The Foreign Service Journal, January 2004

84 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J A N U A R Y 2 0 0 4 S ome say the city of Juarez has always had an air of imperma- nence. But I suggest this is an illusion. I think I know. I’ve walked the Juarez streets a number of times in the last four decades and would be hard pressed to say that anything of substance has really changed. And, I am basically glad for that. Early last January, I spent a most pleasant hour or so in and around the late-17th-century Guadalupe Mission church, just a block from the end of Avenida Juarez, the heart of a major market and eating area. I could not recall ever seeing this building with the same appreciative eye that granted me closeness to it at that moment. In the past its classic but subdued, unpretentious nature escaped me. Its towers seemed pitifully spindly and lacking in substance when compared to images of the great ecclesiastical structures of Mexico City and Guadalajara. Now it actually reached out to me warmly and said, “Come, enjoy the peace I give to you, and to all the peo- ple near you there, on the plaza before me.” It was nearly sunset, and there was soon enough shadow to cast the edifice into a silhouette, a non-threat- ening backdrop for the swirl of life around me. There was no high drama as such, but a plethora of everyday things going on; mothers strolling with kids, people rushing to catch busses, hurrying to shops and restaurants before they closed for the day. It seemed almost uncanny but appropriate that just about this time a number of energetic evangelicals showed up, and the leader, a youthful, stunningly beautiful sandy-haired woman, started singing a popular hymn in full voice. With a touching reverence, a skinny, shabbily dressed man of indeterminate age moved to her side and proceeded to hit two sticks together in an attempt to give background rhythm to her singing. Meanwhile, a half-dozen or so male co-religionists, smartly uniformed in white trousers and jackets with yellow piping, brought her a portable mike. And just behind her, on the ledge of the park’s gazebo, the young men placed a huge cooler filled with what could well be something like lemon- ade or Kool-Aid. One fellow swept right by me towards the gazebo carrying bulbous plastic bags stuffed with pastries. Every once in a while I could catch a word or two. “Esperanza — gloria — diablo — terrible — señor — angeles ...” But I wasn’t listening so much as watching. The young woman was transport- ed. Oh, she was very much there in body, yes, swaying in full accord with the music and her message of salva- tion. But the look in her eyes said she was very far away, in a place of wonder where just about everyone around her — me included — wouldn’t mind being, too. I was transfixed. On previous visits, I might have laughed at this spectacle of a young woman preaching to mesmerized “ignorant innocents.” But now, I myself was one of those mesmerized ignorant innocents. And while it dis- turbed me slightly, it mainly pleased me. I could think of little else while slowly walking back to Avenida Juarez. Nothing has changed here — except, with some certainty, me. She was very far away, in a place of wonder. Bob Proctor retired from USIA in 1987, having served in South and Southeast Asia, Africa and the Middle East. He and his India-born wife live in La Luz, N.M. In recent years, he has taken to writing, and his poems, short stories and essays have been published in various literary journals and Web sites. The stamp is courtesy of the AAFSW Bookfair “Stamp Corner.” R EFLECTIONS An Epiphany in Juarez B Y R OBERT P ROCTOR