My Spanish
Of the six of us traveling, there was very Spanish knowledge. Both Jerry and I speak some Spanish (he has a much larger vocabulary) one other in our group had taken some high school Spanish, but never had much practical use, and the other three spoke none at all. After Raúl had left us at the orphanage, we spent most of our time with only Spanish speakers. Time and time again people in the group would turn to me to explain what was said or to speak for them. It was really good for me. When I was in Spain, I was sounded by so many really goods speakers that I would simply defer to those around me. Ask them to translate, or to speak for me. In Mexico I didn’t have that luxury. I had to speak. It was good for me.
Pyramids
On one of our days around Mexico City we visited the pyramids to the north of the city. At the site there were three pyramids and a number of smaller structures, walls, steps, small buildings and the like. The structures are about 2200 years old. Other than that, not much is known about them or why they were built.

When Cortez arrived, the Aztecs occupied the area and were using the pyramids, but they where not the ones who built them. They were also not the people who conquered the people who built the pyramids. Instead, they simply stumbled on to them about 450 years after the nation that did build them disappeared. Modern scientists have no idea what happened to these people. They are just gone. Because the Aztecs had no idea what the building where used for, they just made up the best use they could think of. Today the two main pyramids are called the pyramids of the sun and moon, because that is what best fit into the Aztecs belief system, but has nothing to do with the builder intent.
We spent most of the afternoon at the pyramids. We hiked up all three (at least as high as we go, one was closed half way up for restoration work). So now I can say I climbed the third tallest pyramid in the world (I know you are jealous).

The whole area is near a town, but it is small. For the most part there are many fewer lights in Mexico, than in the states. With that being said, I can’t image what the stars must look like at night from the top. No light pollution and being raised up so high, being able to see the whole sky. I guess it is just another experience to add to the list of things to do before death sets in.
The structure themselves were just amazing. Not only where they huge, but they had lots of wonderful stone work. Wonderful exotic art. Built over 2200 years ago. I know I continue to under estimate the “primitive” cultures of the Americas. I was struck with the same sense touring the museums of Ecuador a few years ago. We talk about the Americas being discover a little more than five hundred years ago, as if nothing but heathens were here before that. As if no culture existed before.
Bargaining
We did most of our souvenir shopping in the first few days, because there was nothing of that sort up in Colòn. When it comes to shopping, bargaining is par for the course. And I am not just talking about what the tourist do on the streets, it is done by everyone, in many places.
At one point we received a lesson for a local, who spent the day at the pyramids with us, on how to bargain. It was very funny watching him over act exasperation. Eyes rolling. Arms flailing. I mean I would look that distraught the death of a close friend.
Now it was obvious that we were receiving the extragero (foreigner) mark up. So much so that there were few times where I asked a price. To make sure I understood what they had said I asked again. When I did the price had magically lowered by ten percent. (I am such a shrewd bargainer.) When I was in Ecuador I was the master at getting a deal, so much so I was asked by one of my teachers to buy something for her. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The prices where so low, how could I fight for a discount. “You know forty cents is just way too much to pay for a rosary. How about half that?” What I struggled with was, how should I feel about that. It seemed silly to fight for a few cents, but by accepting the first price was I being arrogant and flaunting what I had with my cavalier attitude towards money. Or maybe once again I am just over thinking everything (which is the most likely conclusion).

Homeless work on the streets of DF
[Note: Mexico City is often referred to as DF (federal district) much in the same way Washington DC is referred to as DC]
Through the seminary we were staying at in Mexico City, we met the director of Lutheran Social Services for the city. He invited us to join him Saturday morning, as he and a few volunteers were going to do some street work. The group gathered in the same square every week, at about the same time. They would sing a few songs, do a little preaching, and then serve some food.
I have done more than my fair share of homeless ministry, so the experience, unfortunately was too familiar. The volunteers that we went with had been to this spot many times before, and knew many of the guys by name. There were two things that struck me as different for the work I had done in DC. First, was the amount of open drug use. Many of the guys had something in their hands, that they were constantly sniffing, probably glue, but who knows. The fact that they were doing drugs was not unique, I am sure a number of the guy I use work with in DC would partake from time to time. What was amazing was the fact that they were so willing to use right out in the open. Not sure what it meant, (if it meant anything at all), but it was something that struck me.
The other thing that I found interesting was the willingness of those we served to sing. Now, they didn’t sing along with us when we sang songs in English or the songs that were poorly translated into Spanish. But, when it came time to sing the songs they knew in Spanish, they just let it all go.
After singing a few songs, a young woman by the name of Evelyn did an activity and some preaching. First, she handed out a piece of paper to everyone, and slowly led us through making origami boats out of the paper. A few of the folks knew how to make the boats and hurriedly made theirs as fast as they could. They would then interrupt Evelyn, to show their masterpiece. Evelyn would ask for applause from the group and then move on. The number of people finishing early (and receiving applause) grew to the point that Evelyn did not finish the explanation, which left us foreigners lost, with half finished boats. This created a neat moment in which one of the ladies from the street came over to us to help us finish our boats.
Evelyn was/is an amazing woman. She walked in to the middle of these men and women in a situation that was more than a little intimidating. Not only did she show a lot of strength, but also a lot of love. She was firm, but present with every person we encountered.
After the boats where build, Evelyn started talking about how these boats were like our lives. Sometimes the sea is calm, but many times it is rough. (At least this is what I think she was saying. She was obviously speaking in Spanish.) So she could just as easily been explaining the migration patters of penguins (pengüino, a word she did use) as the explanation I am giving. No matter what happens we need to make sure that Jesus is our captain.
To be honest, I don’t know what they are suppose to do with a statement like. Really I didn’t even think I know what it means. It sounds nice, “Jesus is my captain,” but how does that impact my life. I am not saying this to be judgmental. I am sure, in my own work, I have made such ridiculous statement. I know it is hard to explain our experience with God. It just makes me wonder, when we go to others, what should we bring (e.g. what do we do with them?) The time we spent with the kids at the orphanage later in our trip was nothing more than presence. Often times Jesus would love the poor, then go off with his disciples teach them.
I don’t know what to do with any of that, it is just a thought.
How much water does it take to brush my teeth?
The water was not potable (meaning it wasn’t drinkable) at our housing in Mexico City. I travel more internationally than the average person. I am still shocked at myself with the things I take for granted, such as easily available drinkable (seemingly unlimited) water.
So we were required to use bottled water for just about everything, including brushing our teeth. So every time I would brush my teeth I would half fill a small Styrofoam cup with bottled water and head to the bathroom. One small pour to wet the toothpaste. One small pour to rinse my brush. One drink to slosh around my mouth. This would leave me enough left over to take a drink. Brush my teeth with 4 oz. of water.
After doing this three or four times, it struck me how much water I wasted when I brushed my teeth at home. Each time I need more water I just let the water run. Now I don’t let the faucet run the whole time. I am turning it on and off for each step, but still so much is going by unused.
So right then and there I decided to turn over a new leaf. From that moment on I was no longer going to waste water when I brushed my teeth. One small step to help the environment. I am such a good person. And then…it happened. Two days later we found ourselves in housing that had purified water, and just like that I had forgotten my commitment. I was right back to my old ways. Old habit. Making action, without thinking of the out come. I stopped, and thought “how easy I forget.” So I re committed to the cause. For the rest of my time in Mexico I was faithful to my pledge.
And then…I came home. It was only as I was writing this that I realized that once again I had forgotten my pledge. Once again I had reverted to my old was of waste. Once again, re-reminded of who I want to be, I commit again to not waste.

If you don’t know the story of Our Lady of Guadalupe, please visit these sites for some quick background.
http://www.fact-index.com/o/ou/our_lady_of_guadalupe.html
http://www.wordiq.com/definition/Our_Lady_of_Guadalupe
http://www.queenofpeace.ca/The%20Story.htm
The Basilica itself is now in Mexico City (as the city has now grown around it). I don’t think there is any way to over state the importance of the apparition, the shrine, and Our Lady is to the Mexican people. It is part of what it means to be Mexican to have a devotion to Guadalupe, even for those that are nothing more than culturally Catholic. Families save for years and years so that the whole family can make the trip. Many church send pilgrims annually who walk all the way from their own church to the shrine (walks of many weeks long). There were a number of experiences that touched my heart the afternoon we spent at the basilica.
Misa (mass)
We knew that we were going to attend mass at the basilica, but other than that we really did have a plan. We figured that mass would be going on all day, and all we would have to do is show up. Little did we know that the Sunday we were there was some Aztec feast day. So not only did we get mass, but we got maaaaaass. All the smells bells. 15 bishops, a letter from the Pope, and a 45 minute homily about the history of the holiday and how now Our Lady figured in that. (that is all I understood in forty five minutes). The mass was in the newest of the four churches, finished in the early 70′s. I would be willing to bet the church seats about 3500. In addition to every seat being filled, every bit of standing room was filled as well. And I don’t just mean in the back, but everywhere. The aisles leading up to the front as well as all the space in fount of the pews was filled. Communion was impossible. If you didn’t happen to be near one of the ministers, you didn’t receive. They were trying to give communion through the end of the sending song, but still didn’t get to everyone who wanted to go.
Flowers
One of the traditions of the shrine is to bring flowers as an offering. Many, many families did this. Both sides of the alter were flanked by wall that ran to the edge of the room, and it seamed that every moment of mass someone was placing another bouquet on the wall. And they were huge. Every 15 minutes or some a member of the shrine staff would climb up on the wall and consolidate the flowers in a large pile. There was a small landing at the alter end of the wall. On this landing as the day passed more and more flowers were stacked. Imagine hundreds of full vases of flowers pilled high. The flowers where quickly organized as they were stack so that the pots and vases were not seen. It basically looked like a bouquet of flowers that was six feet high and more the fifteen feet in diameter. Beautiful!
Giving thanks
On the lowest part of the hill there are three churches. They line two sides of a large marble court yard. Long ways, I would guess it is about 70 yards long. Over the course of the hour that we spent there we saw numbers of men walking on there knees with new born babies in their arms. They were always flanked by their wives, who were walking along side of them, trying to herd the other children around. I would be willing to bet that it took more than 25 minutes to inch along from one end of the court year to the church at the other. They were doing this as an offering of thanks giving for their child, and the fact it had been bore healthy. It was a very touching scene.
Families
In the time we were there I would estimate that there were over 20,000 people there. That is just a guess and I wouldn’t be surprised if that was a conservative number. There were two things consistent about the crowds. One they were wholly Mexican (or at least Hispanic). The six of us were the only whites there the entire day. And we saw other tourist in Mexico, but none there. It showed once again how truly Mexican Guadalupe is. The other striking fact was about the crowd, almost everyone was there with their family. My mother made the comment, “There are more families here than at Disney World!” It was really cool. Families, with children of all ages, moving as a family unit. Obviously there is cost to travel, but being in that place, as family was obviously very important.
The tilma
I have always been one who has never really sought out miracles. It is not that I don’t believe in them. It is really quite the opposite, I expect them everywhere and when they come I am not very surprised. For better or worse I expect actual grace. It is just a (all be it wonderful) part of life. With that being said, it was amazing to be able to stand below Juan Diago’s tilma and see the results of a miracle. The tilma itself is made from the fibers of the maguey plant and does not last more than 25-40 years, yet after 469 years, the original tilma can still be found in perfect condition in the Basilica. Hundreds of years later, the Madonna is still emblazoned on the tilma. Just another moment that makes me take pause to realize how little I understand of the Super Natural and how He works in our world.
The Hill
There is a set of stone stairs that lead up the hill to a small church on the site where Mary appeared to Juan Diego. It is an odd trek for a pilgrim (as many modern pilgrimages must be). An odd mix of commerce, tourism and spiritual devotion. On the way up the hill there were groups of people laughing and taking photos (probably the best description of me), merchants with cheesy cardboard cut out of the Madonna, which you could get your picture taken with for about three dollars, and spiritual pilgrims (the group I probably should have been in). In some cases it was odd mix. There was a young woman (maybe 20) who was doing the stairs on her knees. She was with a group of friends who were walking beside her (one holding her hand). They were laughing and chatting away. We later saw her when she just stepped through the door of the church. She burst into tear and fell in to the arms of her friends in a group hug. Maybe in the end that was the best approach. A mix of friends and enjoying the day, while filling the time with super natural effort. I could see myself taking an experience like that too seriously, then the day didn’t meet my expectations, ending up frustrated.

I feel bad that I am just writing now. Writing in Mexico wasn’t an option. Well, I could have written everything long hand and retyped it. As much as that sounds like a good plan there is one flaw. No one can read my hand writing, not even me. It has gotten to the point that my hand writing is so bad that I can’t even duplicate it myself. At one point I was not able to cash a traveler’s check in Mexico because I could not match my own signature.
So now I am trying to recreate memories more than a week later. I know this is futile. There is no way that I am going to remember thing how they happened. Memory is much too malleable for that to happen. My hope is over the next few days is to share about the wonderful people and beautiful landscape that we encountered in our brief stay. As in all things, I know before I start, there is no way I am going to do Mexico (or it’s people) the justice it so richly deserves.
Today is nothing more than back ground information. The richness of our time will hopefully unfold over the next few days.
Mexico City
We all flew into Mexico City, is the largest city in the world. It has between 20 and 25 million people. Imagine more than 2 New York Cities spread out like LA. To fly in was just staggering. The city covers the equivalent of a 24 mile by 24 mile square. I would say that I had seen nothing like it, but that would be obvious because there is no other city like it. What was even more amazing than the city itself was driving in the city. It is like driving in LA, only it is much much bigger and drivers view traffic signals and traffic laws as nothing more than suggestions. More than once I saw drivers zip right through red lights, after only slowing down a little to insure they could beat the cross traffic. (Our own driver was not immune to trying such tactics.) During the day it would take more than three hours to drive north to south in the city.
Raúl
Our guide and driver was a man by the name of Raúl. He is in his 40′s and spoke wonderful English. When I say he speaks wonderful English, I mean he speaks English, in the way I wish I could speak Spanish. A few years ago, I would have called his English, poor at best. There were many times when his explanation only provided more confusion, not clarity, because of his language skills. But make no mistake, his English was way better than any of our Spanish, and our trip wouldn’t have gone nearly as smoothly if it wasn’t for the English he spoke. The more time I spent fighting to learn another language, the more impressed I get with those who are superior to me.
Raúl set the tone for the type and depth of hospitality we were going to receive. Over and over again he offered us everything he had, and did it with a smile and a laugh. As a job on the side he ahs been a clown for over twenty five years. You can’t do that not be a person briming with joy.
The six of us trickled in over the course of six hours. In that time Raúl made a few airport runs and began to acclimate us to the city. I could not image Mexico City with out him. (More will be written about him in the context of some of our adventures.)
Laveme
As we were walking to the car in the parking garage at the airport, we passes a Jeep with “Laveme” drawn in the dust of the back window. It means, “Wash me”. Something are the same no matter where you go.

Back home. Safe. Alive. Filled with stories. Many to come over the next week.

“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.” Henry V (This would work, minus the fact our group is mostly female.)
Our small group is assembling at the Mexico City Airport tomorrow. I am looking forward to the fact that for the next week my job is to 1) play lots of tag and 2) have small Mexican children laugh at my poor Spanish. I don’t anticipate having access to the internet in the desert, so stories will have to wait until our return.
Please keep us and those we are blessed to serve in your prayers.