Bob in Oaxaca
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October 14, 2008
Oaxaca Odyssey
This past weekend (Oct 9-12) I took a trip to Oaxaca, a state in southeast Mexico (pronounced wah-HAH-kah). Our Southeast District has over 40 Wesleyan churches, the second largest district in Mexico in terms of churches and membership. The purpose of my trip was to attend the dedication service of a new sanctuary for the Loma Bonita Wesleyan Church. I represented the Dept. of Missions (Global Partners) and the Ohio District, specifically the Christ Community Wesleyan Church in Athens, OH, who sent a work team and more than one special offering to help complete the new building. I also went with our Mexico General Supt. Martin Torres and the Southeast District board on a tour of 5 local churches in this area called Santiago Texcalzingo. My job was to preach “The Call” and promote the Bible School. I have already determined that this will be my function every time I visit a different local church during this four-year term (and I plan to visit as many as possible!).
I call this trip an “odyssey” because (like every trip to Oaxaca), it seemed long and filled with strange adventures. This particular area of Oaxaca was just across the state line from the state of Puebla, up the mountain from Teotitlan. I would guess the elevation was around 10,000 feet based on the chilly night temperatures and the fact that we always seemed to be within reach of the clouds. It also seemed to be an extremely remote area of Mexico. After leaving the main paved road it took over an hour of crawling up and down very rough, often two-track roads to get to Loma Bonita. Recent rains had left the tracks muddy and slippery, and there were drop-offs on both sides that went nearly straight down for hundreds of feet (maybe 1000). On one steep incline I was sure we were going to be stuck as my front-wheel-drive SUV spun its tires all the way up for about 50 feet. But the reward for the bone-jarring, nerve-racking journey was the breath-taking views on all sides of the mountain landscapes.
Despite the chilly temperatures, the people in this region were probably some of the warmest and most hospitable I’ve met in all of Mexico. I was welcomed with open arms (and hugs) and with open stares from the children who had seen very few (if any) light-skinned Americans in person. Though the local language was an isolated form of Nauhatl (Aztec), the kids and most adults could understand my Spanish. Still, when I tried speaking to the kids (or even teens), they would only giggle shyly and refuse to answer. Not that they were being rude, they just couldn’t seem to get over the idea of a “Gringo” talking to them as if they were good friends or equals.
No sacrifice was too great for them as they did their absolute best to keep us comfortable and well-fed. Slaughtering their own precious chickens and scarce beef cattle, they fed us meat at every meal, a rarity in this poor, agricultural community. The church at Loma Bonita served us a spiced up version of “menudo”, a delicacy reserved for very special occasions. The main ingredient in the soup was beef stomach (and other unidentifiable “innards”). Knowing how much it must have cost them (killing a steer), I couldn’t possibly refuse to eat it. Besides, in an exotic way, it actually tasted pretty good! They gave up their few beds to us and most likely slept on the cold dirt or rough cement floors of their adobe brick houses. They served us steaming cups of strong/sweet coffee (expensive) or bottles of generic pop (even more expensive), because they knew that their water was unsafe for us to drink. In one home, the host apologized repeatedly and profusely because all they had to offer us was “lemon tea”. I don’t know exactly what it was made of (lemon peelings, leaves, juice?), but I found it delicious, much better than the syrupy generic brand of soda pop normally purchased if one could afford such a luxury. “Supper” came at 10:00 p.m. which was no problem because a very heavy “dinner” was served at 3:00 p.m. which had been preceded by a filling “lunch” at 9:00 a.m. and a light “breakfast” of tamales at the crack of dawn. The supper was a healthy portion of black beans, eggs cooked something like an omelet, and the ever-present corn tortillas freshly hand-made from ground corn. Again, our hosts were apologetic about the plain old beans and tortillas, but (oh my goodness, they were so good with a dab of home-made salsa to give it some spice!) I could just about eat them at every meal, which is exactly what the typical Mexico does by necessity.
I was so utterly exhausted by the midnight bed-time (speaking and preaching in Spanish especially wears me out mentally) that I had no trouble falling right to sleep on the 2-inch thick mat over the hard wood slats of the bed. But I wished I could’ve have slept a little later than 6:00 a.m. when the roosters starting crowing, the dogs barking, the donkeys braying and the birds singing all right outside our glassless window. And the morning bathroom routine was probably the biggest adventure of all. Though every home has a black plastic water hose servicing the property somewhere, there is still no such thing as indoor plumbing. A typical homestead has an outdoor “cistern” type of a tank kept full from the municipal water hose: a square, cement structure about 5 feet by 5 feet and 3 feet high. It is uncovered and open to the air. All dishwashing, clothes washing, hand washing, bathing and brushing of teeth takes place in the immediate vicinity of this little man-made pond. I noticed that there was a little outhouse kind of structure near the tank that I presumed was a kind of “bath house”, probably offering some privacy for a complete bucket bath with water that was heated over an open fire (same way all cooking was done). But since I seemed to have gotten up before most of the household on this Sunday morning and had no idea how to acquire this hot water, I decided that splashing my face with the cold water and washing my hands with the laundry soap provided would have to do. Fortunately I knew enough ahead of time to have brought my own small mirror in order to run a wet comb through my hair and get ready to do some public speaking. However, I didn’t attempt to shave. I wasn’t excited about brushing my teeth with the open-air tank water, but I had already skipped that the night before and I couldn’t stand it anymore.
Perhaps I shouldn’t share this part, but you’ll never understand visiting the rural communities of the Oaxaca mountains until you read it. I haven’t mentioned the actual “bathroom” yet! This turned out to be another low outhouse type structure quite some distance from the house, a rather long walk in the pre-dawn frigid air. And it really was an outhouse, but with little more than a hole in the cement floor and a one-foot high cement square ridge around the hole. I presumed one was supposed to be able to sit or squat over the hole to do one’s business. And after so much heavy food and black beans, I really had some business to take care of. But I simply could not make myself do it! I tried, but my legs were too long to get down there. After all, at only 5’ 7” I was still the tallest person in the whole community by at least two inches! I thought I was in for a rather miserable day of emotional and physical constipation. I figured my best chance might be at the church later on, but rarely does the local church have better facilities than the typical family. This one was an exception. It had an actual porcelain toilet bowl set on a real drain pipe, but with no tank nor plastic seat; you just sat on the rim and “flushed” afterwards with a bucket of water drawn from the cistern. I never thought I’d be overjoyed to use another typical set-up in Oaxaca, but this time I felt I was in the lap of luxury!
If you’re going to preach to people, I think you had better be able to live with them first, if only for a little bit, in order to understand them better. There’s more to being a missionary than just learning a different language (which wasn’t their mother tongue anyway!). That Sunday morning I was pretty tired from my travels, from a 3 ½ hour marathon dedication service the day before, from two church visitations afterward, and from too little sleep (not to mention having just finished teaching a week-long intensive course at the Bible School in Puebla). But when I talked with the pastor (one of my former students) and began to greet the people arriving at the Pelestitlan church, I felt a little more like I was one of them, and they treated me the same. I cooed over the babies (much to the delight of the young parents), and I teased laughter out of the shy children by taking digital pictures of them and showing them their images on the camera’s tiny screen (much to their delight and awe). In spite of my physical and emotional exhaustion, and because I had no choice but rely on God, I was able to preach my best about the need for workers and pastors in Mexico and to promote the Bible School and its extension in Oaxaca. Everyone, even the children, paid attention to every word, and were visibly moved by the invitation to “pray that the Lord of the harvest would send workers into the field” in Mexico. Even when I told that God would be sending them in answer to their own prayers.
I honestly don’t know for sure that eating cow stomach soup or using primitive facilities will make a huge difference for the Kingdom. But I can’t help but feel sure that God has and will use my rather abortive attempts at incarnational ministry to call men and women into ministry and to the vast and ready harvest fields of Mexico. With the dedication service and all the church visits, I probably spoke to around 500 people that weekend about the call to ministry and preparation. God’s incarnational word never returns void.
October 01, 2008
Slow it down!
Ah, yes, back to life in Mexico. It's cooling off (in the 50's at night) and the dry season is beginning. And nothing here gets done in a hurry!
On Monday I went to the Secretary of State's office (Mexican equivalent) to change the title on the used Nissan we just bought here. It only took about 15 minutes to process it, but I had to wait 3 hours for my turn! Everything just takes longer to do here; you might as well get used to it. From paperwork and red tape to refilling four 20-liter jugs with drinkable water, it all gets done when it gets done. Susie drives across town twice a day to drop off and pick up our kids at their school. It's 9 miles round trip, but takes about 30 minutes through traffic each way. That's an average of 18 miles per hour.
Even church work and growth in the Bible School takes longer. It will take months for every church to receive our promotional stuff and class schedules (if ever). To go anywhere in person to visit churches or districts takes a day or two just for the travel. It's a big country, but the infrastructure makes it even bigger!
And to think, Jesus walked wherever he went. It probably took him a day just to go 18 miles! He never seemed to be in hurry. He would fit right in here in Mexico! And if I'm going to fit in too, I'll just have to learn to be more like Him and slow it down!
