December/January Newsletter - Sarah in Mexico

Sarah's December/January Newsletter

Advent: A Season of Waiting and Preparing

“What has happened to our ability to dwell in unknowing, to live inside a question and coexist with the tensions of uncertainty? Where is our willingness to incubate pain and let it birth something new? What has happened to patient unfolding, to endurance? These things are what form the ground of waiting. And if you look carefully, you’ll see that they’re also the seedbed of creativity and growth—what allows us to do the daring and to break through to newness…Creativity flourishes not in certainty but in questions. Growth germinates not in tent dwelling but in upheaval. Yet the seduction is always security rather than venturing, instant knowing rather than deliberate waiting.”

-Sue Monk Kidd, When the Heart Waits

Though Advent has passed, I find its themes of waiting, expectation, and preparation to be hugely helpful as I try to articulate much of what I am seeing and learning in Mexico. Language of wandering and becoming not only provides me with a lens for this year of service, but also speaks to the realities of many Mexicans and our collective faith in the coming of hope, love and peace to our broken world.

Perhaps more important to Mexicans than Christmas Eve and Day are the 8 days prior to Christmas, when families and neighbors gather to take part in the tradition of “Las Posadas” (posada means “inn” or “shelter” in Spanish). Celebrated nightly between December 16 and 23, Las Posadas commemorate Mary and Joseph’s long journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem. On the night of a posada, neighbors gather in the street and reenact this journey, wandering from home to home in search of a place to stay. At each house, a call-and-response litany is sung between those in the street, who are pleading for a place to rest, and the owners of the house. The group is denied and turned away house after house, as there is “no room for them in the inn.” Finally, the weary travelers arrive at the home that will make room for them. The owners sing, “Yes, yes, come in,” and, at once, the doors open wide, everyone shouts and throws their arms in the air, the piñatas are hung, ponche is served (Mexican version of apple cider), and the music and dancing begin. The Mexican party is on! The kids went nuts over striking and breaking the piñatas, and everyone—from age 3 to probably 75—danced together in the street. Dance is such a fundamental part of this culture, and I love to watch the way Mexicans of all ages and sizes move and twist their bodies without a hint of inhibition. It’s a riot!

There’s a way in which Mary and Joseph’s journey to the stable serves as such a helpful metaphor for naming and describing some of my experiences and learning in Mexico. Walking for miles through rugged, deserted territory, searching for a place to rest their weary bodies, consistently rejected by those who aren’t willing to make room, finally finding a place amongst the cattle and manure, and celebrating there the birth of a savior…What does this story mean for Mexicans who observe it so faithfully? On what road are they wandering? For what or whom do they wait? Where do they get turned away? Why do they get turned away? I have to believe the themes of waiting, of long, rigorous journey, and of homelessness and rejection strike many chords with Mexican people and history. Theirs is a story of struggle and persistence, of protest and progress. I think about this arduous journey on a macro scale, and the ways in which the Spanish Conquest, NAFTA, globalization, political corruption, and immigration reveal deep struggle, consistent rejection, and unyielding perseverance. On a micro scale, it draws my attention to the women of Cuentepec who travel—two or three times a week—down a long, steep, treacherous trail to the river to wash themselves, their clothes, and their dishes. I think about the myriad families who have told me of their husband, uncle or son’s dangerous journey across the border. It is a costly trip in every sense of the word—not only hugely expensive, but also one that requires incredible physical stamina, heart-wrenching separation from loved ones, and sometimes even one’s life. (More Mexicans have died trying to cross the border than the number of people killed as a result of the Berlin Wall.) And what about the children who walk through the city alone at all hours of the day and night, trying to sell a bracelet, a rose, even a stick of gum? All of these realities see Mexicans oppressed and turned away, with no other option than to keep traveling.

What is so beautiful about Mexicans is the way they find joy in the midst of their suffering. While keenly aware of their struggles, they’re also so genuinely aware of the gifts. There is noticeable urgency to keep pressing forward, to speak out against the corruption of the government, to demand equal rights for women, to respect and enhance the traditions of indigenous culture, to find a way for all children to be fed and educated, to eliminate the systems that make immigration to the U.S. necessary, etc. But within this deep longing for a world that is just, there is also deliberate attention to all that is good and worthy of celebration in this world. I think one of the misunderstandings of waiting may be that we project ourselves too far forward, focusing on preparing to live rather than living. My brothers and sisters in Mexico are teaching me how to live in joy and in discontent, how to live both in the present and in the hope for a new, reconciled world.

Emmanuel: God With Us

“First Coming” by Madeleine L’Engle

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine. He did not wait

till hearts were pure. In joy he came
to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.


To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share or grief, to touch our pain,
He came with love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

Celebrating the coming of Christ in a new land and culture was both truly wonderful and downright strange. Almost everything that I associate with Christmas was missing: there was no rice pudding or lefse, no worship or Christmas carols, no presents underneath the tree, no Christmas lights sparkling in the streets, no below-zero temperatures, and no Rohde family cacophony. Instead, I woke up on the morning of the 24th to a day that felt like any ordinary day in Mexico. Taxis and rutas were running, all stores were open, it was 75º and the sun was shining, people were out and about running errands, buying groceries, going to work, etc. I asked a few people that morning about their plans for the holiday, and the typical response was, “Well, I’m not quite sure. We’ll probably get together with the rest of the family for a big meal.” In my head, I’m thinking, “What? You still don’t know where you’re going to celebrate Christmas? Don’t you make those plans in October?” But in Mexico, planning is highly overrated, and it is so common for families to live close to or with each other that sharing meals and being together is not such a rare, planned occasion.

Most Mexicans celebrate Christmas Eve by gathering for a big meal around 10:00 pm. I joined my host family for the night, and our evening feast included smoked turkey, dried cod in chili sauce, carrot and raisin salad in cream sauce, garlic bread, and egg and potato casserole. It was fine, though I think everyday Mexican food is much more tasty. Toward the end of the meal, Sol (my host mother) stood up to make a toast, followed by each of her children and in-laws. After about five of them had shared a toast, one of the son-in-laws from Holland, who speaks very minimal Spanish, nudged me and said, “You know we have to do this too, right?” We were going in order of age—thank God!—so I still had adequate time to prepare. I rehearsed my toast a dozen times in my head and think I pulled it off pretty well for my first time. Talk about pressure! Our party ended around midnight, but I tagged along with one of Sol’s daughters to a gathering at the in-laws’. We arrived around 1:00 am and the party was literally just beginning. I was exhausted, but these are the moments I must set aside my preferred sleeping and eating habits, and remind myself of the opportunity that it is to live in a new place and culture!

Mexicans don’t do much on Christmas Day—probably because most wake up when the day is half over! I spent all morning in my pajamas, helped my family clean and water plants, and played a few card games with the kids. I joined one of my co-workers’ families in the evening—we heated up leftovers, sang songs, and did lots of visiting—all things that made it feel a bit more like a holiday to me.

There’s no question about it—I missed home deeply. But at the same time, I didn’t find myself wishing to be anywhere other than exactly where I was. I could get caught up in all that was weird or different, but that seems to deny the beauty and truth of Christmas. If I think God only comes in certain places and traditions, then I fail to recognize the magnitude of God’s love and promise to all humanity. Part of the wonder and challenge of this experience is discovering the divine in places and people unimaginable: in bizarre traditions, in collective laughs, in sharing a meal, in listening to a story, in playing with children, in receiving a gift. This life stirs faith in a God who is so beyond, yet so intimate, a God who spun the universe into existence, yet also comes to us in the form of an infant, a God who dwells in the known and familiar, yet continues to be revealed in new and unforeseen places. Such convictions get me right back to the heart of Christmas, when people and cultures around the world celebrate the coming of Emmanuel, God with us.


One world meets another:
The Rohde’s take on Mexico!!

The themes of waiting and arriving hit almost too close to home this year, as the days prior to my family’s arrival in Mexico seemed to move SO slowly. After a few significant travel complications, Mom, Dad, Anna, and Inga walked through the sliding glass doors of the Mexico City Airport, and we embarked on what would be the most incredible, jam-packed, life-giving, hilarious, surreal, and beautiful week together! Our days were filled with family meeting family, blondes meeting morenos (dark-skinned folk), brothers meeting sisters, home meeting home. To be able to introduce my family to this world and all the people, places, sights, and tastes that surround me was simply wonderful. Here are a few of the highlights:

Our day spent in Cuentepec is one that will not quickly be forgotten! Several weeks prior to my family’s arrival, the women of Cuentepec began their “planning meetings” to discuss who would buy the cheese, shell the peanuts, make the salsas, etc. They were committed to putting on a true Mexican fiesta and that they did! When we walked into Lety’s home, the women were scurrying in and out of the kitchen preparing the feast, and the children just kind of stood and stared. Though they didn’t say a word, their faces screamed, “Oh my gosh, there’s three of them!” Similar to my first few times in the community, the women and children were quite timid and reserved. We spent much of our time talking with Maria Luisa (my supervisor) about her work in the communities and the challenges and rewards of such work. The women graced us with a spread of delicious, authentic Mexican treats and dishes—roasted peanuts, eggs in green and red chili sauces, vegetables, salsas, fresh cheese, beans, and white and blue corn tortillas hot off the grill. It’s really not an exaggeration to say there was enough food to feed the entire pueblo. And since no fiesta is complete without a piñata, they had two “true” piñatas (made of ceramic) stuffed with the traditional goodies of peanuts, mandarins, and sugar cane. We formed a circle around the piñata and everyone sang, cheered, clapped, and laughed. It was too beautiful—there we were, Mexicans and Americans speaking Nahaut’l, Spanish, and English, busting out in hearty laughter as people swung at, missed, and shattered the piñata. For those few minutes, humor and laughter transcended our apparent differences and illuminated our shared humanity. We couldn’t even come close to communicating in the same language, but joy and love really need no words. It moved me to tears to watch one family and culture embrace another. If that’s not the best Christmas gift in the world, I’m not sure what is.

Being in charge was almost too much fun! I loved being the tour guide, and think it spawned a new sense of confidence in and ownership of my life here in Mexico. One of the greatest thrills was taking on the role of translator. We had terrific conversations with my host families and co-workers, and mostly, translation went pretty smoothly. Certain conversations were more difficult than others though! Take, for example, our chat with the architect in Cuentepec, as she described the process of constructing the cisterns and the function of the circular excavation, filters, tubes, and pumps. Or how about the conversation Dad had with my host mother about the history of Protestantism, the difference in the authority of the priesthood between Catholicism and Lutheranism, and the mutual agreement between our churches on justification by grace. Uffda! In our dual-language conversations, we also came across some linguistic expressions that have hilarious translations: When Marce heard about our winter weather, she responded, “Ay, que bárbara.” This means that it’s awful or miserable, but her reaction literally translates, “Oh my, how barbaric.” A little extreme when all we’re talking about is snow! And when Mom asked my co-worker Nuvia how I’ve changed, her first response was, “Es más tostada.” This means that I’m a bit more tan, but the literal translation is, “She’s more toasted.” Ha!

Bringing in the New Year at Pie de la Cuesta was awesome! A rugged beach near Acapulco, Pie de la Cuesta is known for having the most spectacular sunsets on the Pacific! It was a great destination for our family, as it freed us to simply relax, eat, and be together. We laid in the sun, walked barefoot along the beach, enjoyed delicious fresh seafood, took naps in the hammocks, laughed like crazy, spent hours around the table discussing light topics like vocation, theology, politics, and love, spotted whales breeching in the distance, and watched fireworks launched over giant waves. It was heavenly!

So we had a great time! Though the goodbye was difficult, I had an unexpected sense of peace in sending them back to the Midwest and staying behind in Mexico. It was a reminder that this place has become home to me, and I continue to receive deeper clarity that this is where God has called me to live and serve this year. Thanks to all of you who continue to strengthen and support that sense of call within me.

Deep peace and joy to you in this New Year,
Sarah