I tried to notice everything in Guatemala — the sights, the sounds, the smells (and perhaps other things that do not necessarily begin with "s."). And while I remember the strange curving incline leading to the women's restroom in the airport, the slapping sound and smell of tortillas being made, the dogs, cars and rooster that invaded my sleep, I know that my week in Guatemala is but a glimpse of a beautiful culture that is drastically different from my own.Our trip was focused around a two-day conference in Quetzaltenango. Approximately 75 pastors, spouses and layleaders from the Western area of Guatemala gathered for fellowship and training, led by their Missouri counterparts.
My role was to play the part of journalist. I watched, photographed, listened and tried to place myself in the position of those gathered in the room. My new friend Vinicio often commented that this experience would change my life. And while I smiled and nodded, I couldn't help but wonder what he thought would change. While the language was different, the meeting was essentially something I could find in Missouri — talk about spiritual maturity and spiritual gifts. Good information, but nothing I hadn't heard many times before. We weren't out walking with Calcutta's lepers or sharing stories with African refugees, we were merely conferencing in Latin America at a hotel that issues TV remote controls with the room keys.
A day later, it hit me. And the answer was so obvious, the authorities should revoke my journalist's license (but please don't, I'm not qualified to do anything else!). The info was old hat to me, but it was revolutionary for the pastors in the room. In Guatemala, theological training is a luxury. Most of them — and the pastors before them — relied only on the Bible. They didn't have commentaries or theology books or Sunday School materials. They hadn't been taking spiritual gift inventories from the moment they could read. This was new. And it was life changing.
Our fearless leader, Gary, shared that these meetings were probably the only time many of the pastors had stayed in a hotel. And for many, it was the only time they were guaranteed three meals a day (plus snacks!). In a nation where survival is still a large part of life, conferences aren't on the regular schedule.
I had overlooked the volcano and its fiery rumblings. And I can't help but wonder how many times I've been scalded by the lava I never saw. Christ calls us to care for our neighbor's need, and I find I've been traveling with a blindfold on (much like the salsa that covered my breakfast eggs, so the yolks wouldn't stare at me!). It's humbling. And may it, in fact, be life changing.
