Mexico

I knocked down two cement columns during the week. They named me, El Demolador, The Demolisher or Demolition Man.

Little Marcos and I, holding hands.

I returned from Mexico this week. I was there for 7 days working with a church (El Mesias - The Messiah) in Playa del Carmen on the Yucatan Peninsula. I went down with a church from Indianapolis. It was fabulous. We build the second floor of the church, hauling insane amounts of concrete block up to the second floor via scaffolding and two of our guys who are 6'4" and 6'5". It felt good to do something tangible for a group of people who really needed it. And I loved getting to use the Spanish I had studied in college. My favorite phrase of the week? Well each day the Pastor's wife Elizabeth made us breakfast and lunch - lunch was really lunch and dinner because we ate around 3pm and we ate enough food for 2 meals. Elizabeth and I got along great. She loves making food and I love eating a lot of it. Her particular specialty is empanadas. I consumed 10 of them. Unfortunately the youth pastor from Indianapolis ate 12 the year before (some reports said 14 - he was already a leyenda - a legend). In my defense, I was going to play futbol afterward and did not push myself to the limit. My friend Luis said that I would need to preparar y entrenadar (train) mucho for next year.

This is all to say that after one of our fantastic feasts several of the menfolk were patting their full (and bulging) stomachs. Pastor Juan points at one of the Americans and says, "Tienes La Curva de Felicidad" - "You have the Curve of Happiness."

It is strange to be back and hear people's responses. For the most part people just ask about the weather, the drug culture and are thankful for safety. But if good weather and safety is all it is about, then I would have driven a few hours south and stayed at a resort in the southern U.S.

In fact, I went for the opposite of comfort. Do not mistake me. I appreciated the safety of the church community and our tourist hotel. And I certainly went for my jogs on the beach in gorgeous weather. But the point is to sieze an experience that wakes me up to the gospel, to its foreigness, to its radical nature and dangerous calling. Like a cold splash of water in the morning, a trip like this shocks. But it also refreshes.

Was I in danger? No. But breaking the rhythm of my comfortable life (we could call that breaking, "sabbath") reminds me that God calls us to something very large and very exciting indeed. And it is always good to hear the gospel among the truly poor - because they hear it with different ears. To them it is not an academic idea to toss around. The gospel is not a list of rules for Christians. The gospel is not something that just affirms me on Sunday mornings.

The gospel is Good News.

Luis would agree.

Mi hermano, Luis.