In the Name of the Father

I´ve always felt somewhat uncomfortable around priests, starting with when I was seven years old and made my first Rite of Reconciliation. I was a little girl, sent into a room alone to make a confession to a priest who towered over me and weighed at least 250 pounds. Though he was kind and I was given donuts that evening, the idea of the sacrament brought me a lot of stress. For years afterward, my parents said how awful they felt sending their youngest daughter into such a foreboding situation. I still get nervous about Confession and anticipate being condemned as a bad person. As my only personal contact with priests has been during Confession, and I associate them with the act, it makes sense that I feel awkward around them.

I must also confess (haha) that the other reason I feel weird around priests speaks to both personal vanity and a lack of self-esteem. I experience social anxiety (a fear that others will react negatively toward me) and I often find new people intimidating, particularly those in positions of authority. However, I realize that I am a pretty, young woman with the ability to charm, and I´ve come to see that older men generally enjoy talking with me. This means if I have a job interview or if am waiting at a restaurant alone, I will feel much more comfortable if the interviewer waiter is a man. I rely on my sexuality to bring me a certain amount of power. Despite the fact that priests are older men, I don´t have this as a tool I am uncertain how to act around them and I fear they are judging me.

So when the parish priest, Father Salvador, decides to take Jessica, Jackie and I to see the pyramids of Teotihuacan, I am both excited and nervous. I want to see the historical, archaeological site that was a city during the time of Christ, but I am nervous about a two-hour car ride with a priest. However, in past dealings with Father, he has been extremely kind and he has personally come to attend to items in need of repair in our house. Everyone has great admiration for the things that he has done for the parish of 30,000 people and there are always lines outside his office to speak to him. His reputation, and the fact that I have an excuse not to talk to him, makes me feel better about the situation.

What´s interesting about Father is that while he has accomplished a lot within the parish, I have determined that he is probably a 9 (peacemaker) on the Enneagram scale. While he is very easy to get along with, his mind seems to wander and he has trouble staying on one topic of conversation. He often seems to be in his world, which is the case after Mass on Wednesday morning as the three of us missionaries wait in a borrowed van for a woman for another woman who will be joining us. While other parish workers chat nearby, Father stands alone looking around with wide eyes. Once, a nun said that 9s are mystics, meaning that they talk to God. I wouldn´t be surprised that if this is the case with Father and if he is too distracted by supernatural creatures that only he sees to deal with matters of this world.

After Lupita arrives, we make a trek out of the Mexico City to Teotihuacan. The site is in a park that holds the remains of a city that before Columbus was largest in the Americas,. Now it´s a world of dusty streets, relics, huge pyramids and remnants of apartment complexes decorated with carvings of snakes and pumas. We walk along at the Avenue of the Dead, the main street of the Teothiuhuacan that was over 2.5 km long. Once, humans on their way to be sacrificed are thought to have been paraded down this street, but now it´s full of vendors selling jewelry, blankets and other trinkets. They are quite aggressive, and saying ¨No entiendo,¨is not enough to keep them away, I also have to pretend not to speak English.

We proceed to embark on a steep climb up both the Pyramid of the Moon and the Pyramid of the Sun. The Pyramid of the Sun is 233.5 feet high and the largest in the world. We have to take rests between flights and as I huff and puff, I am glad for all the times I used to walk up the DC escalators, because it has been practice for this trip. Once we reach the top of the Pyramid of the Sun, we have a breathtaking view of other pyramids, villages, mountains, and we are surrounded by butterflies, and happy tourists speaking all different languages. The altitude is so high that I am dizzy when I initially stand up.

After lunch, a climb to another pyramid and a stop in a museum (with Father taking candid photographs all the while), Father decides it´s time for beer. He takes us to the coolest restaurant I have ever been in-or rather under, because it is literally inside of a cave. Father orders a cerveza and though the other girls stick with lemonade, I remember something that my own dad taught me which is that generally people don´t like to have a drink alone. I have a Corona and in the same way that being surrounded by babies made me miss my mother, relaxing with a beer makes me long for my dad. I know he would get a kick out of the situation-- we are beneath the earth in a restaurant where the floor is dirt and the waiters wear suits, bright, checkered yellow and orange tablecloths line the tables, a mariachi band is serenading a nearby table, and a squirrel runs around our feet.

Father is very jovial and he tells a story of the trying saying Mass in English in England and having a parishioner think he speaking in Latin. When the mariachi band tries to play music in front of his, he says we are too busy playing the rosary. When I offer to contribute money for the bill, he says he doesn´t need my wallet, just a handkerchief to cry into.

The has been wonderful, not just because it was a sunny break from Santa Fe, but because I have gotten to know Father as a fun person and not a shadowy figure in the confessional box or pulpit. In fact, he us a big Saturday night planned for us girls-he is going to come over and hang a statue of Jesus in the chapel attached to our house and lead us in prayers. We´ve already dusted off our Bibles and stocked up on beer.