Sylvestre and the chicken
In the Sierra Madre Mountains, two hundred kilometres northeast of Mexico City, rivers rush down the slopes into the green valleys. Totonac villages high up interrupt the natural panorama of green—splotches of brown surrounded by a patchwork of fields. Hundreds crowd into these villages, striving to make their living by farming the steep ridges. Coffee, vanilla, corn and black beans are the most common crops. Pneumonia, snake bites, gashes from razor-sharp machetes and falls from mountain-side coffee fields take the lives of many of these gentle people. Medical care in this remote region is so inadequate that many have died unnecessarily. This prompted a group of Canadian volunteers to construct a sixteen-bed hospital at the Totonac Bible Centre, La Union, Puebla.
During the years of construction, the volunteers came to know many Totonacs,
including Pastor Silvestre and his family who lived in basic comfort at the
Centre. Those days ended when Silvestre felt God calling his family to minister
eleven kilometres away in a new squatters' town, named La Colonia de 25 Mai,
after the date of its founding.
After the other Canadian workers had left, Ian Mason and I hiked over the hills
on foot, Totonac-style, to visit Silvestre in his new home. After climbing up
and down sweltering trails for almost eight hours, we had to admit that we were
hopelessly lost and needed to retrace every tiring step. More than two hours
later, a lone coffee truck wheezed around a sharp curve in the road behind us.
Exhausted, we hopped into the back along with six cactus plants, two coffee
pickers, their dog and a tired-looking mother, nursing her infant. The truck
jarred every bone in our weary bodies all the way back to the Totonac Bible
Centre. We were forced to begin our journey all over, as soon as the next bus
appeared.
By noon the next day, we arrived near Silvestre's town. There he stood, smiling
broadly. He had met every bus for the past twenty-four hours! We stumbled the
short distance up the cobblestone streets and across a stone bridge to
Silvestre's home. Their three boys—Jeremias, Juanito and David raced out of
their house and down the trail to welcome us.
In a gesture of Totonac hospitality, Silvestre offered us a bar of soap, then
generously sloshed water over our grimy hands. The water had been carried by
hand from a stream in the valley far below. Their home consisted of six wooden
posts driven into the rich, black soil, with plastic coffee bags strung between
the posts as walls and corrugated asphalt for the roof. Its hilltop perch gave
the strong winds and frequent torrential rains unlimited access to every inch of
the interior. The family of six slept in a single plank bed supported above the
damp floor by rocks. However, their view over the valley and market town below
was breath-taking.
Silvestre's wife, Josefa, prepared freshly squeezed orange juice, sweet black
coffee and chicken legs—huge, lukewarm and fatty, floating in a hot chilli
sauce. The deep brown eyes of the kids were riveted on Silvestre, Ian and me as
we consumed the family's total weekly supply of meat.
As I was attempting to swallow a quantity of skin and pin feathers, a young
chicken clucked boldly over and stood facing me. The expression of disapproval
in her beady eyes was very clear. I was already pondering the possibility that
there just might be some ancient Pharisaical law that forbade the eating of the
mother hen in the presence of her offspring. Suddenly there was a triumphant
cackling. Silvestre calmly reached down and retrieved a fresh, warm egg from
under my chair.
I began to visualize Christ as a welcome guest—comfortable in this home. We felt
humbled to be treated with such sacrifice and love. Somehow the material needs
of the family were muted in the light of their great spiritual abundance. We had
only set out to walk over the mountains and visit friends, yet never before had
the reality of Christ's teaching on another green hillside in Galilee come so
vividly to life: “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”