Windshield wipers slap across the front of the van as our driver navigates choppy roads where his skill in maneuvering through mud is challenged by deep ruts caused by trucks hauling sugar cane. Deep in the sugar cane fields that provide the major industry for the Dominican Republic, our day’s mission is to learn about the work of Esperanza International, an organization that works to free families from poverty by providing small business loans, training, and guidance for villagers. These holistic, Christ-centere d financial and educational services equip families to flourish by offering hope and a hand up, instead of a hand out.

Enrique, our guide, sits beside me. Seemingly unaware that the vehicle is stuck in the mud, he explains to me that we are headed into a batay, or base camp - a small cluster of buildings provided by the sugar cane companies to shelter the field hands and their families. Our van finally pulls free from the rut and we slide back onto the road.

“The sugar companies allow us to come into the batays and provide business loans to their Haitian workers,” Enrique explains. “Living conditions here are rough, but better than they would have in Haiti.”

The poor in the D.R. parallel the poor in Christ’s Palestine

I am reminded of what I learned when doing research for my seminary degree: Haiti is one of the poorest countries in the world, and the poverty we will see in the batay is close to the level of poverty Christ would have experienced in first-century Palestine. To me, understanding can be reaped from putting scripture in cultural context. When Christ talked of helping the poor and the hungry, these conditions are what he was talking about.

The clouds break as we stop next to a set of cinderblock buildings with chipped paint. A donkey, tied to a tree, looks at us blankly. The jawbone of one of his ancestors rests in the dirt next to his hoof, probably the product of a tug-of-war between the pack of dogs that wander through the batay.

We approach a store that sits in the center of this tiny village. It is a small closet in a cinderblock building, with a window that opens to a concrete porch shaded by a tin roof. A woman dressed in an old, torn tee shirt, shorts and flip-flops, sees us coming and jumps to clean the white plastic chairs crowding the porch. She enlists the help of some children nearby who cheerfully oblige and help dust off the remaining seats.

Once the chairs are clean, our host welcomes us and invites us to sit down. The scene reminds me of my own childhood home, years ago, where my school teacher mother got us to help prepare for guests. The old rules of hospitality, it seems to me, are universal across space and time.

Once our group is seated under the tin roof, we see that only a few of the locals have begun to gather. Enrique has advised us that people here are on “Dominican Republic time” and will appear eventually.

As we wait, the shopkeeper sings a song of praise in Creole that our interpreter translates: “this is my house and with God’s help, no devil can enter here.” I wonder what grim experiences might have inspired this woman’s choice of tune. Her singing calls others to join us in the shade with joyful clapping and singing.

A mix of scripture, health, and money

A scripture reading from the Esperanza loan officer is followed by his brief sermon. Then the Esperanza education coordinator explains the dangers of fatal mosquito-born dengue disease as flies and mosquitoes buzz all around us in the thick, hot air. My long-sleeved cotton sweater sticks to the skin on my arms. I tug at the bottom of my pants legs and tops of my socks, then quietly reach inside my backpack to retrieve a bug repellant bracelet I happened to pick up at a drugstore in Dallas before the trip. The chemical smell helps drive away the bugs.

Unlike life back home, motherhood fits seamlessly into the business meeting here. A baby starts to whimper and is quickly quieted with her mother’s breast. A toddler sits on a mother’s lap, entertained by a cell phone pulled from the mother’s pocket. Another child wears a dirty jumper with an applique of Disney’s character, Eeyore, sewn into the front. I wonder if, for her, Eeyore is a picture of the donkey that stands tied to the tree behind us rather than the character in Winnie-the-Pooh.

As I contemplate the scene, a raucous, angry dogfight breaks out just behind my chair. My spine stiffens instinctively at the sounds of snarling and snapping, but the Esperanza staff and the residents take no notice.

With smiles and good cheer, the associates pay their debt to the loan officer and share their stories with us. One woman fixes flat tires on the motorcycles her neighbors use for work. Her first loan from Esperanza was used to buy supplies.

Another man had been using his motorcycle to operate a delivery business, until he had an accident that broke his arm. Unable to drive his motorcycle one-handed, his business cannot operate for now. Without disability or health insurance, he is working in the sugar cane fields to earn the money to pay back his loan and will start his business again when he is fully healed.

As in all businesses, balancing family and life events comes with some challenges. In our culture, small business is supported by insurance, formal education, mentoring, and available capital. All provide a buffer from consequences. In the batay, however, the people rely solely on God, Esperanza, and their community. It is the only safety net they have.

When we read the Bible, we may want to be reminded that life in this village may a modern-day equivalent to the lives of the crowds who followed Christ in first-century Palestine.

For all of us who call ourselves Christians, the biggest question we must ask on a daily basis is, “how can we love our neighbors?” The way of Esperanza International, and those of us who ventured to the Dominican Republic with HPUMC’s Microfinance program, is to offer a mix of spiritual, health, and small loan support – conscious capitalism which gives people a hand up out of poverty.