Study in Contrasts

Well, yesterday was a strange day — a kind of study in opposites.

In the morning, Lee and I went with Oakley and Ted and Concepción and Olman and Olman's young son on a drive up into the mountains to see three of the other churches that our team has worked on in the years we've been coming here. The mountaintops and high valleys are incredibly beautiful: lush and green, forested in some places, cleared and farmed in others, with clouds scudding along the peaks, alternating mist and sunshine. The communities in these mountains, however, are generally poor. Some coffee plantations make money — it's not hard to notice the bigger, finer houses along the road — and when coffee prices are up, as they are now, the communities where coffee workers live do a little better than most. But I was chiefly struck by the poverty, the rough condition of the road, the pickup trucks stuffed with people in the back because there is no public or commercial transport, the men carrying 100-pound bags of coffee on their shoulders down the hillside, the skinny horses and burros on the road — all in the midst of stunning natural beauty. It was its own study in contrast.

The first church we stopped at is the farthest out, San Nicolas in the town of Agua Caliente. Our mission group worked there on two trips, including one youth trip. The church sits just above a river flowing down the mountain valley, and there are flowering trees and shrubs and vines everywhere, even in January, and it is very beautiful. The congregation there has grown fourfold since the church was first built — from about ten to about forty — and they are thinking of expanding. Two years ago we brought them a cross made by Richard, one of our regular missioners, made of Honduran mahogany and Virginia cherry as a sign of our partnership, and today that cross is mounted just above the main door of the church, as a welcome to everyone who comes in.

The second church we visited was St John the Evangelist (I'm not sure I could properly remember the Spanish name) in Sesemil Segundo. Our team had not done a lot of construction work there — just a retaining wall, and lots of painting — but the lay leader of the congregation remembered Ted and Oakley and welcomed us warmly. The church has lovely tile work on the floor and altar platform, and is clearly lovingly cared for. The musicians' instruments had been left on the platform — two guitars, a gitarron, and two vihuelas — and an impromptu jam session broke out. We weren't all exactly in tune, but the noise was joyful.

After a stop in a mountainside cafe for home-grown coffee with cardamom, we visited the church of San Antonio in Quebracho. The church is built on a plot that was literally carved out of the hillside; there is a huge retaining wall on one side — I think I was told it was thirty feet high — and on the adjacent side another retaining wall running the length of the property. It's a real piece of mountain engineering. The church itself is poorer; the tile on the floor was not as nice, and one side of the church was still taken up with stored rebar cages the team had made some years ago. But the altar table had a nice green hanging, on which someone had painstakingly appliqued a figure of the Lamb of God in Triumph. It was a small touch, but to me it spoke volumes about the devotion of the folks who worship there.

We got back into town around 2pm, and Lee and I decided to just hang out for a little while, rather than make a very active afternoon of it. All my rock-breaking of the previous day had left my back and wrist (the right one, with all the metal in it) rather sore, and bouncing along rough mountain roads in the jump seat of a pickup truck had kind of worn me out.

So after a nice little rest we went out for a bit of wine and cheese before dinner. I must have had something that didn't agree with me, though, because as we wandered through a few shops on the way back, I was feeling progressively odder, until by the time we got back to our room I knew something was not right within. I ended up being quite sick, through a long and fitful night. And now, in the morning, I find I'm in no shape to go to church at Espiritu Santo in Santa Rita. I feel bad about that, since Sunday worship at the first church we worked in is always a major event in the trip, and one I enjoy very much. But I think the rocks and the cheese and the bouncy roads are sending me a message about not overdoing things; so, much as I'll miss it, I'm not going to church. Sigh.

And there you have the contrast: beauty and poverty, devotion and struggle, strength and weakness. I saw remarkable signs of people strengthened by the grace of God to strive for compassion and mutual well-being in difficult places, and I felt pointed reminders of my own weakness and need for compassion and grace daily. And as the mission team gets on the bus for church at Santa Rita, I will take some time for my own spiritual communion in gratitude for God's creating love in all the contrasting places.