I remember Mexico

I remember Mexico.

I remember your streets.

I remember the red clay dust under my feet.

Curling up around my ghostly white toes.

I’m excited to this day that I got to spend my time with you

Not as a tourist but someone to minister alongside you.

I remember walking through your streets

Seeing signs all around me indicating where I should go, offering places I may want to go,

Shining the way to places I may need to go should I find myself ill or in trouble.

Yet, I was a stranger in a foreign land. The multitude of your signs felt more overwhelming than helpful. Why? Because, I don’t speak Spanish.

But, my lack of nativity did not incite a lack of humanity in you.

Although I didn’t belong to you. And, although it was my choice to cross your border and engage your people and culture at my own risk, you watched over me.

I remember a street market. Hundreds of people flocking around tiny makeshift tables selling goods that your women and children made.

Sugar skulls.

Santeria elements.

Dried and shriveled chicken feet.

Crucifixes

Blankets

Elote

Pozole

Tamales

Butchered pigs hanging from beams

Music that sounded so festive and happy but I couldn’t understand the words and thereby partake in the joy you were feeling because of it.

Your children crisscrossed my path. Tugging on my shirt.

Laughing at me then running away to get into some other kind of fun

Your pride.

I met a young aspiring attorney.

She was also a minister.

Wanting to make a better way.

In law school and couch surfing

Fighting her government for unlawfully taking away a vitally important school for an impoverished village.

She had no where to lay her head.

We took up company and talked about God and government and speaking in tongues.

She didn’t have a firm grasp on my language nor I hers. How did we communicate so seamlessly?

Because our hearts were one.

I remember riding in the back of a camper top covered Toyota truck with about 7 other people.

My legs stretched across his legs as he made clear to all his gift of comedy.

He feverishly fired off jokes that everyone understood but me.

But, I laughed. I laughed as hard as everyone else. But, why?

Because laughter is universal. Our laughter was one.

I tramped across your creeks in your dry heat and lonely country sides.

One particularly large stream that crossed through a village was used for bathing, laundry, cooking and drinking.

I saw a man. A white American man traveling within my group fell into a sewage portion of that creek. And, your people rushed to his side to examine his legs and clean him and help him be on his way.

But, how did they know to help?

Because the need for rescue is a universal one. Their hearts were one.

On one occasion there was an expert in law. He was passionate for his country. A loud person. Passionate for people to play by the rules. He knew we were Christian missionaries.

Day after day he would question passersby, “What does the LAW say??” His voice would ring out “Have you read it?!!” “Do you not believe it!!?” “Are you guilty of breaking it?!”

He was finally confronted by a Teacher. A fellow Humanitarian. That day law squared up against humanity.

The Humanitarian Teacher asked him in front of all of us, “What exactly does the law say? How do you read it?”

The expert replied, “I know I love God!! I know that everyone SHOULD love God!! I KNOW that if we all obeyed law we would have a better world!! LOVE GOD. LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR, RIGHT??”

The Teacher that was with us replied simply “You’re right. Keep doing this.”

But, it was obvious to me the law guy wasn’t happy with his seemingly easy victory in the debate. His passion drove him. The Humanitarian traveling with us seemed like such an intellect with his simple question and answer. No arguing with the guy. Just a simple question. But, that one question must have pricked the conscience of the expert or his ego….or both perhaps.

Anyway, it led to a question from the expert to the Teacher with us. As the Teacher had turned to rejoin our caravan the expert screamed at him, “OH Yeah?? But, define neighbor!!”

Here we were in the middle of Mexico, a small caravan of non-natives. Here we were, one of our own, in a debate that seemed to be taking a turn for the worst. I was uncomfortable to say the least.

My Friend pulled up a chair and sat down. “Ok, yes. Let’s define neighbor.”

He continued, “A man was going down from America to Mexico. He got robbed. A group of bandits beat him to within an inch of his life. Stole his wallet. Left him in the hot sun to die. The man was hemhorraging from the beating. He lied alone in the road.”

My Teacher friend grew silent. One of those long pauses. He must have seen this first hand because I could have sworn I saw tears in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and continued, “A preacher came walking down the road on his way to Mexico to do a missions trip. He had good news to preach. Tell me why this preacher moved to the other side of the road when he saw the guy lying there? Tell me why when a popular worship leader from a Christian church in America came across him and wept but did nothing?? Further, why after these two VIP’s passed him by that an effeminate man and woman with many tattoos and piercings when they came upon him were horrified and rushed to his side? They were on their way to a festival. They had a couple of bottled waters, sweaty bandanas, some weed, and a flask of Jack Daniels to last their foot journey. They took their bandanas and whiskey and immediately cleaned his wounds and bandaged him up. The man and woman each grabbed his arms and walked him to a hostel across the border. There they learned of a hospital further away in a village. So, they carried him a long distance to this hospital. When they walked in he was admitted immediately. He was unconscious and therefore would never know who walked by and who rescued him.”

At this point my throat was tight. I was heaving tears and shaking because I realized what was happening. No one said anything. You could have heard a pin drop. My chest hurt from trying to keep my crying silent. I couldn’t even look up or around to assess the body language or facial expressions of those around us.

And, then…..

The silence broke.

Our Humanitarian Companion was as shaken by telling His account of what had happened as I was by hearing it. I did manage to look Him in the eyes. I felt a true kindredness with this Man. This was my first missions trip. But, I knew after hearing His story…He was a professional Humanitarian. This was not His first rodeo. He was street wise. He was rugged looking. But, wow did His looks belie His Heart.

He raised His head and eyeballed the man who was so passionate about obedience and asked him…..

“Which of these three was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

The man lowered his voice and answered softly, “The ones who had mercy on him.”

Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.”

From me to you:

If you’re reading this I am intentionally leaving this up to interpretation. Your interpretation and conclusion will in fact highlight where your heart is. The wise will leave with questions. The proud will read with anger and offense.

Let them who have an ear…hear. Let them who have eyes…see.

For those who don’t know me…this entire story comprises a portion of a journey I took near Jalisco, Mexico several years ago.