Tribal Peoples...

It's easy to let the head shake back and forth and the mind assume that we, who live is such a "civilized" place are so much better than those fighting tribal wars in Afganistan or Sudan.  Tongues click and lips purse as we watch their silly wars, wondering when or if just a few might "grow up" and choose to treat each other as real people with the same basic needs--regardless of tribal affiliation.

And then we are reminded, most recently (like, Sunday morning) by Jonathan Haidt, that we function out of the same tribal craziness...we just have resisted picking up guns and directly killing each other.  (We are doing it more slowly...coming at it from less angles that aren't as clear, but are every bit as destructive.)

The tribal craziness in Afganistan creates populations who act against their own self-interest, not to mention the interest of others (a tenet that this Christian nation has all but forgotten, and one that most other religions here also practice, including Islam and Judaism).  We can see it in others, but in ourselves, we have a blind spot that obliterates all but our preferred television newscaster.  We gravitate to positions that agree with our own.  We avoid all perspectives that disagree with us.  Or, we listen to them, but only through those who will tear them down, ridicule the positions and all those who hold them.

Where does faith play in this story?  Surely God's story is not one one side or the other.  If we insist on placing God on a side...it is probably the bottom side of all the issues.  God always sides with the poor and the outcast.  Is there a way to live into God's ideal and together grow up and treat each other as real people with real needs, regardless of our tribal affiliations?  I guess we have to admit affiliations first.  Then grow up.  Good thing we get to live into God's hope here.  Otherwise, it might feel pretty hopeless.

Goodbye Friends...

I loved the leaving from Mexico.  The departure was late, no surprise.  The weather was windy...inevitably bumpy for take-off.  The hour was early.  But...these three guys who were shepherding the plane into take-off position, they did their work with their orange light-sabres...and then they just stood there.  We are sitting on the tarmac waiting to "go" and they are standing there looking at the plane.  A couple of them are chatting; the third is just standing, looking at the plane.  

It was curious.  I wondered if they didn't have better things to do.  But there they stood.

And then when the engines revved and the plane began to move, they gave us a little salute and waved good-bye.  How cool is that?

Workable Compromise...

Quoting Annie Dillard:  "there seems to be only one business at hand--that of finding workable compromise between the sublimity of our ideas and the absurdity of the fact of us." (Teaching a Stone to Talk)

Outwardly, this visit to Mexico yields a culture focused more on relationships than things, a slower, more connected culture.  Inwardly...watch people in large groups with each other, or in meetings that revolve around money and/or power and we are all the same.  No matter the nationality, no matter the priorities, no matter the issue, I think Dillard hits the nail on the head.

..."there seems to be only one business at hand--that of finding workable compromise between the sublimity of our ideas and the absurdity of the fact of us."

Lord, have mercy...

Life and Death...

The entertainment at noon was the slaughter of three bulls.  Actually, two cows and a bull, but who's being picky.  The event tomorrow--the dedication of a clinic to serve the Tzeltal people of Ocosingo, Mexico--is a three bull event.  That means 2500 paper plates and napkins, a boatload of rice and beans, and women making tortillas literally all day today.

Two of the bovines were killed before we got to our perch on the upstairs porch of our "apartment" (another story).  The third was being dragged/coaxed/beaten out of the field and into the shade for slaughter.  Every time the cow moved, the men would whoop and whistle and she/he would stop and dig in his/her hooves or simply lay down.  Kept thinking "what would Temple Grandin say?"

Two bovines were artfully skinned and cut into pieces.  The meat was taken to the outdoor kitchen where women from local churches will prepare it for tomorrow's feast.  The third portion of tomorrow's feast was tied tightly, laid on his/her side, and prepared for a slit throat...a necessary way to kill when you don' t have something to hang the meat on for the blood to drain out.  Everyone working on carcasses paused when time came for the kill.  My son got the honors...probably more to be laughed at, but he was willing and excited.  FYI, cow hide is very tough.  It takes muscle to break skin.  (His Facebook comment, "I know I can't stab through a belt, but for some reason I thought when it was on the cow it would be like butter.")

After the initial laughter over Adam's surprise at cow skin, work stopped; people grew quiet and still.  It could only be described as a respectful wait while the life drained out of the animal.  The Bible school choir was practicing elsewhere on campus, so we have this still life: cloudless blue skies, gentle wind, human statues, strains of Hallelujah, Hallelujah drifting over the rooftops.  We watched.  A tired helium balloon floated about three feet off the ground, weaving in and out of the bystanders.  Bienvenidos it read.  Welcome.  It floated through and off into the trees.  No one reached for it, not even the children, who studied it, but didn't touch.

Vultures circled and sat on fence posts.  Dogs begged to be invited to the feast, but the birds drove them away.  They were the clean up crew, though not much was left.  Someone from the village arrived and took the hides.   In about sixty minutes, the smell of cooking beef and the promise of community feasting was all that was left.

Not exactly the memory I expected from the week.