Jesus on the playground

Day one of spring break trip to Lucio Blanco, Mexico (just south of Harlingen, TX)

Several months ago a truck tried to beat a rain across the tracks in Lucio Blanco. It didn’t make it. Several buildings were destroyed in the explosion and fire; about a dozen people were killed. Many more were orphaned or widowed. Our diocese has responded; various church groups have come to build houses and repair the neighborhood.

It’s spring break, and here we are with eleven members of the church. Much fun will be had; some work will be done.

We made the trip today in just enough time to join the departing crew of another congregation for their last hour of work and for a dedication service. They were here for several days, and built a playscape for the children of the neighborhood. Wooden stairs and ladders and slides and ropes and swings and all things wonderful about early childhood.

Today was what Eucharist is supposed to be.

Members of four congregations. Two languages. We switched back and forth between Spanish and English with cheerful clumsiness. We sang, in no recognizable key whatsoever. I even knew the words to the chorus. The altar was a plastic folding table set up in the middle of the playscape. And, best of all, as the adults prayed and read scripture and hugged and sang, the smallest of the children clambered around, playing on the new playground.

And there I stood, in the dirt of a tiny Mexican town, in my U.S. Army issue General Infantry combat boots, blue jeans, a t-shirt, and a stole. I’ve never felt better dressed for the great feast.