(Oct-Nov ’08)

Almost the first thing I said to Eufemio Bonafaz Lopez, after six hours in the air and/or airports and three hours up a winding road to Simojovel, Chiapas, was, “My Spanish is limited. One day I hope to preach in Spanish, but I’m not yet able.” That was Saturday night. During the Sunday morning service in what would look like a good size hay barn, with about 150 in attendance, Eufemio, a Tzotzil Indian and pastor of the church, said, “Brother Dan is going to come preach now!” My response was deeply spiritual. “Yo? En espanol?” (Me? In Spanish?) He just smiled. So I did. Understand, no one there could speak English. Before I got on the plane to come home, I had preach 8 times all over those mountains.

This pastor has started over 30 missions. He trains pastors. My first week there, he had a training institute. I preached to the students. Every day, several times a day, they had a prayer time. One stands out. They all knelt on the concrete floor. I eventually had to sit. Each prayed for 5-10 minutes a piece, some in Spanish, some in the Tzotzil dialect, one in English. Then we stood and read in unison Deuteronomy 28-29, 97 verses. Try that in Sunday School! The Scripture reminded me of the current conditions in the U.S. I shared the poor spiritual condition of our churches back home and how I felt Chritians here in America will one day face persecution. The pastor said, “Ojala!” (I hope so!) Everyone stood and prayed again. The pastor led in prayer. They all poured out their hearts for America. I wept.

They are praying faithfully for the persecuted church in China and India. Some wear a bracelet that says in English, “Pray for China.”

Some were very hard to follow. They would switch back and forth, almost imperceptibly between Tzotzil and Spanish. I thought I had lost what Spanish I had. It took me a couple of days to figure out what was going on. At first, they had difficulty understanding my Spanish.

On another day they prayed around the room on their knees for an hour. I just remained seated. I’m an American. They have calluses on their knees.

A sign on a Catholic church, “No estoy aqui. Estoy en cielo con mi madre.” ("I’m not here. I’m in Heaven with my Mother.”)

On October 31, Halloween in the U.S., Day of the Dead in Mexico, Reformation Day, we organized a church. Then they installed a pastor, electing deacons (3 men, 2 women-a first for me,) a treasurer, a secretary and an assistant pastor. I preached, as usual with little or no warning. The 15 members of this new church knelt and the rest of us circled them and prayed. We sang, “Unidos en su nombre.” (United in Your Name.) Benjamin, the pastor, was in the Training Institute.

I preached in Huitipan twice on Sunday. Visited in afternoon. A teenage boy was saved next door to the church. Day of the Dead celebration still going on. Drunks in the streets. Smell of marijuana. I was told 80-90% of the men in that village have a drinking problem. That means, of course, the women and children have other problems as a result.

Visited a young family, two precious children. Husband a new believer, still struggling with alcohol. Wife a Catholic.

Visited Jesus and wife Maria Elena. He is committing adultery with a witch, who must have some kind of power over him. His wife was saved; he sat with his head down the whole time weeping, but would not repent.

Handed out 600 Gospels of John door to door. Preached in small hut, the front door at ground level, the back, where I stood, on stilts on the side of hill.

Went 2 hours further UP into mountains on winding paved road, another hour on winding dirt road, then on foot up a wagon trail, then up a goat trail to a small, low ceiling shed (the indigenous people are very short). The dirt floor and the low rough-hewn plank benches were cushioned with pine needles. Looked like a perfect place for a manger scene. 25 people. Accordion, 2 guitars and a bass. Preached in Spanish, which doesn’t even qualify as a second language for me, Eufemio, whose native tongue is Tzotsil, translated my Spanish (a second language for him) into Tzeltal (a third language.)

Drove another hour and a half. Preached in Spanish with the local pastor translating into his dialect. Slept on church benches. Drank more coffee in 15 days than I have in 5 decades. Ate enough cabbage soup to last until next time.

Prayed for young teenage girl on her death bed. Sexually transmitted disease.

The most beautiful country I’ve ever seen in my life.

Thank you for sending me. Thank you for sustaining us in prayer and in financial support.

Pray for Revival and the persecuted Church around the world,

Dan Grindstaff