Thinking of Brother Chavez, and Jesus, that Summer in Chile

    I was living in the small town where our church was new and by my time struggling. The problems came quickly and were unforeseen, not long after I arrived.  Our missionaries had been there a short two years or so. We had three brand new members, two of whom were young and promising. The third was a sweet, retired man, helping raise new sons and grandsons in our faith. The Chavez family, perhaps six or eight blocks away, seemed to be a great new hope for this branch of the Church of Jesus Christ in this remote part of the Eighth Region of Chile. I was there to help them and the founding members of the Santa Juana unit to grow and become more self-sufficient.

    There were seventy people on the rolls; about forty attended my first Sabbath at the rented house surrounded by fruit trees. That included some visitors from outside of town. It was dry and hot. And in the heat, I dreamed of baptizing more, and growing the newly joined souls, and assist in the development of their faith and understanding, expanding the Kingdom of God in our corner of the universe.

    But alas, as Chinua Achebe has coined, things fall apart.

    Things were unraveling in Santa Juana. At least, my part of helping and unifying the people of my flock. They were leaving.

    Brother Chavez was young and promising, as I depicted. He and his wife were solid, good folks. But the father-in-law, the original convert that had amazed the rest by his transformation to being a Christian of our persuasion, had doubted and fallen back to the faith of his wife.

    Today when I read from John 19, about Christ on the cross, it reminded me of him. Brother Chavez. I could not think of his first name! Hugo. No. Humberto. No. No matter.

    Brother Chavez and his wife, whose name I do remember, it being a non-normal name, having an accent on the first syllable, starting with a C, were pulled away from us. Pulling away. They were taught and baptized with Elders Cluff and Bagley, not me. Both of those missionaries gone, and it was on me and Newton. And the Lord.

    Speakingswhich, Brother Chavez quizzed me in his living room parlor, in a fine Chilean home, what did it say on the sign above the cross of Jesus. In Hebrew. He and his wife had already decided to leave our branch, of which they were newly baptized members. I knew what it said in English and Spanish.

    But he wanted me to know the answer in Hebrew. Or maybe Greek. I did not know it. Or it was even Latin, as a good Roman Catholic would know. He was not a Catholic, or perhaps he was from birth, but he had me on the spot now. What does it say in the Bible? Some Bibles have it written in the Latin, or the other languages.

    King of the Jews.

    I was caught in his trap of really knowing my Christian faith. A test of trueness, if you will. Probing to see if I was a real believer, authentic. Chileans could doubt us North Americans, sure. It seemed to give him ammunition to justify turning from our newfound faith in Jesus and our prophets. The mother-in-law had been a devout evangelical Christian. She had been with her group for about twenty-nine years, and I am sure that her old pastor did not want her or her family as part of us. Many of them see us as misguided or worse. 

    Was I, in fact, a true Christian? My whole faith and purpose, my true identity, was in doubt. I was now half-way through my two year assigned mission.

    What crosses do we bear? What do we do and say and act upon for Jesus our Redeemer, our Guide and Lord? How do we know what we know? Do we judge others for knowing less about Christ, or the Bible, or the history of Christendom?

    King of the Jews. Rey de los Judios. (With accent over the "i".)

    I thought about him, and me, and Jesus, and the three of us. And I could not remember the brother's name. It will come to me. I sat there in the pews of my church, our chapel to remember the Lord, and eat His holy supper, and think of Him and how we are with Him, and our faith.

    Does Jesus know us? Of course he does. Does he forgive us our trespasses and sins? I totally believe that, and in Him.

    Oscar.

    I know you, or at least I knew you. I think you would be well into your sixties now. The father-in-law, Eduardo, passed away years ago.

    I love you, Oscar. I love our Savior. I love the Gospel plan. I think that all of us can find our place in the kingdom of Jesus. I am sorry it went that way, way back in 1990 and 1991. The Good News of Jesus Christ is supposed to supply us more peace and comfort. The Gospel.

    It is of happiness and redemption.

    I will see you someday, Oscar. And the whole family.

    In the embraces, and perhaps tears, of our Lord. No more blood and sweat. That work is done.

    In all the languages, to the Greek and the Jew. Romans and all.

                                                    INRI

     IESVS NAZARENVS REX IVDÆORVM

     Ἰησοῦς ὁ Ναζωραῖος ὁ βασιλεὺς τῶν Ἰουδαίων.

       “Iesûs ho Nazōraîos ho basileùs tôn Iūdaíōn"

        יֵשׁוּעַ הַנָּצְרִי מֶלֶךְ הַיְּהוּדִים.

    “Yeshua haNotsri melekh haYehudim”. = YHMH