Personas son personas son personas (or People are people are people)

Two of my many memorable experiences in Mexico involved visits to homes of ordinary people. These visits took place during our time in Cuernavaca, a "small" city of only a million or so people about 1-1/2 hours south of Ciudad de Mexico.

One morning we made our way to "La Estacion" (The Station)–a squatter community established nearly 50 years ago, but with ownership still disputed–by railroad workers who wanted to live where they worked. The train station is no longer there, not even the railroad tracks–but the homes still are. There is also an effective community outreach center, established by Franciscan nuns, empowering the mothers of the community (many of the fathers are working in the U.S.) to support themselves and their childrens’ education and teaching moms and children about their value as persons and about nutrition. This photo is of a beautiful altar hanging, hand-crocheted by one of the women of "La Estacion," which I purchased for less than $20.

Our groups divided into two segments, and each of us went to one of the homes in the community. Some homes, we noticed, were little more than corrugated cardboard shanties. The home we visited, headed by a dignified widow nick-named Dona Tasha, was sturdier than some, 200 meters square, and also housed Tasha’s youngest children and several grandchildren. "La Estacion" is located on potentially prime commercial real estate, so developers are eager to move the people out of the community. Tasha hopes that the government will allow her to purchase the home she has lived in for 20 years, and said she would be able to pay the price that had been suggested. If they are not allowed to stay, Tasha does not know where else who would live; she would probably have to move into the already-crowded home of one of her adult children. But Tasha lives with hope. She is proud of her children and grandchildren, and has encouraged them to pursue their educations–which they are doing. Not to be outdone, Tasha, who has completed the equivalent of 3rd grade, has two more exams to study for and pass and then will have earned her G.E.D.–at the age of nearly 60. What a courageous woman! I asked her what gives her hope, and she said, "My faith in God." A short message–but a powerful one, authenticated by the way she lives her life.

A couple days later, our group, this time divided into four segments, traveled to another neighborhood–this one obviously of a little higher economic class. We had seen no cars in "La Estacion," but here we saw many cars. Later, we learned it was probably a lower middle-class neighborhood, one that had improved itself over the years due, in large part, to the past work of the Catholic Church in the neighborhood, called "Santa Fe" (Holy Faith). The church had organized Christian Base Communities, small groups of laity who shared their experience with poverty and oppression, reflected on it in the light of Scripture, and found in the Word and in community the courage to claim their human rights and dignity.

Each of our four groups was to spend 24 hours in the home of a family in the neighborhood. We were both eager for and anxious about this experience. We knew it would be a valuable cross-cultural experience, and we had no doubt we would be shown generous hospitality–which we were!–but we were anxious about whether we would like the food and whether we would be able to communicate across the language barrier. In our group of 4 American guests, the Spanish was quite limited–but, fortunately, the family’s 15-year-old daughter spoke fluent, un-accented English. (They had lived in the U.S. for 11 years.) It turned out to be a wonderful experience! Not only was the language barrier overcome (and some of us got to stretch our limited Spanish a bit), but the food from Yolanda’s kitchen was absolutely delicious! The photo is of the Delgado family at their dining room table.

While there, we watched a DVD of Cynthia’s quincenera celebration (an elaborate religious and social rite of passage ceremony, including a special Mass and a party, for 15-year-old females). I had heard about the quincenera, but had not fully understood it until now. Then we went with Cynthia, her friend Nicole, and her father Jesus to watch him play soccer (or, in Mexico, "futbol"; our version of football is called there "futbol americano"). Jesus scored 3 goals and led his team to a 5-3 victory. It was fun!

We spent the evening sharing pictures and stories about our families (the Delgados have 3 children and 6 granchildren in the U.S., including one son in the Navy), talking about what it means to be a Lutheran with this typical Mexican Catholic family, viewing fireworks from a nearby neighborhood’s festival, and showing the family our church websites on their computer. As a bonus, we had the opportunity to send an email note back home.

In the morning, we had our third excellent meal, then gathered with the other host families and guests for a time of sharing and conversation. The whole overnight experience was exquisite! Here's a photo of our group of four with our Mexican hosts:

Among the things we learned from the Delgados was this interesting fact: when in America, Jesus once worked in construction for $40/hour, while now in Mexico he occasionally is able to work as a cab driver for $30/day. Yet, when he fills the gas tank of his small pickup truck, it costs him the equivalent of $40–not much different from the price we pay.

I don’t believe I’ll ever forget how the Delgados touched our lives and how gracious their hospitality was, even though we are much, much better off financially than they are.

From both these experiences visiting with people of Mexico, I was reminded again of a reality that I have long believed to be true in my head. But now I saw it with my eyes and experienced it with my heart: "personas son personas son personas"–people are people are people. Because, as different as we were from both the Delgados and Dona Tacha–different in economic status, different in ethnicity, culture and language, and different in nationality– this struck me as true: rich or poor, of whatever country or color, whatever our language, we all have in our hearts one strong and common longing. And this makes us much more alike than different: we want our children and grandchildren to have a good education, live in safety, enjoy adequate food and shelter, and have an opportunity to pursue their goals and better their lives, and we will make significant sacrifices to help make that happen. I was reminded of the old hymn, based on a saying of Jesus: "In Christ there is no east or west, in him no south or north, but one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide earth."

What a blessing it was to experience that truth, first-hand, through encounter with Dona Tacha and the Delgados!