In WMF Bolivia's case, they serve among women in prostitution. They have developed a refuge called La Casa Esperanza (House of Hope) for women to come and have free lunches and teas, purchase clothes for almost no cost, take trade-skill classes, and just be in a loving, trustworthy community. There is no judgement from the workers at the Casa. They show these women pure love. They feed them, clothe them, teach them, and love them the way I think Jesus would have done in his day. A majority of these women (who do this as a legitimate job, by the way; prostitution is legal in Bolivia) feel they have no way out. They have children, some of them have husbands, and all of them have the will to survive--by whatever means they can. This is a way of life for them. Fortunately, WMF workers come alongside them, befriend them, and then try to help them find a better way.
WMF has been intensely discipling and working with a small group of women over several months. They have been "out of the scene" for a while now and have started a small business of making purses. (The exciting news is that they will be sold at the Passion '11 conference in Atlanta! If you go, make sure to check out their booth!) Not only have they found a new way of life in a career, they have found a new life in Christ. I know the latter life-change has made the biggest impact on these women, but I am also so grateful that WMF seeks to meet the physical needs of people, not only their spiritual needs.
As I shook hands and gave "besitos" to these women the night I went to the red-light district, my heart broke--from hard-heartedness to compassion, from pride to humility. Perhaps the hardest to swallow, though, were the swarms of men in the brothels. My stomach churned, my heart pounded with fury, and my jaw was locked tight as I looked in the faces of men who take advantage of these women--men who pay the equivalent of $1 for sex. If I can be honest, I really wanted to see to it that each one be castrated. But, as my friend explained, they are just as broken as the women. Just as broken as you and me. Rather than reveal their brokenness in the cyclical shame of the abused, they are the abusers. God is still trying to teach me to show grace. In the meantime, I have this convicting passage from The Message to reflect on:
"It's easy to see a smudge on your neighbor's face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, 'Let me wash your face for you,' when your own face is distorted by contempt? It's this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor." (from Matthew 7)
We're all broken. The women in the brothels are the same as me. And yes, at the core, the men who visit them are the same as me. How quickly I create my own caste system and put myself at the top. How easily I forget that, no matter what our social or economic status, we all have an indescribably deep need for Love, and will pursue whatever route we think will take us there.
I hope to share Love and Hope with the women in the brothels. But I know for sure another reason that I will go again: to learn an in-your-face lesson of humility. God, help me wipe the sneer off my own face before offering a washcloth to anyone else.
