Life and Death and Apple Empanadas - Monte Edwards

It was my turn to make the Mata. All eyes were on me as I attempted to replicate the precisely ordered routine of Mata, sugar and water.  I’d watched it being prepared for the least several days and assumed I had the necessary skills. My first attempt mixed too much Mata with too little sugar creating a bitter aftertaste that everyone seemed to find quite amusing.  The evening ritual always found me on center stage trying and trying again to find the correct combination for a palatable cup of Mata.  Each night I endured the comical encouragements of my hosts as I struggled with the subtle variations of the formula. Only the last few days of the trip found me creating a tasty beverage that found the respect and appreciation of my Argentinean family.

Since the living room of our host family’s home was converted into a small store that provided dry goods to the local neighborhood, the kitchen was the center of the household – a vortex through which all the comings and goings and gatherings took place. Decorated with a distinctly Italian flavor, pans and pictures covered flowered wall paper.  The tiled countertops recorded the cuts and scrape deposited by a family well served.  

The days found us at the church – a neighborhood across town in the barrio. The drab grey concrete was tagged, here and there, by weathered designs of an abstract artist. Our VBS class started at 10:00am, the kids started showing up at 11:00am. On the first day a couple in our group panicked – wondering if the event might be a flop. With an easy assurance based on experience, I assured them the kids where coming. By the end of the week the kids where waiting at the door when we got there. Our daily fellowship with these wonderful children filled me with a simple spirit of joy that made me happy.

At the end of the day the kitchen greeted us with a warm fellowship that simmered like the pot of soup on the stove.  Our bantering was loud and alive and felt like family. As folks stowed their coats and packages, the kitchen filled as we gathered around the small marble table that filled the center of the room. We communicated in two languages – a little Spanish here, a little English there, punctuated with flailing of hands, carving the air like a sculpture - and the hum would grow. The addition of each additional person mixed a new conversation into a swirling jumble.

Sometimes the table was focused on one conversation – a great debate of theology or the nature of life and death -our interpreter would have to moderate many of the deeper thoughts – my Spanish cannot handle those types of details.  Sometime our silly bantering focused on nothing at all except the joyous interaction of kindred spirits. When the apple empanadas came out, every night about 8:00pm, the subtle praises of smacking lips and moans of delight would diminish, for a moment, our conversation.  With gratitude we relished the caramel flavored concoction that felt like a reward for a faithful day of service. 

The great moments of life are lived in these ways – in joyous fellowship, around a common table, tumbling together through life. The warm presence of easy community is at the heart of my desire for missions. It touches the center of my soul and propels my praise to a great Creator who designed me for times like these – who also rejoices with me in fulfilling the greatest of commandment to “Love the Lord your God with your heart and to love your neighbor as yourself.”