A Gringo’s Impression of Guatemala -Bus Travel to Solola
Lately I’ve been reminded how every person on this planet is “made in the image of God” (Genesis 1). Whether recognized or not, everyone reflects attributes of their Maker, and carries features of our common Father. As I visit cultures similar to, or radically distinct from my own, I constantly look for ways these features shine through. Often invisible to those who don’t know our common ancestry in God’s creation, to those who have open eyes and hearts, these clues are subtly visible as “rumors” of God’s glory. A sense of something forgotten by culture, or maybe still hoped for. Rumors that those who know the grace and mercy of The Father, have the privilege of confirming…
It’s the dry season in Guatemala. The pine dotted mountains of the South look surprisingly arid as our bus twists its way towards the town of Solola, near lake Atitlan. “Chicken Buses”, imported US school buses individually purchased, brightly painted and chromed out like an LA low rider, jockey for position around us. Like hulking leap-frogs, they pass and cut one another off, grinding up the steep grade. Their goal: beat just one more competitor to the next stop where a few additional passengers wait for the standing room only space.
I’m thankful our driver doesn’t feel the need to compete since our seats were pre-purchased from Antigua. It costs a few dollars more, but the peace of mind is worth every last penny. I recognize that each saved quetzal (Guatemalan currency) is probably precious to those tolerating the chaos, but I need to arrive ready for a meeting. That justifies the expense, even as a supported missionary, right? So why the aftertaste of remorse at a few dollars? I think it’s in part a “missional tension” in navigating seculular cultures for Kingdom purposes. Being good stewards of money balanced with time, energy and overall physical stamina. Yet the tension remains. Even so, it’s unnerving to have these wheeled works of art precariously passing and re-passing us. One in particular displays a bright yellow “Jesus Salva” (Jesus Saves) sticker sandwiched between two stereotypical truck mud flap silhouettes of reclining, naked women. Biblical truth expressed amidst gritty, earthy artistry. Faint echoes of God’s glorious handiwork. Rumors of His glory.
We jump ahead of another bus pulling away from the curb. A young man on the roof continues tying down bundles and boxes, keeping low to not lose his balance as the bus lurches forward. I check the silhouette of our own bus to make sure nobody’s rummaging around on the roof where my suitcase is. The windows are down allowing the scent of dust and diesel to drift through as we continue our slow uphill climb, the motor’s low pitch shifts between the grindings as gears are changed. We pass a pickup backed up precariously close to a precipice. Off the bed a man rakes piles of garbage that tumble out of sight. From the acidic sweet smell, trash is burning somewhere below.
As we wind in and out of hills, multiple volcanoes in the distance help me keep track of our direction of travel. I can see “Volcan Fuego”, literally “Fire Volcano” in the distance. Last night missionaries Rick and Becky Mackey along with Justin and Jeimmy Smith sat with me atop our residencial enjoying sporadic, brilliant fireworks from this monster that laid waste to an entire town less than a year ago. Such beauty and power, but I prefer to keep a healthy distance. What an amazing world we’ve been given pointing towards a creator to be feared for His immeasurable strength yet loved for his incomprehensible mercy and beauty. Glimpses of Glory seen through creation that suffers the consequences of sin.
We pass through various small towns, each looking relatively similar to the last. Cement walls with glass imbedded on top to prevent trespassers. Some with more costly razor wire, but nearly all with rusty, corrugated steel roofs. Big red signs scream “Coca-Cola” with traditional logo before whispering the store’s name at the bottom. My favorite: “Tienda Tio Tito” or “Uncle Tito’s Store”. Next door the competition’s Coke sign (exactly the same make) merely mumbles “Tienda” or “Store” at the bottom. Outside a wrinkled old man in traditional colored pants and a once white tank top leans against the adobe wall balancing on two of the stools three legs. His rubber galoshes are propped up on the rusted remains of a large engine. Judging by the dusty dog snoozing where the 3rd leg would rest, he’s been there a while.
Our bus pauses at an intersection. Sweet smelling “Elotes Locos” or “Crazy Corn” roasts alongside the road. A few cents gets you a large cob smothered in mayonnaise, ground cheese, fresh cilantro, chili powder and lime. Now I realize I’m hungry. A girl looking to be about 6, wearing what was once a brightly colored Guatemalan dress, sits on a dusty black plastic beer crate selling bright avocados from a similarly faded red plastic wash tub. Mom (aunt, neighbor, friend?) sits behind her in a slightly less faded dress, slowly and methodically tapping away on an iPhone. What a mix, or rather clash of cultures. A man in a black leather cowboy-looking hat holds wood carvings up to the bus window, searching for a buyer. Crudely tooled images of toucans, sloths and Bart Simpson rotate in front of each window before we move through the intersection, no buyers here.
Billboards dot the scenery: cell phone companies, propane gas, hotel rooms by the hour, taco bell… we’re getting into the city now. We wind down a steep, tight road with a sliver of sidewalk on each side rising from the crowded street and pressing against the steel fences or concrete walls of storefronts. Women in traditional outfits balance with impressive ease bundles of who knows what on their heads as they weave through the narrow spaces. A security guard in black uniform precariously balances his shotgun over one arm, unconcerned of where it’s pointing as he guides a taco to his mouth, juice dripping down his wrist to his sleeve. Now I’m really hungry.
Our bus pauses in front of a narrow alleyway, frustrating cars trapped behind us. The driver signals me forward explaining that my destination is a few blocks down the hill but there’s no space to stop. I climb down and am quickly handed my roller board, carry-on suitcase as the bus pulls away. Three blocks down the hill on this narrow, gravely sidewalk? I definitely should have brought my backpack this trip. Two blocks later I catch up to and pass my bus still stuck in traffic. The driver avoids my gaze.
Finally I arrive to the restaurant where I’ll meet UWM missionary Sarah Johnson and Jose Abel de la Cruz the director of Estudios Viña. Time for lunch, fellowship and further exploration of how the Lord would have our ministries work together.
In various ways we all have the privilege of following the Holy Spirit’s lead to confirm the rumors of God’s glory expressed every day within the rich culture of Guatemala and throughout the world.
What a blessing to be part of His Story!
-Thank you to Bruce Cockburn: "Rumors of Glory" ------------------------
In various ways we all have the privilege of following the Holy Spirit’s lead to confirm the rumors of God’s glory expressed every day within the rich culture of Guatemala and throughout the world.
What a blessing to be part of His Story!
-Thank you to Bruce Cockburn: "Rumors of Glory" ------------------------
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