Easter Monday

"We are an Easter people."

What does that mean?

This past week has been one of intense reflection for me. Last year - I'm talking about the liturgical calendar here - around this time, I was in crisis. I had decided to spend my semana santa traveling around Guerrero and planned my trip so I'd end in Taxco, a magical little city known for silver and elaborate religious processions.

I witnessed things like this:

As I watched, I was very aware that I was an observer, not a participant. It was fascinating, yet alien. I couldn’t understand self-flagellation as having anything to do with my spirituality. My Lent, my Good Friday, my Easter didn’t leave me bloodied or raw.

But, last year, the Divine mystery had other plans for me. As I listened to the “Roman army” make its official accusation of a wooden Christ, with someone else’s blood splattered on my feet, I noticed my wallet was gone. And so, all of a sudden, I was in a not-so-safe part of Mexico, alone, without any money or identification.

I didn't know what to do, but I still had my phone with one U.S. number in it, so I called Kevin. He was getting ready to leave for the airport to come visit me - great timing, right? - and was trying to finish some stuff up at work. I asked him to buy me a bus ticket online or over the phone so I could get back to Toluca but he couldn't figure it out. His departure loomed and hysteria took over. We were anxious, afraid, helpless, and broken down after months of being in different countries. And I was afraid for my physical safety in a way that I hadn't experienced before. Things fell apart.

Long story short, I made it to Mexico City - thanks to the generosity of the hotelkeeper and my roommates - but Kevin didn't, at least not that night. The amount of misunderstanding, fear, selfishness, and anger - from both of us - that created that situation is still baffling and the memory of sobbing and screaming into the phone while lying on the airport floor still hurts immensely. I spent that Friday night alone and hungry in an airport hotel, feeling overwhelmed by the darkness.

Our relationship - and my spirit, to be honest - was broken for a long time after that. But I tried my best to ignore my instincts and tough it out, believing that love was there and would return.

And it did.

I told this story to one of my students last week and her first response was something along the lines of "how blessed that this all happened on Good Friday, that you were able to experience such deep communion with the suffering Christ."

I was floored. It was so true, so beautiful, and I could hardly imagine a white American - a person like me - ever saying it.

You see, my student is from Guatemala and she knew exactly what kind of processions I went to see in Taxco. In Guatemala, like Mexico and most of Latin America, people tend to focus on the events of "Holy Week" - the Last Supper, the betrayals, the Crucifixion - and not really on Easter itself. I might be oversimplifying, but I think that a lot of it is cultural. It can't be just a coincidence that white Americans (and Europeans) - the colonizers, the conquerors, the entrepreneurs, and the well-provided for - tend to identify with a moment of triumph while Latin America (and Africa and Asia and all their various diasporas) find meaning in the Shadow of the Cross.

We are an Easter people, but we are also a Crucified people. The Resurrection is always ahead, and that can give us hope, but sometimes, hope is not enough. We need to know that there is meaning in the present moment, in the pain, in the doubt, in the cruelty and isolation. We need to know that Communion with the Divine is not something that will happen in the future, when everything has been resolved, but something that is most tangible when we have been stripped bare.

I find it very easy to forget that amidst all the talk - on TV, in newspapers, in casual chats, in sermons - about success and prosperity and achievement and how we're #blessed. But luckily, there are always reminders - in Lenten revelations, in conversations with immigrant students, or even marching around the streets of Boston:

A year later, a different city, but the Crucified God still found me.

I meant to post at some point this summer but... my camera got stolen and I didn't really feel much like writing so, I didn't.

 In the meantime, I hung out in California for a few weeks, drove across the country, got a job, had some reverse-culture-shock-blues in Boston, went to a music festival, reunited with dear friends, found an apartment for the year, read a few books, etc., etc. I'll fill you in on the more boring stuff later but since I don't want to leave you with just words, I'll share some of my favorites from the Newport Folk Festival. Even if you can't see what my life has been looking like, you can hear what it's been (sort of) sounding like... or something.

Lake Street Dive - Bad Self Portraits



Shovels and Rope - Hail Hail



Nickel Creek - Destination



Hurray for the Riff Raff - Blue Ridge Mountain



Valerie June - Workin' Woman Blues



Trampled by Turtles - Victory



Mavis Staples - Will the Circle Be Unbroken (kinda wonky video footage of Mavis at the Festival, along with Trampled by Turtles and "little bitty" Norah Jones) 

Despedida, parte dos

This post will be short because there's just too much to say and I can't say it all.

It's four in the morning and I'll be heading to the airport in a few minutes. If all goes well with migración, I'll be on my way to the United States in a few hours.

I can't quite believe that it's time to go. There were certainly long days but ultimately, it felt short which means, of course, that it didn't really feel long enough. I didn't teach my students enough, I didn't improve my Spanish enough, I didn't visit enough places, I didn't make enough friends, I didn't eat enough tacos. A lot is left unfinished.

But, evidently, it's time to go.

There are some things that I won't miss - 7 AM classes, men yelling at me in the street, systems I don't understand, bureaucracy that just won't quit, washing my clothes by hand, eating more meat than vegetables, bottled water, never blending in, homesickness, the list goes on.

But there's so much that I will miss - my students in all their laziness and intelligence and kindness and humor, the food, the friendliness of strangers, the bright colors, buying tortillas by the kilo from the "chicken place" on my block, fresh fruit, traveling, beaches, butterflies, mountains, calaveras, mezcal, pulque, newness, Spanish, learning to cook new dishes, always being so "unique", free time, relaxed schedules, new friends, a perpetual sense of awe.

I'll come back - I know that - but it won't be the same. It never is, is it? Now I'm going "home" but that won't be the same either. And so I'm caught in between, crying because I'll be happy to see friends and family and drink tap water but also because I'm sad to say goodbye to my life here and I'm a little afraid of what's to come.

But the taxi has been called and it's time to say a prayer and venture forth. I'm carrying you with me, México, and I'll try to treat you well.

Ya vamos. 

Despedida, parte 1

Tomorrow is my last day at the school, and I leave Mexico the day after that.

The despedidas, the goodbyes, the "lasts" have begun.

Last week, I had my official despedida at school. I thought it was going to be full of ridiculous ceremony - and it was - but it was also really sweet and a wonderful way to start off my last week here. A couple of students spoke, a couple of students danced, and all of second year gave me spoken-word-style snaps, which was so happy-making. 

The day after my despedida, I got the chance to do something I'd be hoping to do since I first got to Mexico - learn to make mole. Jayime's mom generously offered to share her culinary wisdom with me and invited me to her house Thursday afternoon. We made mole verde in her mother's cazuela, using her grandmother's recipe and I now have almost-incoherent instructions on how to make both mole verde and mole rojo scrawled in Spanglish on the back of an old lesson plan.

I doubt that any mole I make will ever be as delicious as what was in that steaming cazuela, but it's pretty cool that I kinda-sorta know how to make it now, right? I'm pretty sure this is the best souvenir I'm bringing back from Mexico - a generations-old recipe, packed full of love and ready to be shared with friends and family. Hope you're ready to taste my attempts to recreate it!

(Stay tuned for more despedida-type reflections...)

Why I seek out the "strange"

A lot of people avoid talking about religion. I am not one of them. 

I like to talk to people about what they believe and I like to see what that belief looks like in practice. In the United States, that motivates me to study theology, initiate a lot of uncomfortable conversations, invite friends to church with me, and visit other places of worship whenever I have the opportunity.

When I'm traveling, that inspires me to seek out "strange" religious traditions. Obviously, the word "strange" has some bad connotations - bizarre, alien, frightening - but it also evokes the fascinatingly unfamiliar - think of the "making strange" of art or theology that can yield insight and awe. As a white Christian in the United States, I find many popular religious traditions to be this latter kind of strange. My own tradition is intellectual, unemotional, and frankly kind of generic. Mainline Protestant practice is not tied to a particular language, place, or physical experience; it is a practice fit for the impersonal, capitalist, transnational world. Local and indigenous practices rebel against this norm, vibrant and embodied and place-specific and oh so fascinating.

Part of my fascination comes from the intimate relationship between religion and culture. I feel like learning about a community's faith traditions gives a unique insight into its core values and its theoretical understanding of the world, which is especially important to me when I'm a guest in said community and am trying to figure out how to not be a super-rude freak while I'm there.

The most important part of this fascination, though, probably comes from what "strange" religious traditions can teach me about the nature of the Divine and spirituality. When I learn about polytheistic traditions, I'm forced to examine my less multi-dimensional view of God and think about the myriad of characteristics that God might have. When I see a form of worship that surprises or shocks me, I wonder about how I might be able to expand my own idea of service and praise. When I see how so many cultures interweave Christianity and indigenous traditions, I am reminded that the traditions themselves are human constructs and that no one system can adequately describe the mystery of the Divine; I am inspired to be less rigid in my own perspective. In short, interacting with other religious traditions makes me into a better (more thoughtful, less judgmental) Christian.

My friends here in Mexico don't quite share this love-of-religion with me, so when I find a "strange" tradition that I want to explore, I often do so alone (which is how I ended up in Taxco by myself- and without a wallet - remember?) Most recently, my hunt for weirdness brought me to Chalma, a nearby town that houses the second most-visited pilgrimage site in Mexico. Huge groups of pilgrims travel to this tiny little pueblo every week to see el Señor de Chalma (what many describe as a "black Christ" in English; as is typical in Latin American countries, the cave where el Señor appeared was considered holy in local pre-Christian tradition, so the whole story is kind of confusing) and I decided to join the crowd.

After a short bus trip from Toluca (an hour sitting on the bus before we left the station and then another hour of actual driving) I arrived in Chalma without much idea of what to do. The town itself is quite small, but it was a market day and the stalls/tents/etc. made it hard to see where the main church might be, so I wandered for a bit, meandering in and out of the market, side streets, and a park:

After awhile, I stepped out on a little lookout-balcony-thing, saw what had to be my destination, and tried to figure out how to get to it.

After I waited my turn in line the pilgrims (sadly, I did not have a matching t-shirt to make me feel like I really belonged) I made my way to the back of the sanctuary to see el Señor. This was an especially strange experience since an epic mass (it lasted over three hours) was underway and the Christ image is the centerpiece of the altar... which means I was basically on/behind the altar and peeking out at the congregation while the priest was leading them in prayer.

I also visited the cave where el Señor originally appeared:

And another little grotto-thing where people could leave devotional items, apparently as gifts/offerings:

My favorite part of my visit was seeing the display of devotional images created by pilgrims. They ranged in age and were painted to give thanks for miracles granted by el Señor:

Even though I only spent a few hours there, my little mini-trip to Chalma ended up being one of my favorites since coming to Mexico. The town itself was surprisingly pretty, the market was full of goodies, and the spiritual force of the pilgrims and their traditions was awe-inspiring.

As I thought about my visit to Chalma, deciding what photos and facts to include in this post, I was reminded of another "pilgrimage" I made a few months ago. On December 12, I went to la Basílica de Santa María de Guadalupe in Mexico City to celebrate la Virgen de Guadalupe's feast day. The Basílica is the most visited pilgrimage site in Mexico (Chalma was number two, remember?) and the traditions there are filled with their own beautiful strangeness - like el Señor, la Virgen de Guadalupe is a figure that has both Catholic and indigenous roots. Plus, some people believe that la Virgen de Guadalupe is the mother of el Señor de Chalma because their appearances were only a few years apart. Given all these parallels (and the fact that I never posted the photos I took that day) this seems like the perfect opportunity to finally share some of the highlights from THAT trip so... enjoy!

(Click through more photos from Chalma here and more from la Basílica here.)