Jun O’ntonal – Our Hearts Are One

From Mission Coworker Elena Huegel serving with the Intercultural Research and Studies Institute (INESIN) in Mexico.

When we picked up hermano (brother) Nicolás Moshán on our way to a meeting of rural leaders of the Catholic church in Chiapas, Mexico, he was wearing his traditional Huixtan (a village in the highlands) clothing embroidered with beautiful flowers across his chest.  Elena, my tocaya (a friend who has my same name) translates for the group, and I take notes. Elena is trilingual, speaking Tzotzil, Tseltal, and Spanish. We are the only two women present. When the time comes for the lunch break, Elena and I realize we were not informed that everyone was to bring their own food, and the men take off together in twos and threes, leaving us alone except for hermano Nicolás. Seeing that we have nothing to eat, he motions us over to a bench in the plaza in front of the church, and under the shade of a tree, he takes out of his morral (a traditional hand-woven shoulder bag) the lunch his wife packed. Then he takes the bankilal (a small gourd) from his morral. Elena translates his explanation. “Inside this gourd is a mix of ash, crushed dried tobacco, and herbs. This is the way we receive the blessing of the bankilal, the older brother.” 

The Mayan languages are very rich in words for the different family relationships, and younger siblings would never call their older brother by their first name; instead, they use this title, bankilal, which denotes a deep respect. The older brother is responsible for caring for and blessing both his parents and his younger siblings. The traditions of the bankilal are ancient, dating back to before the Spaniards arrived in these lands. The ritual of taking a bit of the powder from the bankilal onto one’s palm, pinching a bit to taste, and patting the rest on the top of one’s head in blessing reminds us to be grateful and to appreciate our elders. It is also a way to receive the energy needed to do good. In the joining of ancient Mayan spirituality with the Catholic faith, Jesus is our bankilal who guides and blesses us. I bow my head and participate in the ritual, receiving and thanking our older brother for the blessing of the gifts from Mother Earth. Then hermano Nicolás carefully makes five little tacos with the tortillas, two eggs, and beans from a little pot, sharing equally between the three of us.  When we finish, he smiles at Elena and me and says: Jun o’tonal. Our hearts are one.” This is how the Tzotzil Mayans see peace: all our hearts, one heart. beating with God’s heart, all different but in perfect unity. Peace is harmony and the fullness of life for everyone in the community. It is closely linked to kindness, authenticity, and integrity.  Heart strengthening is very important to the Tzotzil. When all hearts are healed and able to beat in harmony as one, then we will have an abundant life with dignity, justice, and equality.

I have been back in Chiapas just three days when I hear that hermano Nicolas Moshán has died suddenly. I call my tocaya, Elena, to find out if she will be going to the wake, and we agree to go together. The only problem is that I have an online meeting I can´t miss at 9:30pm, so I will leave early, and she will get a ride home with other friends. She also agrees to stop by and buy traditional gifts for the family, and we will split the cost.

Hermano Nicolas’s adult children are at the gate of the neighborhood Catholic chapel. When his youngest daughter, María Elena, sees me, she falls into my embrace, weeping. “I didn´t know you were back in town,” she says. “Thanks so much for coming. I so needed a hug from you today.” She is another of my tocaya friends and has participated in the Roots in the Ruins program. María Elena is a sensitive and perceptive trauma healing facilitator whom I have had the privilege of getting to know well throughout her training. “I know we won´t be able to talk now,” I tell her, “But we will get together for a long chat and a cup of hot chocolate in a couple of weeks, ok?”

Lupita, another one of hermano Nicolás’s daughters, who is a human rights lawyer, also embraces me. We have been good friends over the years, and I taught her to drive. “I want to talk later, too,” she whispers to me. I hug her a bit tighter in response.

I help Xuno, one of the men being trained as a “heart strengthener” in the traditional way of the Mayan people at the Institute for Intercultural Studies and Research, our Global Ministries partner here in San Cristóbal de las Casas, carry candles and flowers into the chapel. The benches have been rearranged to face a middle aisle that leads to the chancel and the altar. When we enter, everyone in the quickly filling space turns to look at us. Alberto, a young man who has also received training at the Institute and has taken some of the Roots in the Ruins courses, runs over to give me a hug and help me carry things. I am so happy to see him, too.

Xuno is learning at the Institute how to facilitate indigenous theology and heart-strengthening spaces.  He speaks to the deacon in charge of the chapel, and they agree that hermano Nicolás, as a deacon in the Catholic church and a long-time jTatic, or leader in indigenous theology, should be remembered and celebrated with a Mayan altar.  Xuno turns to Elena and me, and asks us to help him to create the altar at the foot of the casket in the middle of the worship space. As I help to arrange the red, deep purple, white, and yellow flowers in a circle, as I have been taught at the Institute, I am aware of the people arriving, most dressed in the distinctive clothing of Huixtan, to pay homage to this man who was a spiritual father to the whole community.

Xuno places a glass of water in the middle of the circle of flowers, and I ask if he is going to place soil, too, as is the custom. He replies, “No, I think water is enough so that the energy that is swirling here can flow.” Before I can think, I ask, “But might we need to ground that energy in Mother Earth?”  He answers, “You are so right, can you please get some soil?” I quickly find another glass and gather dirt from outside to place in the center of the circle next to the water. Then he asks me, “Do you think it is good to plant the two center candles (these represent God: the heart of the earth, the heart of the sky) in the soil?”  “Of course,” I answer, surprised at the new tone of respect I hear in his voice. Then he asks me if I will lead one of the traditional prayers of the Mayan altar. Suddenly, I am aware of how deep my own roots have grown into this piece of Mother Earth, the land of the Mayan people, even with all the bumbling confusion I feel most of the time in cultures and with multiple languages that are not my own.  After six months of visiting churches in the United States, I am home.  

Many of the people gathered are Mayan, and most are Catholic, but not many know about indigenous theology or the quest to recover many of the faith traditions lost over the hundreds of years since the Spanish conquest. Xuno explains the cardinal directions and colors of the Mayan altar. Then he shares that he and hermano Nicolás have been active participants at the Institute of Intercultural Studies and Research, and how they have learned to accept and appreciate the different streams that emanate from God: Catholic, Protestant, and Indigenous Theologies. He recognizes that most people present are Catholic, but he invites all to honor hermano Nicolás by participating in the Mayan altar. He thanks me for being present, likely the only Protestant in the chapel, and explains that we are all believers, though we may be on different paths. I am so proud of his excellent presentation of both the Institute’s mission and indigenous theology in his own words and from his own experience. In Xuno, at that moment, I can see how we are creating ecumenical understanding and commitment one person at a time here in the highlands of Chiapas, where interfaith violence has, at times, been a source of deep pain and anger.

As I say a final good-bye to hermano Nicolás Moshán, I am deeply grateful for the legacy of his life well-lived:  sons and daughters who are committed to bringing healing and justice to communities throughout Chiapas, an open hearted welcome to those different from himself, a quiet joy-filled capacity to invite others into the rich traditions of his ancestral world-view, an openness to learning and adapting to change.  A musician, healer, and community leader, I treasure the generous gifts I and so many others have received: Jun o’tonal. Our hearts are one.