Mexico…Friday

We are in the village a day longer than most groups. We worked in the morning, but by day five of ditch digging, gringos are pretty worthless. We worked slowly, sang every campy church song we could remember, worked our way through TV theme songs, and got stuck on the Coke song, "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing."  As of this writing, we still haven't succeeded in remembering all the words. Mexican men don't sing or joke when they work. Probably a good thing. But we entertained them as well. We made some progress getting about half the ditch to grade...as deep as it needed to be. Believe me, we celebrated. We celebrated two ways actually. We celebrated that a small part of the ditch was deep enough, and then we celebrated that another group would be coming in to finish the digging. Bless their hearts. Solid shale clay is what they have to get through...we think not exactly rock, but too hard to pick, soggy wet, and heavy.

We had the afternoon free to rest and pack. Some took a walk to the next village where people came out of their homes to stare at the Americans. Most had never seen the likes of us.

After dinner, we worshipped one last time with the village. Several of the "brothers" from Matzam drove over to worship with us. The church was full. It was a shorter service, but more meaningful. They said their official goodbyes and waved their hands in greeting to our churches. They said they wanted us to stay (not sure I believed that one), and that they would love to visit our communities, but they could never cross the border. I tear up thinking about that. What a tragedy that suspicion and assumption has grown so virulent that friends cannot visit friends. I know people cross the borders without permission. I know the desperation that might drive them to that. I also know their homes and families, their children, their history and their lives are in Mexico. Most don't want to leave. Some feel they must.

These are the hardest working people I have ever met. They put me to shame. They are smart, kind, generous, gracious. Not perfect, but certainly nothing like the picture we have painted here of "other." 

The final act of worship was bringing their offerings forward. The men start. One at a time, each person comes forward and drops a coin into the box.  All ages. Then women. Each member of the worshipping community supported the worship with a coin or two. It was moving. I don't know what they do when someone can't give. I know they tend toward harsh judgement at times. But seeing each and every member of the community participate was a gift to us. 

Every service closes with singing the Doxology. No accompaniment. Just voices joined in praise to God for all blessings. All creatures above and below sing praise to their creator God. And we could sing it, too. Two languages, sometimes three including Spanish, Tzeltal, and English. 

Someone once commented that if one of the disciples could visit us in our here and now, they would probably be completely overwhelmed with culture and practice…until we sat together in worship and spoke the words of institution over bread and wine. That was the one-ness with which we praised God. The Tzeltal Doxology was one of those moments of clarity. Thanks be to God...from whom, indeed, all blessings flow.