A letter from Rachel Anderson in Mexico
May 2010
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire
it was because of those people from Chicago who keep coming back, keep loving the churches in Mexicali, keep sharing their lives that he felt he might be safe enough to share his painful story.
Make no mistake about it: language school is tough! Burning with the desire to express love, hope, grief, month after month while still lacking the very words to do so is to have a heart of loneliness and frustration growing within. But the two weeks after finishing language school I jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire of the active, dynamic, transformative ministry of Pueblos Hermanos.
It all began with a mission delegation: three churches form the Chicago area returning for the fifth year to be with the two churches of Mexicali. Those first four years all focused on construction projects that greatly blessed and developed the infrastructure of the Presbyterian churches in Mexicali. But this year they all wanted something different. They asked to begin to understand the imminent situation throughout their relationship with each other. So, in addition to mornings of construction, we spent afternoons and evenings studying history, visiting people and hearing testimonies. To wrap it up I asked a local pastor, who wishes to remain anonymous, to tell his story. To my surprise this typically open and jovial pastor was nervous as he agreed.
It took over an hour for him to tell his story of perilous journey to the border from southern Mexico and its struggles, crossing with smugglers into the United States, being caught by Border Patrol and deported back to Mexico, where he landed in a Presbyterian Border Ministry (PBM) immigrant shelter. There he met and was mentored by the Mexican coordinator of that site and began volunteering with PBM. Eventually he came to Mexicali to attend seminary and university to now pastor a local congregation. Throughout his testimony he would choke up and then laugh, a mannerism I chalked up to his basic jovial personality.
Some time afterward this pastor took me aside to thank me. Surprised, I immediately interrupted and thanked him. “Your story was so powerful! So full of God’s love and your love for God! Thank you! Thank you for sharing it!”
“You might have noticed,” he said in Spanish, “I laughed at times. I did this to keep from crying. Today, with this group, was the first time I have told that story since coming to Mexicali many years ago.” He went on to explain that it was because of those people from Chicago who keep coming back, keep loving the churches in Mexicali, keep sharing their lives that he felt he might be safe enough to share his painful story. As tears filled both our eyes he again thanked me for encouraging him to do so, giving him permission and an opportunity to take us into this part of himself. All I could say was, “No. No. Gracias a ti. Gracias a Dios por ti. Gracias hermano! Gracias.”
The frying pan and burning desire to express love, hope, grief turned into a flame of God’s love as we cried together, astonished once again at the miracles God gave each of us through the other that day.
The 2010 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 275
