August 30, 2017--Travelling to a New Town

Pao

After morning language classes, the team went by public bus to Tepoztlan, a traditional town in Morelos State. We visited a former Dominican convent, the town's church, and watched young and old members of the town create murals from seeds for the big upcoming fiesta.


Rev. Kim James

Kim, Denise, and Brad strike a pose!

Transportation is interesting here. I've always heard the stereotypes that we from the US are perceived as overly assertive and aggressive, and that Mexicans are more laid back.  But there's nothing laid back about the way they drive.  Pedestrians have to be aggressive also, so they can get through a crowd or cross a street.  If you are too gentle, you'll never get where you're going.  It's a wonder that pedestrians aren't killed more often, and drivers and passengers also.  It seems that the people here have to take huge risks just to go to school or work.  And, of course, they have no choice but face those risks because their livelihood depends on it.  The daily minimum wage here (the wage of many) is about how much my hamburger and bottle of water cost at the airport yesterday. Those realities definitely force people to hustle to survive.

While our group visited the historic city of Tepoztlan today, we saw Catholic church volunteers making beautiful murals for an upcoming religious festival.  To celebrate the birth of the Virgin Mary, they place these murals as door frames around the gates of the church yard.  They make the murals by gluing various kinds and colors of beans, corn kernels, and seeds.  This is similar to the careful, skillful, heartfelt, and beautiful labor our United Methodist volunteers give to God and church for our special occasions.  Glory be to God in all the world!

Rev. Jim and Julie Calhoun

"Muchas gracias" and "muy bien"--words that are ever on our lips as we try to thank our hosts and all the kind, generous, thoughtful people we've met in Cuernavaca. Our experience here has been even greater than anticipated! There is a spiritual quality about it all. Muchas gracias, Jesuchristo!

Bishop Karen Oliveto

I continue to be in awe of the teaching methods employed by the instructors at Cetlalic. I have never had such a content-rich experience in education, not through a rigid agenda but through the back and forth dialogue between everyone in the class--students and teachers. Cetlalic has been influenced by the Brazilian educational philosopher Paulo Freire ("Pedagogy of the Oppressed"). Education, for Freire, includes:

1. Dialogical, not agenda-driven. People in the classroom should work with each other, not one person acting on everyone else.
2. Dialogue/education should always lead to praxis/action. While dialogue leads to deeper understanding and fosters mutual respect, it must also lead to making a difference in the world through justice-making.
3. When the starting point is with the oppressed and marginalized, education gives rise to hope by increasing consciousness which has the power to transform the world.
4. Educational activities should begin and focus on the lived experiences of participants.
5. When the teacher is willing to "die" as a unilateral possessor of knowledge to be passed on, this gives way to resurrection as a new relationship between educator and educatee emerges and gives rise to greater consciousness for everyone.

We have experienced the power of this manner of learning at Cetlalic. We are amazed by all we are learning--not just how to conjugate verbs, but the role of culture, religion and politics as they shape society. Our classes meander as our curiosity leads us to passionate conversation that gives way to increased understanding not only of Spanish, but the world. 

This methodology has me thinking of my own teaching ministry. I am always so driven by an agenda and by outcomes I think are desirable. But this is challenging me to rethink how I teach and especially how we do discipleship. What if we truly walked alongside those desiring to go more deeply into the Christian faith, allowing their curiosity and questions to lead us all to new life in Christ?

Hmmm....

Rebecca Wilson

Today we visited the town of Tepoztlan where we toured a cathedral and an abandoned monastery founded by the Dominicans that is now a museum. The history of this place, like so much of Central America, is one marked by the flourishing of beautiful cultures and the destructive conquest of one group over another. Such stark contrasts. It rained for most of the day. As I looked down from the balcony of the monastery, hoping my pants would dry off a little, I was struck most by the fountain. Water, water, everywhere.

I thought about Flint, Michigan, the city of my birth. The people have been without clean water since 2014.

I thought about Detroit, Michigan, the city I proudly call home. Thousands of people, elderly, women and children living in homes without running water and thousands more scheduled for shutoffs.

Of course, I thought about Texas under water, the most recent place to be devastated by a hurricane.

So much pain and suffering related to water.

But then I remembered my baptism. The grace poured out.

But then I remembered the water warriors of Flint and Detroit. The people that haven't given up. The people fighting for clean water and access to water for all. The community being built.

But then I remembered seeing pictures of families being rescued from flooded homes and neighbors saving neighbors. The loving compassion being offered.

It is hard to reconcile the healing and life giving power of water with its destructive and deadly power. Today the rain and the fountain remind me that this is the work of those who follow Jesus; to pour out grace, to build community, to offer love and compassion to a world inundated by destruction and despair.

Rev. Cynthia Paquette

Day one of the immersion found me feeling really like a stranger, inadequate and out of my element.  Since I have about 10 Spanish words in my vocabulary and no ability to make sentences, I could not really follow most of the conversations that were going on in Spanish.  I could not even understand the introductions that were in Spanish.  My experience alerted me as to how someone who is Spanish-speaking would feel when they come to our English-speaking churches.  Probably this is why we have few or no Spanish-speaking people in the churches where we do not have a Spanish worship service.  

In the church I serve, we have lot of Spanish-speaking families who come by to get free clothes from our Kids’ Closet ministry but they never come to church.  Well, I can now better understand why this is the case; they would not understand the worship service and very few people will take the time to communicate with them.  The English-speaking people will not understand them and many might not feel comfortable talking to them because they do not know how to speak Spanish.  

This is the reason why I chose to come for this immersion.  I wanted to learn some Spanish so I can at least greet our Spanish-speaking brothers and sisters.  I also hope to at least help them feel welcomed by talking with them some.  I believe we need to begin somewhere if we are to form relationships.  We need to at least try to speak the language of the people to whom we are reaching out.  If you feel more comfortable communicating with people who speak the same language, look like you, and are culturally like you, you are not alone.  However, when we remain in our comfort zones, we will not be able to bring the gospel to all nations because we cannot even bring the gospel to our neighbors in the same country.  

What can we do to help churches be more diverse?  What can we do to truly welcome people who speak different languages to our churches? Are we doing anything to better welcome strangers?  The opportunity is there…are we walking through the door that is open or are we closing the door that God has opened to us to reach our brothers and sisters who are different than us.

Rev. Melinda Baber

"Miercoles! How can it be Wednesday already?" I wonder, as I  walk home.... 

The days now have merged and run together, like the cars and motorcycles and buses in Mexican traffic, like the tributaries of rainwater down the cobblestone walkways into the courtyards of the monastery in Tepoztlan.

I watch the faithful volunteers outside gluing tens of thousands of seeds and beans together, as prayerfully and mindfully as the Tibetan monks I have seen create sand art mandalas.

I stand at the foot of a mountain too wet with fog and shrouded in thunder to climb; I stand with an artist who hears the cries of the blood of his Mayan mothers and fathers, and tells their stories with his hands in multicolored feathers; I stand on the irregular stones of the streets and on the carved square tiles of the cathedral  and monastery laid centuries before, silent in my wonder, listening for their cries; I stand in the shadow of this Valley of Dance and Death, and cry: Holy. Holy.