Real Life and Faith: Mexico…Sunday

Sabbath...at least for us. Americans lived for one whole day without electronic distraction, the ability to go anywhere by car, or work at our chores or jobs. We sat and talked, played with village children. A few of the kids were invited into a home to watch Mexico play World Cup soccer. Our kids took note of the hospitality. Strangers were welcomed without question. Family members got up out of their seats and gave honored placed to their guests. As I listened to them talk about their experience, I was humbled when I thought about the language that swirls around immigrants here. We label them other, we assign the worst motivations and behaviors, we assume they are out to hurt us and ours in variety of ways...physically, economically, culturally. We must admit, if a bus full of strangers pulled up into our neighborhood, even if planned, we would not be likely to invite the strangers in, even if we knew they would be there for a reason.

We are the first Americans in this village, outside of one person who visited the village in preparation for our trip. I find myself hoping they never watch some of the reporting on immigrants that comes out of America. I find myself, on this issue, mightily glad they speak Tzeltal and will hopefully never be able to fully understand the negative nuance of an American broadcast.

Worship was two hours, we didn't understand the language except at brief points during the service when instructions or the sermon were translated. The kids expressed surprise at themselves that they weren’t bored after an hour. It wasn't spirited worship. These Protestant worshippers would make our stereotypical picture of John Calvin proud. They are stoic. No smiles. No movement. No apparent joy. Some great (and loud!) Mexican music, hymn tunes we recognized, ones we did not. Everyone sings. They bring their own Bibles and song books to worship. No one sits out because they can't carry a tune or don't sing well. They open their mouths and out pours music. We didn't even slow them down. But little could be identified as boredom-busting.

I wondered what it is that creates the boredom at home. We had no other options here...well I guess we could have sat and looked at the mountains or read a book. But we chose to be with the people. We did not have distractions flitting through our brains, the people we could be with, the Facebook feed we could be checking, the chores that needed to accomplish. We seemed simply in the moment. Perhaps the fact that we weren't waiting for the next thing eliminated the boredom.

The people of the village seemed to have an ability to live in the moment. They certainly had chores to be done. Those were for a different moment. Some had worked early to prepare soup and tortillas for us and the visiting elders and pastor for after worship. When worship was finished, they set the table and served the meal. There was no rush, no worry about what things looked like or whether we would be impressed. Meal was gift, hospitality, offering. Community was blessing.

Others sat with friends and family. You eat in shifts in Mexico. People watch, but don't covet. Their turn comes. All are fed. The soup was simple, a slightly spicy broth with greens and one small piece of chicken or beef. Tortillas. And it was enough. More than enough. We were filled.

Another observation around the meal. As we waited for worship after breakfast, we saw the chickens caught, scalded, plucked, and cooked. Corn is soaked overnight, ground into paste, shaped into tortillas then cooked over a wood fire. Dishes are washed on a table and flat rock. (Pics at the bottom.) The food scrap goes down the hill where it becomes feast for chickens. Clothes are washed on this rock. I would be challenged to survive. From growing food in the nooks and crannies of the village to knowing how to build the fire, I would need to be taught. Our health and welfare depended on the hospitality of these strangers. It simply begs the question, why do we, who have so much, show so little hospitality. (And I'm not talking about "having parties" hospitality, I'm talking about "inviting people into our lives" hospitality.) Why are we afraid we have something to lose if others gain? From questions of living wage to immigration, that seems to be a sticking point…the assumption there is not enough to go around and that we must have more than we need to be secure.

I've been reading a book this week on community. Peter Block's premise is that until and unless we rebuild our community--local, state, national--we won't solve the problems that plague us. He challenges us with the idea that people choose to live in a "retributive" society or a "restorative" society. Retributive societies are “based on a culture of fear, fault finding, fragmentation, and worrying more about taxes than compassion; it is more about being right than working something out, more about gerrymandering for our own interests than giving voice to those on the margin.” (Community: TheStructure of Belonging, p. 45)

Restorative community "comes from the choice to value possibility and relatedness over problems, self-interest and the rest of the stuck community's agenda." In essence, we treat each other as fully interrelated, fully human beings...no labels, no finger pointing, no fixing the other before our own lives can be good. Transformation and healing begins with our individual choice to live in deep, hospitable community. Every person is my neighbor. Transformation cannot begin in a program or institution and is dependent on each individual’s willingness to act without expecting anything in return.

The folk of Chiapas aren't perfect. They often treat each other as badly as we do. The Indians we are visiting are the lowest of the low in Mexican society. The gift of hospitality we’ve experienced is a momentary glimpse of God's kingdom, a brief experience of unconditional grace being given. For me, those moments create a longing for more, a hunger for the re-creation of life together on this planet.

Not all of us are called to go as far as Chiapas. All of us are called by God into restorative community. We don't have to travel for 17 hours to find a stranger. We see them every day. Often they live next door, shop with us in the grocery each week, or worship with us at the other end of the pew. I think today’s invitation is to let go of our fear and suspicion of “other” and embrace their identity as child of God.