If you’ve kept up with the blog, then you know I’m not a city boy. The romance of wilderness is far too appealing without the rapid pace and complication of business. Yet I’m captivated by Mexico City. The wonder of her architecture bears witness to the tangled web of culture that has exploded a massive population. Built on the ruins of one of the largest indigenous settlements in the Americas, it is the center for religion, commerce, and politics in a country struggling to keep up with contemporary western powers. To walk her streets is to be enfolded into her story, but first; a hike!
On Saturday I awoke to a bustling house. The baby awake, mom and dad were gathering different things they needed for a successful outing with a three-month-old. We were all headed south of the city to the small town of Tepoztlan. It was a beautiful pueblo with a Saturday market and cobblestone streets. We walked the market and grabbed a snack. Then we moved through to the end of the town for a short hike into the surrounding mountains.
It began with a series of stone steps lined with merchants peddling food and souvenirs, as this seemed to be a popular weekend hotspot. The trail was steep and we gained altitude rapidly shaded under heavy canopy. We were all breathing heavily and taking lots of breaks. I think the trail starts at about 5500 ft. It was very muggy and the sweat ran freely. It felt like old times. James had the baby and she seemed to like the hike or was asleep. I felt honored to accompany the Kitchins on Isa’s first hike. We made it to the top where sat an Aztec pyramid. It was very impressive. A plaque said that some of the carvings dated to the 16th Century but the structure could very well be older. We snapped pictures of the pyramid and the valley below then headed down. The baby fussed a bit but then slept most the way. Then we headed to the cantina for dinner and ordered a two-person entre that three of us could not finish. What a wonderful hike.
Sunday was church. We went to a house church in the city that the Kitchins attend. It was beautiful. We all sat in a small yard and sang songs after just hanging for a while. Then, James, the missionary whose house we were at, gave a sermon. Everything being in Spanish I struggle to follow along. I was encouraged that I understood enough to turn to the 5th chapter of Matthew, and he spoke of all the different types of people that attended the Sermon on the Mount. Yet the message they received was a peace in which they could all participate despite their differences. And knowing the peace, they live in the tension of imperfection and redemption.
We prayed and formally finished. Then the party started. The small church was celebrating a birthday. We ate very well and some danced. It was a blessed way to be in church.
Today I struck out on my own while the Kitchins were at work. I headed for the Zocalo. It is the main town square. After successfully navigating the metro and one train change, I walked up from the subway into the square. You pop out directly in front of the Mexico City Metropolitan Cathedral. It is astounding. Taking up one whole side of the square, it’s intimidating in both size and grandeur. Its construction lingered for centuries from the small church immediately after the conquest of Tenochtitlan in the 16th century until after 1800. Some of the stones of the conquered Aztec temples were used in the construction.
The rapid influx of Catholicism through violence to the area brings new meaning to the idea of baptism by fire. The building seems to encapsulate the reverence and majesty of its tradition. But I can’t help but liken it, in my mind, to a head stone honoring the turbulent transition of the land. I do not envy the work of the Franciscan Monks whose task it was to reconcile the European force to the message of the Gospel. Yet somehow they did. They orchestrated aqueducts from the mountains to native villages. Learned hundreds of native tongues and navigated a rugged mountain wilderness. The shear number of devout Catholics today testifies of their work.
I walked in, removing my cap, as daily mass was in progress. The sound of raised voices echo in the massive chapel. I sat in wonder at the process until the priest administered the sacrament of communion and offered the benediction. All the while other tourists meandered and gazed, snapping pictures and whispering quietly to each other. The parishioners filed out into the square, where, in a matter of days, the president would address the country for its 200th anniversary. “Viva Mexico.” From just across the square the nation’s leader pays tribute to the revolution from another country that brought them their faith from across the sea.
I arrived at the mission last night and spent today learning names and getting shone round the grounds. My sister rapidly educated me on the boy’s different and compelling backgrounds. Suddenly the tension of empire and conquest, religion and commerce, and history’s entire dramatic epic in Mexico now had a face. Their stories are beyond intimidating. What can I do? Fortunately there are wonderful people who have already begun the work and stand by and bend and strain under the tension that pulls on these kids. Hopefully I can learn their delicate and beautiful dance.
No comments:
Post a Comment