fishers of men

***This is not a lovely blog. Don’t read if you’re in a festive mood ☺… and please read before allowing your children to do so.***

Ever since the first day our students at Emmaus Biblical Seminary realized that our new seminary location was close to the water, they have been joking and dreaming of the “EBS Beach.”

So, when one of our visitors asked on Sunday about how you could reach the ocean, we set out on a hike that ended up to be almost 45 minutes with a friend from Saccanville to find the “beach.”

After walking through many small villages who were deeply interested in the “ti-blanc”, or “small foreigner” that we had with us, we arrived at a muddy and rocky beach.

Walking up to the ocean was as much like stepping into the Bible as I have ever experienced. On the muddy shore were small fires with cooling pots of tar on them. Nets and colorful patches of homemade sails covered the shore, rough wooden oars piled nearby.

Several boats were on shore, a few tiny ones tied further out, and one larger boat tied down in the middle. I could just SEE Jesus standing on the deck, hands lifted and shouting out the Good News to those on shore, to ME.

I could hear Him say to the men working around me, “Leave your nets and follow Me! I will make you fishers of men!”

What strong images!…I had goosebumps!
But the men around us quickly made it clear that this port was NOT for preaching. A few tiny boats were used for fishing, yes, but most of the boats are used for illegally smuggling Haitians into surrounding countries.

“That boat and that boat,” a man with almost blue skin because he was so darkened by the sun said, “Those take people to Turks and Cacaos. That boat will take you around to the Dominican.”

“But the big one, that one will take you to Miami.”

I looked at the boat again. It didn’t look like it could make it to the open sea, much less Miami. It looked like it could carry maybe 10 people comfortably for a day or 2.

“Miami?” I said. “The United States?”

“YES” he said proudly. “Illegal. I will take people to America. But it is illegal, understand?”

“How many people?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer and trying to keep up with translating for our visitors.

“Oh, 100, 150.”

“ONE HUNDRED FIFTY PEOPLE?” I asked horrified. “On THAT boat? To Miami?”

“Yes!” he said proudly again. “It has done the trip two times now. Two thousand dollars Haitian. Please tell your friends!”

I quickly did the math: $250 US.

“Seventy five people below, 75 on top. They are like this,” he said, holding up his hand with his weathered fingers glued tightly together. “No one can sit, no one can move, no one can lie down. They just stand like this for the voyage.”

I began to feel sick. “How long does that TAKE?”

“Oh, 10 days. Two weeks. Depends on the wind.”

He continued to not look shocked. I continued to feel like I was going to be sick.

“So, for two weeks, 150 people pack on that rickety boat, most of them underneath the boat, tossed by the waves, unable to sit, for $250 a person?”

“Yes. And too, remember that several people usually die, because not everyone has 2 weeks worth of food, or because of disease…so then there is more space as the voyage continues!”

I began to involuntarily picture what that must be like. I pictured the extreme heat, the darkness, being pitched from side to side, packed tightly with other humans, standing in a few rising inches of salty water. I pictured people vomiting with sea-sickness, the smell of urine and vomit and sweat. I thought of people starving, fighting over bread. Thought of sickness spreading. Suffocating below deck in the heat.. Thought of people dying while they stand, while they wait, and being pulled out from the crowd and thrown over.

I looked at that creaky, tiny boat and thought of the passengers and their huge sacrifice of $250 US. I thought of their knowledge that there was good chance the boat would never make it. The good chance that they would drown. The good chance that even if by some miracle that they made it, that the coast guard would turn them back.

The word “hell” just kept passing through my mind, and I tried to imagine for what cause I would voluntarily pay for 24/7, 14 days of HELL.

Why do people do it?

TO GO TO AMERICA. To be where I quite easily spent my whole life. Where many people are quite miserable.

As we walked home, the darkness descended and rain began to fall. We were all silent as we quickly walked through the cool drops, thinking…thinking.

Please continue to pray for our family, our brothers and sisters in Haiti, in the States and around the world who put their hope, their very lives, in that which does not offer Life.

Pray for us and we ARE praying for you, that we might cast off all that hinders and cling to, value and share ONLY Him.