. So there, sitting in the upper room, our group gave thanks and remembered as the disciples did so long ago (granted, we used Crema cookies and water, but the sentiments were still there). We remembered hearing a still, small voice calling us by name and beckoning, "Follow me." We remembered dropping everything–our comforts, our families, our future plans, even our identities–to embark on the crazy adventure of pursuing Jesus. We remembered times of fruition, times of trial, and times of stillness.

But there is a sad, beautiful cruelty to the act of remembrance, because it implies that something has passed. What I love about Jesus is that he not only calls us to remember him; he calls us to walk and laugh and cry and talk with him. He promises us that he will be with us always and all ways. No matter how long we have been on this adventure, he is still calling us by name daily to take up our crosses and follow his call. Many of us are realizing only now how much more we have lost in that process than we initially bargained for. But we are also finding so much more than we ever thought possible. We are finding a life that is not our own; a life that, yeah, is gritty and terrifying and insane, but also so filled with purpose and promise. Unlike the disciples, however, we are not walking this path blindly (although many times it feels like we are). We know the end to this story. We have the keys to the kingdom. And we find peace in the promise that even though our time together may be coming a close, our adventure is far from over.