Vistas de Guatemala 

            I have long been looking for a way to integrate my interest in the Spanish language with my ambition for learning and expanding my world view, and with my desire for contributing to the world by sharing my faith and abilities as a physician with those in need of them.  This summer (1998) I took a large first step in that search by serving as one of the adult leaders to a group of youth that visited Guatemala under the sponsorship of the Heartland Center.  The Center is a Presbyterian church camp and retreat site in Missouri sponsored in part by the Heartland Presbytery, the regional governing body of my local church.   The experience provided a sense of direction for future efforts in this journey. 

            Our group of six youth and five adults met at the Heartland Center for group building activities prior to leaving for Guatemala early on a Sunday morning.  At the camp we got to know each other, discussed expectations, and ate the last food from our usual diet that we would get for over a week.  The youth ranged from the eleven-year-old daughter of the trip directors to a college-age woman.  The one young man was going to be a junior in high school; the other three young women were entering or graduating high school seniors.  Dick and Mary Davis were the group leaders.  Dick is a Presbyterian pastor and did a doctoral dissertation on church work in foreign countries and is the director of the Heartland Center.  Mary is attending seminary.  The other two adults were Lee and Cindy Mattingly, youth leaders at a church in Marysville, Kansas.  We became a very cohesive group during this trip, and I count them all as my friends.  

            My role on the trip as medical advisor to the group got off to a fast start when one of the young women had an allergic reaction to the medication that she was taking to prevent malaria.  She had a significant problem, with swelling and a cough and difficulty speaking.  We took her into the emergency room in Parkville where she received IV medication and got a prescription for oral cortisone tablets.  We decided that the chance of malaria was low enough that it wasn’t worth the risk of further medication.  She recovered and bravely went on with the trip.  

            The flight through Houston to Guatemala was surprisingly short – only about five hours.  One doesn’t realize how physically close Central America is to the United States, although when we landed it felt quite distant culturally.  Guatemalans we met on the plane to Guatemala City from Houston were from the wealthy upper class.  Many were returning from visits to the United States for shopping and sightseeing, and several were carrying Disneyland souvenirs.  This would contrast significantly with the conditions we witnessed later in the trip.  Armed soldiers were in evidence at the airport.  We changed our U.S. dollars for quetzales, collected our luggage, took a deep breath, and walked out the door into a mass of noise and color.  Non-passengers were not allowed into the airport building, and people meeting the plane, street vendors, taxi drivers, and various hangers-on crowded around the door, shouting and trying to get our attention.   

Robert Moore and a Mayan Guatemalan man named Victor Batz met us outside the airport.  Robert is the liaison for Presbyterian volunteers from the U.S. in Guatemala, and was for the most part responsible for the itinerary and logistics of our activities in Guatemala.  He lives in Quezaltenango (Xela in Mayan) with his wife Linda, son Robert Jr., and a younger daughter.  Robert Jr. attends a public high school in Xela (pronounced Shayla), and Linda works with her husband.  All were fluent in Spanish.  Robert and Linda got their start as Peace Corp workers in Peru.  Victor is a pastor in a Mayan Presbyterian Church.  He was hired to drive the minibus for our trip, and in time really became a part of our group.  He didn’t speak much English, but his thoughtful and caring nature was nonetheless apparent. 

The squalor and poverty of Guatemala City gave way to fincas of sugar cane, rubber trees, and coffee as we descended onto the coastal plain via an excellent blacktop road.  We shared this major highway with bicyclists, pedestrians, trucks, cars, and the ever-present buses, which usually emitted copious amounts of black fumes.  Leaving Guatemala City immediately was an intended strategy to avoid being marked for robbery at a tourist hotel.  We stayed the first three nights at the Seminario Evangelico Presbiteriano, a seminary run by the Presbyterian Church in Guatemala in San Felipe, several hours from Guatemala City.  It was raining heavily when we arrived.  We found the rain to be a regular companion every afternoon and evening, as we had arrived during the rainy season.  

I awoke the next morning to unfamiliar sounds – birds and possibly monkeys, buzzing mosquitoes, and women speaking Spanish.  An electric coil wrapped around the showerhead dubiously supplied hot water for showers.  I opted for cold water.  Breakfast was one  with which we became familiar:  black bean sauce, salsa, and the ever-present tortillas.  There was usually some sort of fresca (fruit juice – my favorite was juice made from lemons fresh from the grounds of the seminary), bread, coffee, and occasionally an egg.  The coffee was instant; all the good stuff is exported.  Rice and chicken were common at other meals. 

The Seminary grows much of its own food, and the resident students work there to help pay their way.  Many students commute.  The commitment shown by all of the students was extraordinary.   At one meal I sat with a couple from the coast who attended classes together.  He was in his fourth year of study, she in her first.  They had brought an infant daughter with them while the grandparents looked after their other children.  Four days a week he works for six hours building cement block buildings, followed by two to fours hours of church work, and commutes to the Seminary two days a week for school and study. 

At the Seminary we met and talked with several students, mostly during meals, and attended several talks on various aspects of Guatemalan and Mayan life.  The most intense was a long session given by Moises Lopez, the director of the Seminary.  Robert Moore translated for us his informative discourse on Guatemalan and Mayan history, racism, Mayan spirituality, and the tension between traditional Mayan culture and Christianity.  Robert himself gave several talks on his views on the place of Christianity in this third world country, including an introduction to Liberation Theology.    As I understand it, this approach to scripture and theology, which arose from the Third World, teaches that God has a preferential option for the poor:  justice first for those that need justice the most.  One can see that these views would not be looked upon favorably by those in power in Guatemala, or elsewhere, for that matter.

A worship service at the Seminary was particularly meaningful to me.  Guests are especially encouraged to participate in worship.  I nervously read the scripture lesson, in Spanish, and Emily and Mary Jane, two of our group, sang a duet.  Their talent was shared in many services throughout our stay.   During the service, a pastor and his family were introduced who were leaving to set up a ministry in a remote area quite a ways from the Seminary.  I learned later that he and some of his family members had been beaten some time ago for his “liberal preaching,” and that he was fortunate not to have been killed.  They were bravely looking forward to their new challenge.  I brought with me a donation for two scholarships from a men’s Bible study group that I attend at my church, and formally presented this money to the Seminary after the service, again in Spanish.   

While staying at the Seminary we visited Abaj Takalik, an early Olmec/Mayan ruin.  The temples were not as high and spectacular as the classical Mayan ruins at Tikal, but they were nonetheless impressive.  Robert related the theory that the lower mounds were more accessible to the people, and that the high temples of the later classical era were symbolic of the separation of the people from the religious experience and contributed to the maintenance of a powerful elite priesthood.  The whole area was visually remarkable and worth the effort of driving several miles in on a road that resembled a dry, rocky river bed.  I was especially interested to see the remains of a Mayan “ball court.”  The game was a religious event:  putting the ball into the hoop symbolized the setting of the sun into the night and also the end of life in death.  The losing team was sacrificed.    

We spent the next several days at the Instituto Biblico Presbiteriano, a meeting and retreat center near Xela.  Xela is up the mountain from the Seminary, and it was cooler and more comfortable there.  On the way, we visited a glass blowing co-op, where glass objects were blown and shaped from recycled glass. Another educational and shopping opportunity was at a weaving co-op.  All the material and objects were hand woven by the women in the co-op, many of whom were widows whose husbands and other family members had been “disappeared” during the guerilla/military conflict of recent years.   Another interesting site was the hot springs at Zunil, also near Xela.  Hot water, heated by volcanic action, collected in a pool by the side of the mountain, and made for a very soothing “hot tub” experience.  This site was truly idyllic, with steam rising into the cool mountain air, surrounded by lush tropical vegetation.   

While at the Instituto we met and interacted with several young people from neighboring Guatemalan Presbyterian churches, and visited a worship service with them.  They have an active youth organization and they were all very simpático; we enjoyed getting to know them and learning about their activities and plans.  During our time there, the Instituto was also the site of a women’s conference celebrating the recent decision to allow women to be ordained as elders and pastors in the Presbyterian Church of Guatemala.  This was truly an historic occasion, and we were proud to be there in support of their decision.  A worship service the last evening of the conference was especially memorable, with representatives from Presbyteries from all over the country present.  Women wearing traditional Mayan dress intermixed with ladinos and gringos in grand showing of solidarity. 

    A further excursion was to market day in San Francisco de Alto.  The market covered several square blocks with color and sound and odors.  For sale in booth after booth were bright hand woven fabrics, handicraft items, and jewelry.  If you didn’t see what you wanted in a booth, you were sure to be offered a variety of items from young boys roaming the streets offering a good price.  Pentecostal preachers harangued from street corners next to open-air food stalls, while live turkeys gobbled from their cages.    Victor helped immensely with the bargaining, and we returned laden with purchases. 

    Another day we accompanied several members of the Maya Quiché Presbytery to visit a self-development project of CESSMAQ, a Presbytery committee for outreach.  I rode standing up in the back of a pick-up with a dozen other men and youth up a winding dirt and rock road to the mountain village of Chuisacaba.  At one point we all had to get out and push the truck over a particularly steep and rocky spot in the road.  At the village we were shown their community project, which involved growing coffee for income, and a new community building.  There was also an ongoing health education project and they were excited about the prospect of having an electric line completed to their village some time within the next year.  The people there were very friendly and were enthusiastic about sharing their progress.  At noon, they served us a meal of black beans, tortillas, a hard-boiled egg, and coffee.  I learned later that the egg was quite an extravagance for them.  I was greatly moved by their generosity and ambition in the midst of poverty and scant resources.  Unfortunately, those of us that partook of the meal found that our digestive tracts were not ready for the local microbes. 

   The morning of the penultimate day of our visit was spent riding from Xela to Antigua via the northern mountain road..  Three colas interrupted this trip.  Cola means “tail” in Spanish, and refers to the long line of cars waiting to pass by road construction.  Vendors camp out at these areas all day offering soft drinks and food to each new captive audience.  The road itself offered breath-taking views.  At one point we looked down on a cloud-covered valley with spectacular mountains rising above us.  Antigua was one of the old colonial capitals and its colonial architecture and old church ruins are evidence of that history.  Three majestic volcanos surround the city, adding to its fascination. This was a much more touristy site, with hotels, tour companies, Spanish language schools, and plenty of additional shopping opportunities.  A group meeting and worship service, which included communion, brought a sense of closure to our trip. 

 In addition to purchased gifts for our friends and loved ones, we all returned enriched spiritually by our Guatemalan experience.  The group became very close-knit during the trip, and I think of my new friends often in association with my thoughts of Guatemala, which impose themselves almost daily as I go about my ordinary life.  Although the conditions in Guatemala were not comfortable physically, with tropical heat and humidity, mountain chill, daily afternoon rain showers, unaccustomed food and beds, and intestinal upset, those are not what I recall most vividly.  That which shines most brightly, the dearest gift we brought back, is the sense of love and hope conveyed to us by our hosts through their glad welcome, instruction, and friendship.