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A hush fell over the crowd and everyone watched as Pope John Paul II entered. He was an old man, smaller than I had imagined, with bright, intelligent eyes and a paternal kindness on his face. He started to speak: “I feel a great joy to be here with you in Yucatan, splendid exponent of the Mayan civilization, to have this meeting as desired by me, with whom I pay tribute to the indigenous peoples of America.”
My own thoughts obscured the sounds of his words. “Just a little more, dear Excellency. I will send you to meet St. Peter.”
And the Pope continued, “From the first steps of evangelization, the Catholic Church, faithful to the Spirit of Christ, was a tireless advocate of the Indians, protector of the values that were in their cultures, promoting humanity from abuses of sometimes unscrupulous colonizers that failed to see in the indigenous brothers and sons of the same Father God. The denunciation of the injustices and abuses, made by Bartolomé de Las Casas, Antonio de Montesinos, Vasco de Quiroga, José de Anchieta, Manuel de Nobrega, Pedro de Cordoba, Bartolomé de Olmedo, Juan del Valle and many others.”
I waited for him to name the worst abuser of all, Bishop Diego De Landa. But, of course that name never crossed his lips. Conveniently forgotten, Diego De Landa smiled beneficently down from his nearby portrait. The Church has always been good at putting up a facade to mask the truth.
“You carry within you, brothers and sisters of American Indians, a rich heritage of human wisdom and at the same time, are repositories of your peoples’ expectations for the future. The Church, for its part, openly asserts the right of every Christian to their own cultural heritage, as something inherent in the dignity of man and son of God. In its genuine values of truth, goodness and beauty, this heritage must be recognized and respected. Unfortunately, it must be said that has not always been fully appreciated the richness of your culture or your rights are respected as individuals and as peoples. The shadow of sin has also been screened in America in the destruction of quite a few of your artistic and cultural creations, and violence that so often you were subject.”
“Quite a few” is not enough of a description when you take into account the obliteration of nearly every written word from and about the Maya. I was seething now. My right hand squeezed down on the grenade, I was ready to act. But then a strange thing happened. To my left someone pushed towards me from in back. Distracted from my plan, I whirled around to my left, expecting to see a soldier or a policeman coming for me. Instead, I saw it was Yaxche`. She smiled so broadly, so radiantly that I was lost for a moment. She took hold of my left hand and clasped it tightly. All that had been wrong was right again. We were an island in a sea of the faithful.
The Pope’s message only came in snippets to me now, “…excluding all forms of violence, for violence and hatred are bad seeds incapable to produce something other than hate and violence. Do not be folded or intimidated by the difficulties!”
Yaxche` then took my left hand and opened it and held it, palm inward, to her abdomen.
And the Pope continued, “Know that the present and the future of your country is in your hands and also depends on your effort.”
“Luca, do you feel that?” she whispered. Stunned, I could only nod. We would have a child. We would shower our love upon that child and we would make this a better place than it was before. Everything had now changed. The hatred in me evaporated. Yaxche` had saved me. I had been turned 180 degrees. I realized that what I had been about to do was wrong. The Church will forever be the Church. It’s not for me to seek revenge. I can forgive those sins of the past. We must re-cultivate our heritage. We must re-dedicate ourselves to making a new and greater world.
Was it the speech of the Pope which had wrought such a change in me? Was it the finer qualities of my Mayan ancestors coming to the fore? It’s been said that many miracles have occurred here in Izamal. I think another took place on that August day in 1993. Itzam`na hasn’t whispered to me lately. But that’s okay. And the shaman had been so right. We would mind our business. We would go home and we would be happy.
Epilogue
Yaxche` and I still live in Izamal. We are now the proud parents of four girls, each more beautiful and talented than the next. I was able to learn many of the Shaman’s secrets before the old man died. I have documented the use of indigenous plants of the region. Yaxche` makes pottery every day. The children all have artistic talent and work alongside us in the pottery factory. We have made sure that the girls understand the history of this place. They have a true sense of their heritage. We are the Maya, and this is our land. We have come to know that life is good in Izamal.
Author’s Note: There really is a place called Izamal. The Pope really did visit there in 1993. His speech, found in the Vatican Archives, is an actual speech (excerpts), in part, he gave in Izamal. It appears that Pope John Paul II had an understanding of how the people of Yucatan had been harmed.
About Wes Oldham
