MAKING CHANGE
Small change is precious here. It is a social courtesy to pay in exact change, or as close as you can get. Nobody selling anything carries much more than 50-100 pesos on them (that’s roughly between $5-10). This is problem, considering the bank pays me only in 100 and 200 peso bills. The first time I needed change I went to 10 different places looking for change for a $50 with no success. Blown away by the idea that no local businesses had $5 of change, I finally came to a storekeeper that asked me “Well, are you going to buy something?” Of course, how naive of me. Nobody is going to give up change without getting something out of the deal. I buy a lot of gum and pens now. I don’t always need them, but it gets me enough change for the combis…

KING OF SPICY
I had a mountain top experience in my quest to master the fire of Mexico the other Sunday when our church had a potluck. I was in the middle of my chicharon tortilla when I noticed that everyone around me was sweating and red in the face. “Wow this is spicy! How can you eat that Caleb?” they asked. I’m not sure exactly how I did it. I was simply bearing the pain as usual. I guess I am beginning to burn off the right taste buds…

MY NAME
Which brings me to my next informational tidbit. If you came to this part of the city in a year asking for Caley, you might not find any proof that I ever existed. When I got off the plane and was riding to the directors house with Ricardo (co-director of MCC Mexico) he told me quite simply that from now on I was Caleb (pronounced ca-LE, Caley was simply too hard for Mexicans to say. People recognize its biblical significance but still tell me occasionally, “Caleb? What a strange name.” “Think that’s strange? You should here my other name,” I usually think to myself…

COLD IN MEXICO?
I’m cold here a lot. I know all of you South Dakota folk are wagging your fingers right now, but you are sitting in you heated houses at the moment. True it is not as cold here, but I live in high enough elevation that temperatures drop to the low 40’s at night and don’t heat up till close till noon. And as none of the houses are heated, there is now way to escape from it. I am considering investing in a heating pad on the next trek to Wal-Mart.

THE BAND NEXT DOOR
The neighborhood youth have a band, which plays on a rooftop near ours every night for several hours. This is quite a romantic start for any aspiring garage band. Unfortunately, like most aspiring garage bands, they are absolutely awful.

COMBI EXCITEMENT
Combis are usually pretty boring. Nobody talks to each other, which makes the only activity of interest boredly staring at the white guy. Yet occasionally somebody will generate some excitement by bringing aboard live birds in cages, or in once case, a ventriloquist dummy. The man essentially talked to himself the whole ride and everyone paid him. If I talk to myself everyone just thinks I’m crazy. The most exciting so far however, was when our combi cut off a taxi in traffic and the taxi driver got out of his car and tried to get into the combi to yell at our driver. Yay for door locks…

MY MOMENT OF FAME
I somehow forgot to put this in the last blog, but at our RECH concert after my DJ gig, a little kid came up to me and asked me to autograph his cd. This marks the first time anybody has done that since my brief shoe signing session with Open Road at Mennonite Conference. In the U.S. I go by DJ Rushmor, but here I am more commonly known as DJ (pronounced “De hota”” in Spanish). I tried getting De Hota Dakota started, but it hasn’t caught on yet.

That is all my musings for now. I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I am more homesick than usual knowing the whole Ortman clan will be gathering without me today. But that comes with the job. Fried eggs and beans will do for now. Despite missing home, I have much to be thankful for and a family here in Mexico that is taking very good care of me. Thanks be to God.

This past Saturday marked our biggest RECH event to date: A concert festival featuring 5 Christian artists from Mexico City. The event was held at a small local church that has several active RECH members, and drew an impressive number of youth from the surrounding area.

We had been planning the event for quite some time (“we” is a generous term). Mario and his band (H20) are a local favorite, and the other four groups were popular local groups as well, playing a Mexican hybrid of rock and rap. The music was really quite impressive for such small time bands.

H20

I was in my element. We jumped, clapped, and danced to the beat, and when the time was right, (which it more than often was) the mosh pit was in full swing, a cyclone of swirling torsos and flailing limbs, bouncing off each other at a furious pace.

Loud music and youth from all over the city is a good time, but the icing on the cake was that between all of the bands, I got to DJ. For some of you this might come as a bit of a surprise. For anyone who was at Bethel the same time I was, it probably does not.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the way God prepares us for what we are called to do in life. Until now I had absently put it to the back of my mind as Sunday school warm fuzzies, but the reality of it has been revealed to me in numerous ways over the past few months.

When I was in high school I decided I wanted to have an instrument that I could play on my own terms, without any pressure to practice or perform. My parents took me to a pawn shop and I picked out a $50 bass guitar and a tiny amp, which I taught myself and played on my own for fun all the way through college. Now I play every Sunday morning in our church’s praise band.

Freshman year of college I went to Bethel set on an English major. First semester I took Introduction to Biblical Studies with Patty Shelly and was excited (and humbled) at how much I had yet to learn about my faith. I immediately added a Bible & Religion major. Now I work with a church and do one-on-one mentoring and Bible studies with local youth.

My junior year I was required to take 2 semesters of Spanish to for my majors. Building off my two years of high school Spanish, I reached a point where I realized that I had the foundation to really be able to speak the language. I audited two more semesters of Spanish my senior year and began to look for an opportunity to polish it abroad. Now I do all of my communication through Spanish.

My senior year I had free space in my schedule. Amy Barker convinced me to take Introduction to Youth Ministry, even though I wouldn’t need it to graduate. A few weeks later I got a call from Amy in my dorm room asking me if I would like to take a Wednesday night youth pastor job at a church in Moundridge. I told her my schedule was almost completely full. She told me the hours and I checked my schedule. It was the only three hour block of time left in my entire week. I took the job, and spent a wonderful year learning and developing my confidence with the West-Zion youth group. Now I work with youth full time and am seriously considering pursuing education to continue this line of work when I return to the U.S.

To tie this all together, the summer before my senior year of college I bought a $100 set of turntables on a whim through Ebay. I felt almost guilty for spending so much on an electronic box, small enough to fit in my sock drawer, which plugged into my computer and allowed me to play with my music while I listened to it.

I took it to college, and once my modmates discovered my odd hobby, we started having “Club 9A” mod dance parties every other month or so. Before I knew it I was doing paid gigs for both Bethel and Hesston College.

When I got to my placement here in Mexico my first week and got a feel for the environment, I thought to myself, “I have GOT to have my turntables sent here.” I had my parents mail them, not knowing for sure if I would ever get the chance to use them.

At our RECH meeting I casually brought up that I had turntables here if they wanted to incorporate them, and the idea took off.

There is very little positive music in Mexico, could I play some of my American music in-between bands?
Well, I just happen to have turntables, an impressive collection of such music, and fingers itching to start mixing again. Not even the handful of people that have truly understood my endless pursuit and collecting (some call it hoarding) of music could have called this one.

God works in mysterious ways.

I burned 15 MP3 cds of the bands that I was playing that night, and they were given out as door prizes for the various fun contests and activities held throughout the night. For the most part, I filled in the silences while the bands were interviewed after their performances, as well as providing the music for the break-dance and freestyle rap competitions.

When the final group (a number of rappers) took the stage, the sound system went down. As my system was the only one working, I was given the tracks and the opportunity to DJ for a real a group of real rappers. I took the stage and got things started, lights flashing, bass thumping and hands waving as a group of Mexican rappers, jeans baggy and hats cocked, gave me the nod to ease in some fresh beats. What fun!

Taking time for an interview

When all was done our pastor took the mic and talked for a few minutes. When he was done we all gathered around in a huge circle and sang a few popular Mexican praise songs. It was a very powerful moment for me. I could see the faces of all the youth, all with their unique personalities and gifts, all struggling with their own problems. After months of struggling to find my footing, I am finally feeling like I am starting to be able to contribute, to help bring light to an age group where life can seem so dark, and work at building the church of tomorrow.

My first few weeks here, while relaxing, were admittedly a bit confusing. I found myself sitting around a lot at the pastor’s house, wondering whether I should wait for instructions of ask if there was something I should be doing. Nobody seemed to be as concerned about this as I was, so I just sat tight, until finally a few weeks ago, the pastor made his move.

We were riding together on our way to Bible Study and he told me: “I know in the U.S. you don’t go to someone’s home unless you are invited, but we do things a little differently. Here we expect you do just drop by whenever. I think you should start paying visits to local youth.”

Oh.

Assuming I knew where these “youth” lived and how to get there, I could just imagine the conversation: “Yeah, hi? I’m an American living in Mexico for a year, and I know I don’t really know you and can’t really communicate with my broken Spanish, but do you want to hang out for the afternoon?”

As it turns out, it hasn’t been that bad. Like everything else, I have been eased into it, one youth at a time, until my schedule has filled. I now visit 6 youth a week, generally for a couple of hours in the morning or the afternoon, and a few more youth may be added in time.

Monday morning’s I visit Carlos, who is not part of my congregation, but lives just a few blocks down the road. Carlos is 27 and fifteen years ago, he contracted a rare disease that destroyed the muscles in his legs, rendering them almost useless. He drags himself around on crutches now, slowly moving through the streets all day, with very few friends and very little to do.

The first day I visited him, he was so surprised, and excitedly introduced me to his family as his “friend from America.” Sometimes he goes with me on small errands. Once we watched Alvin and the Chipmunks in Spanish. The other day he pulled a tattered US map from under his bed and some postcards of US cities. He is particularly fond of a postcard of Denver, saying how beautiful it is, and repeatedly asked me where Disneyworld was on the map.

Each week we also work on his English. He loves to recite his English vocabulary to me. We have been working on correct pronunciation of the alphabet and next week I think we will learn different parts of the body.

Wednesday mornings I visit Ricardo, a high schooler from our congregation. After breakfast we usually listen to music and play Xbox. This allows me to simultaneously pick up on what the youth listen to around here and learn how to operate a sports car at 220 mph through city traffic.

Friday mornings I meet for a Bible Study with Elias, who also lives right down the street. We have been working our way through the book of James, which has been rewarding for both of us. Though my vocabulary is frustratingly insufficient for talking theology, Elias carries on good conversations and fills in my blanks along the way.

Elias is emo to the core. He lives and breathes music, and is an incredible drummer. As drummers are hard to find, he is a part of four local bands. Elias is incredibly friendly and outgoing, and has eagerly requested that I introduce him to more Christian screamo bands. Though that is generally not my genre (to contradict my previous blog), I am an expert in the field of music, and have taken him under my wing, opening his eyes to bands like Staple, Demon Hunter, and Kids in the Way.

After Bible Study I eat breakfast with his mother, two sisters (who are also in high school), and drop-kick dog. I do not say this lightly, being the lover of animals that I am, but besides its incessant barking, last week it tried to make love to my arm, and that was about the last straw.

On Saturday afternoons I head to Silvia’s house to spend time with her 11 year old son Hector, and two brothers, Eladio and Edgar, aged 12 and 14. Eladio and Edgar live by themselves in a one room apartment. Their father works at a bakery all day, making enough to feed them, and that’s about it. These two boys have been almost adopted by Silvia and her sister, and come to church with them every week.

Both boys are in school now, but sometimes Eladio doesn’t come home after school, and sleeps in the street. He refuses to tell anyone why. Despite this fact, both boys are really very normal, ornery, fun loving boys. Sometimes we play soccer or basketball outside on the street, and other times we play Uno, dominoes, or Tourista (Monopoly). Recently Silvia has been teaching Eladio how to cook, which gives us a good chance to talk about pets, city life, and the ups and downs of school.

Eladio

My work (if you can call it that) has its challenges, but overall I feel so blessed to be able to spend time with so many interesting youth that have so much need, but also so much to give. Praise be to God.

This past weekend I had the chance to go to a Christian metal festival with part of my youth group in Naucalpan’s city park. The concert featured three of Mexico City’s top Christian metal bands, sponsored by a local church and held in a conference hall of sorts (though it took them over an hour to get me inside once we got to the park and I discovered that grass still existed).

After being greeted by some sweet church leaders in suits and ties, the room opened up into a rowdy mix of rapid fire bass drum and screaming/howling vocals from men with hair down to their waists and tattoos covering about everything else.

Christian metal is a paradox for some. Personally, the shock value doesn’t faze me. In scripture, God exposed himself through so many people and in so many ways that I feel it is not my place to say that God cannot show himself through a raging metal band. It would figure that if God made us all different, we would all find him in different ways.

What I struggle with is the idea of “Christian music.” My youth, not being able to understand the lyrics to many of the American bands they listen to, often ask me: is System of a Down Christian? Is P.O.D Christian? Is Evanescence Christian? And I am given the chance to glorify or condemn a band with a yes or no answer. This makes me uncomfortable.

As author Rob Bell said “Christian is a great noun and a poor adjective.” What exactly is it that makes a band “Christian?” One can point to modern praise and worship bands like the Newsboys, Mercy Me, Casting Crowns etc, and the answer is fairly straightforward. But what about the rest?

What are the criteria? Being under a Christian record label? Mentioning Jesus at least once in each song? Being composed of solely baptized members? What if all the members are Christians but their social justice themed songs never mention Jesus? What if the bassist isn’t a believer? Is 80% Christian enough to squeeze them into what has become the “Christian music” genre? If a band is officially a Christian band do I have to agree with everything they sing about?

For some Christians, this is a black and white topic. “Is U2 under a Christian record label? No? Then find me a “Christian” alternative.” “I hear Anberlin doesn’t mention Jesus in their songs and sometimes plays in bars, they must not be a Christian band.”

It is not that black and white for me. And I struggle to convey that to my youth with my limited Spanish.

Is the Lord of the Rings a Christian series? Well, Tolkien was Christian, and one can find Christian allegory if you search for it. But not all of his characters are good, and I’m sure you could find scripture condemning what some of his good characters do. Christian book or not? Not that easy. Do “Christian” architects only build churches? Do “Christian” painters only paint pictures of the crucifixion? Christian is a great noun and a poor adjective.

Getting back to the topic at hand, I enjoyed myself. I am no stranger to metal, being quite a fan of Europe’s Female Fronted/Goth/Epic/Symphonic metal bands.

The second group of the night was a band called Graffiti. During one of their final songs, containing a rousing chorus of “Speak Spanish or Die!” I remembered another thing that bothers me about “Christian” music. Some bands do Christianity more damage than good. In fact, there are a lot of “secular” bands that do a lot better presenting the gospel than some “Christian” bands.
The song ended with the lead singer pointing directly at me, followed by an uncomfortable moment where everyone in the room stared at me. My youth found this hilarious. I might have too, but as scary as all metal bands look, I can never tell when they are kidding or not.

The final band, Armadura, was actually quite impressive, sporting an incredible electric violin player and a throng of costumed soldiers and flag bearers who added an impressive amount of choreography and dialogue, depicting different biblical scenes (from what I could tell). Nothing that will ever be coming to MY home congregation, but many gifts but the same spirit right?

Last year's poster, but same festival, coming up in a few months

Greetings friends!
You may have noticed an uncharacteristic absence in posts from my usually faithful blog. This dry spell corresponds quite accurately to the complete loss of my laptop hard drive and everything on it. As of right now, it is in the hands a professional who is evaluating whether it would be more worth my time to repair it, or sell it and buy a new one. Either way, I will be using an internet café for at least another week. While I have my information at home backed up on another hard drive, I will start fresh again here in Mexico. Sigh. Such is life.

I have a lot to say (shocking eh?) but as it is most timely, I will start with my Dia de los Muertos/Halloween experience. I’m not sure if Mexico technically celebrates Halloween, but the rampant consumerism of the holiday has caught on to the point where you could convince me it does. But the real big deal is Dia de los Muertos.

Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) is a Mexican holiday that celebrates and honors loved ones that have passed away. It has been celebrated for over 3000 years, making it a fascinating blend of indigenous and Christian traditions. Traditionally, alters are set up with pictures of the honored loved ones, and the person’s favorite foods are prepared and set on the altar. The time is spent celebrating and reflecting on the lives of those who have passed on.

Kind of makes me feel a bit shallow for going house to house dressed up as Garfield and asking for tootsie rolls.

Being the festive culture they are, Mexico celebrates Dia de los Muertos for three days, Oct 31-Nov 2, with the 1st being set aside to honor deceased children and infants, and the 2nd for adults. In the week preceding, stores and houses are decorated with skeletons and witches, and combis decorate their dashboards and put festive decals in their windows.

When the day(s) finally arrived, I tagged along with Silvia and some of her family to see the celebrations in the Zocalo (city square). One of the perks of living 30 minutes from the center of Mexico’s capital is that I have the chance to see Mexican culture at its highest. Dio de los Muertos is no exceptions.

The Zocalo is packed out with people. Little skeletons, witches, and Harry Potters totter around with little pumpkin baskets asking for money or candy. Trick-or-treating is popular here too, but children most often receive money (to think, I could have started saving for college years ago had mom driven me a little further south on Halloween).

Adults often take up the chance to dress up too. For a few days the city’s Goths need to find something a little more creative than black and eyeliner to stand out.

The Zocalo is filled with what look like stationary parade floats, all set up and sponsored by different businesses and organizations, honoring different traditional Mexican families or groups of people. There are also traditional dances, free concerts, and a stadium where men in only loincloths entertain the masses with a traditional game in which they must score points by using only their hips to force a ball up a ramp and into a hoop.

I returned the next night with some of the youth to see the spectacle at night. It is truly breathtaking, with everything lit up in eerie greens and reds, and Mexico’s largest cathedral towering overhead.

While enjoyable, I regret that the environment took on more of the feeling of a county fair than anything truly spiritual. I am told that in the more isolated small villages of Mexico, the festivities are considerably more authentic. Some of the older members of my church I talked to lament the rapid secularization that is happening in Mexico, and Dia de los Muertos is only an example.