God of the Marvelous City (Brianna Morgan)

(taken from the top of Morro dos Macacos)

The two weeks I spent with Sombra Road in Rio de Janeiro were so impactful to me. I can’t say that I have ever had a heart for Brasil until recently. However, after spending some time there, my heart beats to a new drum – one that leaves me aching and praying for the beautiful people of Brasil. I was able to catch a glimpse of what it would be like to live in Rio, hang out with kids in the favela, go on some beautiful hikes, spend time with the kids at Reame, try exotic fruits, and stay with a Brazilian family for a few nights.

Of all the amazing experiences I had, the last day I spent in the favela (Morro dos Macacos) left the biggest impression upon me. Six teenage boys in Jason and Jeremy’s afternoon class took us to the top of the favela. It was quite a trek to the top, and the song "The God of This City" played in my head the entire climb. It felt like we were climbing stairs for years, weaving in and out of little alleys between the homes. The further up we walked, the poorer the homes were. Some were just cardboard and trash nailed together to form walls. The people who live at the top have to walk those stairs anytime they need anything (there are no roads for cars at the top). Some even have to carry water up because they do not have access to such.

When we got to the top of the hill, there was a little pasture with a large cross off to one side. The pasture overlooked the enormous city of Rio de Janeiro. As we made our way towards the cross, there were about 10 young men with guns overlooking the other side of the hill, to make sure that drug dealers from the rival gang were not trying to invade. They didn’t really seem to care that we were up there so we just kept walking.

When we got to the cross there was a man, about the age of twenty, sitting by it, gun in hand. He was very friendly and started talking to us. He ended up telling us that he had been shot five times in his life and pointed to each scar. At that point, Jason said something along the lines of, “God has spared your life for a reason.” After that we ended up praying with him. We stood in a circle, holding hands on the top of that favela, praying to the God of the universe. And the lyrics of that song played in my head, “Greater things have yet to come, and greater things are still to be done in this city.”


God is the God of the people of Morro dos Macacos, whether they know it or not. He created each of them, fashioned their hearts individually (Psalm 33:15), and longs to give them the full life that He died to give. The drug dealers, the prostitutes, the kids who are stuck growing up there. It's encouraging to remember that God isn't finished yet - greater things are left to be done in that city. There is a Hope for the seemingly hopeless.

Acts 17:26- 28 “And He has made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on all the face of the earth and has determined their preappointed times and the boundaries of their dwellings, so that they should seek the Lord, in the hope that they might grope for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us; for in Him with live and move and have our being…”

A Contagious Fear (Jeremy)

(Marcos Paulo, Ronnie and Jefferson)

Whenever the United States loses to Brazil in anything, my Brazilian friends make sure that I know all about it. So, when Rio was granted the 2016 Olympics over Chicago and other contenders, I expected the typical harassment. But, it never came. Instead, concerns about the city’s violence seemed to eclipse any type of celebration – especially in the wake of the events of October 17th. On this day, rival gangs went to war with one another for control of the favela in which we work (Morro dos Macacos). The situation escalated when a police helicopter was shot down, resulting in two police casualties. For the rest of the day, the people of Rio were glued to their televisions, watching in dismay as gang members commandeered eight public buses and set fire to them. By day’s end, the death toll was at 22.

Jefferson, one of our students from the favela, spent most of that morning locked in his house with his mom and two sisters. I use the term house very loosely in his case. It is actually more of a basement – the basement of his grandmother’s three room, bare cinder block house. His mom moved into it following her divorce from Jefferson’s father. She is a remarkable lady marked by a sincere love for both the Lord and her kids. Jefferson bears a lot of resemblance to her in this – at least the love for the Lord part. He became a Christian a few years ago through the work of a local Christian leader in the community. At 14, Jason comments that he is surprisingly mature, characterized by a unique awareness of sin and a proper remorse for it. In our Friday afternoon soccer classes, he has emerged as a key leader – stoic yet influential.

Much like most residents of Morro do Macaco, Jefferson has experienced fallout from October 17th. Days after the incident, police invaded his home looking for gang members. They questioned him about his family, asked him if he was hiding anyone and interrogated him about his personal life. He claims that if his neighbor and cousin had not been there, the police would have hit him in an effort to scare information out of him. The sad thing about this episode is the fear that it engenders. Right now, it seems contagious in the Morro, and those that are not involved seem most impacted by it. We ask for your prayers for Jefferson, our other kids and the Morro. We are hopeful in One whose perfect love drives out such fears.

Picked Last (Jason)

In third grade, Nick was always the one to pick teams for kickball. He was the best. No one ever got him out. He had the ability to turn himself into a “U” to avoid a screaming, red, rubber ball as he rounded first headed for home. Had Nick not been captain, he would have been picked first. I, a very late bloomer, was always picked last. I hated the process for picking teams for kickball. Not being a good student either, it was just another arena in which to suffer. Many years later, after high school, I came into my own athletically. I excelled at certain sports and this slowly became my identity. In my mind, I was Jason, the athlete. So, when a group of kids threatened this image I became terribly insecure.

Tuesday afternoon soccer class had low attendance. So, with only a few kids, I played (which I do not usually do) so that we could have sufficient numbers. We divided teams. After teams are divided comes the process of picking a goalie. As is customary, we number ourselves and have someone neutral pick a number at random. There is no one neutral besides Jeremy. So, we number ourselves (Jason-1, Elbom-2, Cascao-3, Andre-4). Jeremy picks …3. Phew! I dodged that bullet, I think. I don’t have to be goalie. However, before I can even relish in the though of not having to play the whole game in the goal, the other three guys on my team point to me and yell “three”.

It was not that I did not want to be goalie so much as the way that the boys went about “telling” me they wanted me to be goalie. My feelings were really hurt. My ego was threatened. I wanted to lash out. I wanted to punch Cascao, number 3. I wanted to quite working with undeserving wretches and pack up to come home.

I recognize that this is all incredibly juvenile. I should inform the reader that I am not going to quit. I no longer want to hit Cascao. In fact I believe that I have grown in several ways through this experience. First, I hope that God will heal me from my ego. Also, I realize that my savior was mistreated in ways that Mel Gibson and I will never understand. Had he not suffered I would have given up a long time ago. His suffering gives me endurance. Finally, I know that God loves these kids more than I do and it is my hope that God will love these kids through me. Please pray with us that God would use us to be a conduit of God’s love and grace to these kids.

Ailton's Story (Jeremy)

Sometimes I think about the movie Teen Wolf. I think about Scott - his affable nature and aptitude to lead and how all of this goes unrecognized by his peers, except, of course, for Boof. Then, everything changes when he transforms into a werewolf that plays basketball. Suddenly, he’s popular - setting dance trends and surfing on top of a van. I’d like to believe that’s real. I’d like to believe that a gymnasium full of high school students could first embrace a werewolf as one of their own and later celebrate him when he chooses to shed his fur in the championship game. I’d like to think that man possesses some innate goodness that we find in these films. But, stories like Ailton’s challenge any notion of that.

Ailton began doing Bible studies and soccer class with us at the beginning of the year. From the outset, we perceived that he is somewhat of a social pariah – even though I cannot tell you why. He’s a good-looking, 17 year-old guy with average intelligence and a genuine likeability. He’s not obnoxious or aggressive – just shy. And yet, everyone seems to revel in picking on him. Younger kids call him names; the older ones try to start fights with him. Jason and I discipline such behavior, but it seems to extend well beyond our class. I’ve tried to connect the dots with some character flaw or socially awkward trait. It’s just not there. The story takes an even sadder turn when you learn that his father was a security guard that was killed in Ailton’s infancy when he attempted to prevent a robbery. I’ve given up waiting for the formulaic 80’s movie clap from his peers that seems to right all wrongs.

Instead, I’m banking on God’s ability to reveal His goodness through broken people and committed discipleship. This is where Ailton’s story takes a turn for good. Jason has started meeting with Ailton individually. They discuss his life, his plans and his relationship with Jesus. Ailton is a believer and learning what it means to be one at the same time. We set up a work/study program in which he is apprenticing a local construction worker in the favella. This translates into a much needed sense of purpose and responsibility. Sure, this is no John Hughes picture. But, there is potential here for much more than that.

Recycled (Jason)

Pierced, half sunken in stagnant rainwater, and covered in green algae is where Jeremy and I found our soccer ball one afternoon as we were leaving Morro dos Macacos (Monkey Hill). It's disappearance was our fault really. We loaned it to David and Darciso, who we know well and trust, while we conducted soccer practice one Tuesday, weeks before. The problem was that we failed to appoint one of them responsible for the ball. When we broke for water, David and Darciso left the ball where it lay, helpless. Of course, it disappeared. I never thought that we would see that ball again, but it's funny how things have a way of resurfacing.

The favela is like the sea. An object that sits too long on the shore will evenutally be grabbed by the thieving fingers of the waves. Once this happens, the object is consumed and digested by the relentless pounding. When the sea is finished with that object, she spits it out. That's what happened to our soccer ball. While David and Darciso were distracted, the ball was taken by thieving hands and subsequently consumed and digested by the monster that is the Morro (or "hill", as the favela is so affectionately called). Once the Morro had finished with our ball, it resurfaced.

The kids that we work with are not immune to this process. Any kid who lives in the Morro long enough knows the consequences. We have seen to often kids who disappear from our Bible study or soccer practice for weeks, months or years only to resurface, now mangled by the effects of sin. Some resurface after being sexually abused by mom's new boyfriend. Others resurface with a kid and still others with an addiction. Still, some don't make it out alive. The mortality rate among young men who live in the favelas is equal to war zones due to drug trafficking.

Despite all that we are up against, we have a hope that is stronger than the thieving forces that suck kids into lives of sin and we have a hope that can renew even those who have been digested. This is why we continue our efforts in the Morro. We hope that by the power of the gospel we may rescue some before they are overtaken and chewed up by the powers of sin and, that by this same power, we may bring healing to those that have. Join with us as we pray against the forces that confront our kids.

Me Chamo Adilio (Adilio Hilario)

My name is Adílio. I am 21 years old and am from the Northeast of Brazil where the poorest of Brazil’s population live. My city has less than 7,000 habitants and is deprived of the financial resources that could increase the standard of living of the population.

I became a Christian four years ago after I was in a tragic accident. I discovered that God must be sovereign in my life. However, I knew the decision to follow would be very difficult. My family is tied to Catholicism and I have a poor relationship with my father. All the same, I resolved to follow God in the midst of all the difficulties. After 3 years of being a Christian, I felt called to study at the Bethel Theological Seminary in Rio de Janeiro. This became a torment for my family. Aside from the fact that my parents are hostile to my decision to convert to evangelicalism and to my decision to study in an evangelical seminary, my parents believe Rio to be too violent. Another challenge that I faced was the decision to leave my home to live at the Sombra Road House with Jeremy, whom I had never met. However, God was guiding me.

Today I am in Rio de Janeiro doing a course on missions. It is my hope that I may serve as a missionary after graduation.

I have flourished here in Rio mainly due to someone who has brought a great Christian influence and new perspectives to my life. Without a doubt, he has been a conduit of the blessing of God in my life. He has assumed the role of a leader in my life...his name is Jeremy and he is a part of Sombra Road.

*Adilio has been living with Jeremy and Claudinho at the Sombra Road House since earlier this year.

Lost in Translation (Jeremy)

There is a game that our kids like to play called bafo (translation breath). Each player throws in these special superhero cards, which are gathered into a deck and placed face down. Then, the kids take turns slapping the deck in order to flip over as many cards possible. The cards that are flipped become his. Among kids in the favela, a large stack of cards is somewhat of a status symbol. As I was climbing the hill the other morning, I passed Ueverson, a twelve year old student from our Friday afternoon soccer class, walking with a friend to school. I noticed the 20 or so cards that he carried in his hand - a respectable amount.

“Looks like you’re good at that game,” said I, pointing down to his stack of cards.

He looked back at me with the wrinkled eyebrow of confusion that I have seen all too often here in Brazil. I should have cut my losses in this conversation and moved quickly to goodbye. Instead, I pursued.

“You know who else is good at that game?” I asked, remembering the kid from his class that needed two hands to carry his spoils.

“Jesus?” he timidly replied.

“I was thinking Carlos Eduardo, but I guess that works too. Well, I’ll talk to you later on this afternoon.” I consoled myself with the thought that at least he was getting something from our class.

In all seriousness, Ueverson is an impressive kid. Besides a knack for scoring goals on Jason, he is marked by a sincerity that is rare among our group. He tells it how he sees it. That is why when he got baptized two weeks ago, I was really touched. He made a commitment based on understanding, not merely out of compulsion or emotion. God has saved him, and I ask that you would come alongside of us in praying for the first steps of His relationship with God.

Later that Friday afternoon, I did revisit the conversation that we had had regarding the cards. I tried to clarify my question from that morning.

“Ohh,” he responded with a look of enlightenment. “I thought you were asking me who was the best soccer player.”

“And you answered Jesus?!?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

Suddenly, I was the one giving the confused eyebrow look.