Christmas Eve in Oaxaca

In a small village some distance from the city of Oaxaca in the highlands of Mexico, the little chapel was filled with people for the midnight Mass of Christmas. Before the Mass the traditional re-enactment of the Nativity was to be held. Up the aisle came a procession of little boys and girls dressed as shepherds and shepherdesses. Behind them came an older girl as Mary and an older boy as Joseph. Mary was carrying an image of the Infant.

The procession went up to the sanctuary and there Mary placed the image of the Infant in the manger. The entire group then stood around the crib for a tableau.

If that had been in the Philippine, the photographers’ cameras would have clicked and flashbulbs would light up. In that village near Oaxaca no photographs were taken. It was simply a devout re-enactment of the Birth of the Savior.

Earlier that afternoon the traditional Christmas Eve parade had passed through the streets of Oaxaca City. Religious processions are still banned in Mexico, but "folkloric" parades are allowed. That afternoon’s "folkloric" parade might as well have been a religious procession, for every one of the very many floats depicted the Birth of Christ.

One particular float delighted me. One of the "shepherds" grouped around the crib carried in his arms a little lamb with the whitest fleece imaginable.

I had seen one such lamb just like that on a market day in the mountains of Peru above Ayacucho. The lamb with the shining white fleece so entranced me that I wanted to buy it. I asked the girl carrying the lamb: "How much?" It was not for sale. "Lo hemos comprado," she said. ("We have just bought it.")

The Revolution that has brought about the independence of Mexico from Spain had been started by God-fearing men, priests among them. The later revolution that had tried to banish God from Mexico had been started by Benito Juarez. Successors of Juarez had carried the movement further, culminating in the violent bloody persecution of the 1920s when churches were confiscated, the statues of saints violently yanked out of their niches (the feet of the statues are still in the niche), and priests were hunted and killed, including the Jesuit Father Miguel Agustin Pro, now beatified. The total failure of that revolution to destroy Christianity is dramatically apparent in Oaxaca. Oaxaca was the birthplace of Benito Juarez and his memory is still honored there. But so is the Christian faith which he and his successors had tried to destroy. Indeed, nowhere in Mexico is religious observance so fervent as in the Oaxaca of "el licenciado Benito Juarez". (He was a lawyer, with the Licentiate in Law degree.)

When I was there, the Jesuit church was filled on certain days with people who wanted to go to confession. The most popular of the confessors was a 95-year-old Jesuit. There were long lines waiting their turn outside his confessional box. Out in the street were parked long lines of cars, many of them bearing license plates from other states of Mexico. Their occupants had all come to go to confession in that Oaxaca church.

One place in Mexico where no amount of persecution or legal prohibition could possible make a dent is the shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe on the heights above Mexico City. Every day, thousands come, most of them full-blooded Mexican Indians. These are not tourists. These are devout people, come to pray to the Mother of God whose image is still imprinted on a piece of cloth that has been the mantle of one of their race. Many of them approach the shrine walking not on their feet but on their knees. Neither Juarez nor Calles nor anyone else could possibly take the Faith away from these simple folk.

Although the bloody persecution is over, the movement to eradicate Christianity from Mexican culture still continues. It is still forbidden, for instance, to wear clerical garb on the streets. (They had to make an exception when the Pope came, dressed in pontifical robes.)

Dressed as a layman in coat and tie I went to a little restaurant in Mexico City for dinner. Never had I received such attentive services as I was getting there. The waitress was a diminutive lady. And when I was about to leave, she whispered a question in my ear. Using the diminutive form as they do in all Spanish-speaking countries, she whispered, "Es Usted un padrecito?" ("Are you a priest?")

I said Yes.

She smiled. She had known it all along. It is apparently impossible for a priest to hide his identity.

And despite all the laws intended to destroy it, Christianity is alive in Mexico.