Almost two weeks ago, I learned that Dr. Emilio Antonio Nuñez, had passed away. If you are not familiar with the name, Dr. Nuñez was a Salvadorian theologian and pastor. He was a pioneer and a key influence in the development of Evangelical theology in Latin America. Born in 1923, he dedicated his life to ministry as a professor, pastor, and writer.
It was not long before a series of posts and comments began pouring through social media. It was obvious he had made a profound impact on his students and the different congregations where he had preached. It was also the first time that I read about all his work. Looking at all those different achievements summarized in different ways, I realized what an important man for his generation he had been. Because, I had no idea. I guess I sort of knew he was like a big deal, but I really did not know.
I have yet to read one of the books he wrote. I never took any of his
classes. I may have heard one of his lectures at some point, not sure.
So, my experience with him comes from a different place. I probably first met him as an infant, because my parents had attended SETECA (Central America Theological Seminary) in Guatemala, which he helped found, later becoming the president and afterward a professor. I remember visiting el viejito, as mom liked to call him, and his first wife, doña Sarita, on numerous occasions as a little girl. Later, I remember running into him at the hallway in SETECA, where mom worked. Our encounters were mostly brief, usually a simple exchange, where I would say, "Don Emilio." "Rebe," he would respond. Sometimes we would hug. Mostly we just nodded at each other.
As brief and fleeting most of those times were, I remember very vividly the day he told me about how he got married. I must have been thirteen or fourteen. He had this pragmatic and matter of fact way of telling the story, and I don't remember all the details, perhaps because I was trying so hard to conceal the fact that my mouth was wide open. He was twenty; she was thirty, and she pretty much proposed. (What?) And just when I thought this viejito had shattered all my stereotypes, he went on to talk about how she was always ready to clip the wings of his ministry pride, at which point she chuckled - she was sitting right next to him, holding his hand, all that time.
When I graduated from high school, I got a gift from them. When I first opened it, I must confess I felt a little disappointed. It was a Bible. I loved them, and I was grateful they had thought about me on this joyous occasion, but someone needed to update them on coolness. It had a dedication, and together with the "congratulations...best wishes," it just read Psalm 37:3,4. So, I looked it up, and the words just blew me away. "Trust in the Lord... Delight yourself in the Lord." This had been a time when people had either praised my parents for their great work or me for my hard work. And there was this man, cutting to the chase. The heart of the matter is always a matter of the heart. Subtly and quietly, I got one of the most powerful invitations of my life. I am thirty-four. That has been the Bible I have used half of my life.
After his wife passed away, he came to eat lunch to our house very often. I wasn't around much, because I was away for college, but in one of those visits, he inadvertently made another powerful invitation. He was sharing how he loved learning about Latin American culture, how he made a point of every year reading the new and most read authors in the continent, so he could keep up with what was happening, what people were thinking. I could see this man did not just happen to live in Latin America; he lived Latin America. And that made a dent in my heart at a season when I was starting to see our culture's broken raw beauty. He invited me to love this land and ache for it.
But the Requiem of this friendship is that as I look back at the times of my life where he left a mark, I realize I was not part of his central ministry. I was not a student. I was not a professor. I was not a colleague. I was not even an adult. He had no reason to give me the time of day. I was one of the least of these for him. I think, in the end, his lauded wisdom and intellect sprung out of a quiet life of true love for Christ and for those around him - even those who wouldn't read his work; specially those who wouldn't read his work. So, my friend invites me once again to yet another challenge. As I look at myself busy with ministry that seems to be ever so important and pressing, as I strive to fulfill this calling and serve my generation, I am challenged to live life as an open invitation... and to give the time of day to those around me - especially the ones who don't know (and couldn't care less) about who the heck I am.
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