Loser

At Wings of Hope, a residential school for special needs children just outside Haiti’s capital, communication comes in creative forms. Sometimes, trust is expressed through the grabbing of a hand without any introductory words. Sometimes, joy is expressed only through guitars and drums and song. Sometimes, children speak three languages (Creole, French, English) yet that child only moves via a wheelchair. 

These diverse efforts at communicating left great impacts on our group of Trinity students spending our J-term moving across Haiti. Such was the case for me, as I sat on a bunk bed next to a stranger. Like others, he spends his days, weeks, and years in a chair. His spirit, however, was wildly excited in the presence of new visitors. 

I asked him what his name was, and syllable by syllable he worked to pronounce it for me. I struggled to hear it, and so he took his index finger and thumb, made the shape of an “L,” and planted it on his forehead. 

Confused, I looked for help. “That’s Lazar,” his neighbor told me. “That’s Lazarus.”

We gathered in Haiti looking for places where God could turn our American identity, where the kingdom of the self is champion, and turn that upside down to be a part of God’s kingdom reigning in the world. We gathered in Haiti as the sick on the doorstep, looking to hear and see the message of Jesus proclaimed in a life-giving way.

Here was a man who expressed his identity with an L on his forehead; Americans would see this as “Loser,” but at Wings of Hope, he was Lazar, named for the beloved friend of Jesus. His notion of identity had been changed by a Christian community who had continually loved him regardless of the reasons that had caused others to reject him.  

J-Term in Haiti allowed us a two-week look of what life would be like when a different story was at our center, where hope and love win—into the world of Lazar, where human life is given dignity instead of shame or death. Haiti and the children at Wings of Hope gave clarity to the message of Jesus that is defined as good news; Sunday morning worship at Wings is filled with untamed laughter and dance. This is the story of resurrection changing lives in the now. 

Lazar was at the center of that joy; when I realized he was using sign language to express his name, he was so excited that his wheelchair physically shook with laughter. It was a moment where the world flipped for me; what we identify as a symbol for loser became absolutely beautiful. I’m grateful for Lazar, for his new and right spirit. Like the other Wings children, his joy is contagious and reminds us of the simple yet life-giving good news that the Gospel brings. 

May we all learn to shine like Lazar.