Faith amidst filth: meeting Edgar Ramiro

After Mass tonight, we walked through the streets of San Salvador — past the markets, beyond the hustle of the city, to the outskirts of town. We scurried quickly until we were out of the crowded streets to a place that felt deserted. The poverty changed when we moved out of the capitol square. The winding side street revealed the markets and houses filled with people that were struggling to get by. With our large group, light complexion and towering height, it was clear we were foreign to them; but how foreign their culture and way of life was to me. With us, we carried sandwiches, a cooler of drinks and tub of desserts. Where were we headed? To a bridge to meet and feed the street kids that lived underneath.

When we showed up, I was surprised to find there were no children, but simply called that because most have been there since kids. They grew up under that bridge. Carlitos has been there since 11 — he is now 26. The piled-up furniture, cars, boxes, and junk that made up their home was crushing. They were covered in filth and laying on old mattresses and cardboard boxes. There were only four there that evening, a low number according to the mission staff, and most of them were strung out from sniffing glue, the cheapest way to get a high.

But as we approached, I immediately noticed one man reading a Bible. The smallest Bible, with corners tagged and worn from dirty fingers running through it. Soon, I got to sit next to this man, give him food and learn that his name was Edgar Ramiro. He was proud of his name. He rattled it off very directly and loudly. He knew who he was, and whose he was. There were two more parts of his name that I never caught, but the pride beamed out as he looked me in the eye and shared it. He shared more with me too. I learned that Edgar went to school through the 5th or 6th grade then quit, as do most children in El Salvador, to work and provide for his mother and brother. Later in life, he joined the army and was active for six years and then became a shoemaker upon exit. He had lived a good life. Now, his legs fail him. He is unable to walk. He can’t feel his feet/legs from his calves down. Unable to provide for himself, he ended up homeless and here in front of me.

The more I talked to Edgar, the more emotional he became. His eyes welled up with tears as he told me he was so grateful I came to visit him and took the time to feed him. As some of the others in our group learned about his legs, we prayed over him. This man desperately wanted to walk and a different life. He didn’t belong here. After praying together, he shared with us what he learned from the book of Psalms he held dearly: not to be discouraged but to lean on the Lord and trust that God will not desert him.

Edgar was dirty from head to toe and was laying in filth and cardboard boxes. He couldn’t walk, had no profession and no possessions, but he had a Bible and he never stopped believing. I feel guilty that I live in a privileged society with incredible medical care and wealth, yet we lack faith. Our country is so spiritually deserted; yet Edgar, who has nothing, understands the true meaning of faith and hasn’t given up hope. Oh, how our society could use a dose of the pain and poverty he has experienced to sober our greed.

A shoemaker by trade, he could no longer walk, had ratted shoes and no socks; the irony was suffocating the longer I sat there with him. As our group began to pack up, I felt compelled to give him the only thing I physically could: my socks and shoes. But after rationalizing that I didn’t have any other shoes for the week and wasn’t sure how I would be able to serve, I landed on just my socks. How I now wish I would have just given the shoes, too. I’m sure I could have figured something out; he had no other way. But as I took off my socks that were ripe from walking around all day, it was humbling. He was so appreciative to receive such a simple gesture, something so basic that we take for granted. As we grasped hands, I felt so much respect for this man who had nothing but yet managed to have something I desired: hope and trust.

Lord, I pray for Edgar tonight. I pray you heal his body and physical wounds, but mostly, I just want him to know he is loved and not forgotten. Please let me never forget him. As I move forward, Lord, I pray for a continual opening of my heart for what you want me to see and experience this trip; for whatever lies ahead as the next part of the journey. Continually allow me to be open to your plan, your Word. I know that is the way to the truest joy that is deeper than I could imagine. Help me to run to spread the gospel along the way and allow me to find the hope and trust in you that Edgar helped teach me tonight.

Let me be your hands and feet, Lord. Let me serve you.

All glory to God, now and forever.