Mexico Revisted - A Photo Journal

This is Puebla, a city of over two and half million and our home for almost three years.  The bell towers in the center are at the Cathedral and play a part of it being called the city of angels

We only ate Chiles en Nogada once but absolutely loved it.  Green peppers stuffed with pork, almonds, raisins, apples (to name a few ingredients), covered with white sauce and sprinkled with red pomegranites makes it a patriotic dish.
 

Even the locals stopped to take photos of the volcano Popo on this particularly snow capped day.  I shot this one about ¼ mile from our home in Momoxpan.
 

This may not serve as your typical image of Mexico, but it is standard….crowded, worn and busy.
 

Balcony windows and bright colors go hand in hand. 

This stately Renaissance architectural style is common throughout Puebla and impressive to the eye.  This is the inner courtyard of a local café I frequented. 
 

You probably haven’t eaten this typical Mexican meal of tacos de pollo (chicken tacos) in any US restaurants lately.  Los Colorines (the Colors) was one of our favorite restaurants where I would often order tortilla soup. 
 

There’s nothing like eating your meals at open air restaurants like these in Cholula.  Even in the winter months, it was pleasant enough to enjoy outside dining most days.
 

Our best family vaation ever was on the coast at Veracruz.  We stayed at a beach house with our German co-workers and made lots of memories. 
 

I took this shot at the home of a friend while attending an Independence Day celebration.  The guy at the far left attended El Puente Church with us. 

How Grandpa Got His House

 

Francis and Edith Schaeffer are known for their work in the Swiss Alps at the home they named L’Abri (the shelter).  Here they would welcome young adults for short and long term stays.  These folk from the 1960’s and 70’s were searching for answers and came to discuss current philosophies and to hear Christian apologetics.

 This idea of community has struck a chord with us for a long time.  While apologetics is not our particular bent, the idea of living together in community with young people whose lives are being spiritual formulated is appealing to us.  The idea however, seems somewhat daunting when we think of the size home such a ministry would require.  But I need only to be reminded of how grandpa got his house to know anything is possible.

 Grandpa moved his family to Cosby during the late spring of 1945 just before the stifling heat and humidity of summer began, when flowers and trees were in full bloom and pollen swirled through the air.  He arrived from Byrdstown, Tennessee (after having grown up in central Pennsylvania) to this raw Appalachian region with his family, a wife, two sons and a daughter at the request of L.L. Brown.  Mr. Brown and his wife had resettled in Cosby after a short stint in Persia (Iran), and they were now ready to retire.  The request came that grandpa come and take over “the work” of teaching the Bible in churches and and in public schools. 

 

These were the days when some still lived in federally owned homes purchased for the National Park.  The family moved into one of these with an urgency to find a more suitable place.  The hunt began that summer and eventually led to a suggestion from a neighbor.  Jettie was a lady who loved cats, crossed a foot log every day to manage the elementary school cafeteria and became a family friend.  She took grandpa and the others up a winding path behind her house to an unexpectedly beautiful home that was for sale. 

 

The home had been built by a commercial artist from Connecticut who had recently died.  It had the character and taste that you would expect from an artist.  Perched on the side of hill, it had a panoramic view with a row of windows showcasing the mountain range from the inside as well.  Natural stone work gave a tasteful dignity to the log house.  There was also a certain whimsy with the face of Mickey Mouse and a butterfly formed by rocks in the chimney.  "It's hard to believe there is a place like this here", was one of their first thoughts.   

 

The asking price was $4800 for the home and the ten acres of land.  It was being administered by a local judge for Mrs. Shaffer who had moved back to Connecticut.  Of course a poor preacher like grandpa couldn’t afford such an extravagant price but he approached Judge Shepherd with the question, “Do you think that woman would take $3000 for it?”  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out”, was the judge's reply.

 

A while later he came back with the answer, “Yes, she will, but there is another man who will give more for it.”  I’m sure grandpa’s heart must have dropped, but to make a counter offer was not his way.  “Let him have it; if the Lord doesn’t want us to have it, we don’t want it.”  The judge responded, “If we haven’t heard anything from him in a few days, we will close the deal.”  Unbeknownst to grandpa, the judge himself had already purchased the house, and they soon met and closed the deal by January for the agreed upon $3000.   

 

 

There Is a Metanarrative

Yes, I believe there is a metanarrative (a postmodern way of saying master narrative, bigger story or master idea).  I believe there is a bigger story coursing its way through my local context and the universe.   

It begins with a communion relationship among the Trinity and culminates with all things being made new to their glory.  In this epic story God’s good creation is spoiled by the evil one as the first human couple is allured into rebellion and death of a relationship with their Creator.  In a masterful way the Son of God executes an eternal plan that requires Himself as a human sacrifice for the redemption of His creation.  With the enemy crushed and humanity reconciled, the Anointed One majestically reigns in His kingdom. 

There is a metanarrative.  It doesn’t dismiss the reality of our individual stories but simply acknowledges there is one much bigger.  It doesn’t diminish our lives but enhances them.  We are absorbed into something meaningful that gives significance and clarity to our lives.

As faith followers we most accurately reflect that there is a bigger story than ourselves when we are living out of our true identity and most certainly don’t when we live in gloom, pessimism, self-hatred and despair. 

In Christ we walk in newness of life, are made alive, set free, are citizens of heaven, beloved, are given eternal comfort and good hope.  The fullness of this abundance shouts that true life is only discovered in the Gospel narrative.

Michael's Honest Prayer

Michael sat in the church sanctuary thinking about the poem he had stumbled across earlier in the week.  He pulled a well worn book out of his pocket, leafed through the pages and read it again as he had done multiple times throughout the week.  Each reading only increased his unsettledness.  It had not been mean spirited or harsh or even particularly pointed but simply the thoughts of someone sorting out the realness of their own relationship with the Lord.  Never-the-less, the author’s honesty had been disarming and had opened a door of honest reflection of his own. 

He had found the poem at Goodwill, but it felt more like the poem had found him.  Michael had stopped there early Tuesday evening on a quick errand to find a novelty mug for a friend.  He picked one with a colorfully striped zebra and the caption “Have the Courage to be a Little Crazy.”  Then as he turned to leave, he spotted the book shelves.  Books were a weakness of his, and he promised himself he would only take a quick glance.  Nothing special caught his attention until he spotted a thin dark blue volume entitled Psalms of My Life.  Pulling it off the top shelf and randomly opening it, his eyes fell immediately on “A Psalm of Single Mindedness”.  He hadn’t a clue how deeply it would affect him.

When he finished the reading, he slowly laid the book down on the seat beside of him and covered his face with his hands.  As he reflected, Michael realized how vividly this poem described him…in the negative.  It was everything he was but didn’t want to be.  He thought of all the times he had put up a wall to protect himself and his image.  He thought of how often he had come across as having it all together when he taught.  He thought of how superficial his relationship was with God and others. 

Most of all he thought about how he wanted things to be different.  Picking up the book he read the poem once again.  Only this time from his heart and as an honest prayer:

Lord of reality
make me real
not plastic
synthetic
pretend phony
an actor playing out his part
hypocrite.
I don’t want
to keep a prayer list
but to pray
nor agonize to find Your will
but to obey
what I already know
to argue
theories of inspiration
but submit to Your Word.
I don’t want
to explain the difference
between eros and philos
and agape
but to love.
I don’t want
to sing as if I mean it
I want to mean it.
I don’t want
to tell it like it is
but to be it
like you want it.
I don’t want
to think another needs me
but I need him
else I’m not complete.
I don’t want
to tell others how to do it
but to do it
to have to always be right
but to admit it when I’m wrong.
I don’t want to be a census taker
but an obstetrician
nor an involved person, a professional
but a friend.
I don’t want to be insensitive
but to hurt where other people hurt
nor to say I know how you feel
but to say God knows
and I’ll try
if you’ll be patient with me
and meanwhile I’ll be quiet.
I don’t want to scorn the clichés of others
but to mean everything I say
including this.    
                      - Joseph Bayly