By Carlos Mendoza-Álvarez
Christmas Eve was shaping up to be different this year, a stark contrast to the frigid weather of Boston, which gave way to the cool but sunny days of the Chiapas Highlands. Of course, it wasn't just a difference in climate, but above all, a shift in cultural perspective. The chants of the Episcopalian monks from Cambridge, in Massachusetts, which I had enjoyed for several years, now gave way to prayers of forgiveness and reconciliation according to the traditional Tsotsil rite of the Chiapas Highlands, led by one of the catechists or Eucharistic ministers.
During these days, the Tsotsil communities of the Zinacantán parish adorn their chapels with thousands of flowers. Sunflowers, birds of paradise, roses, and gladioli surround the birth of the Christ Child, especially the bromeliad or flower of Niluyarilo. This species, endemic to the Chiapas Highlands, is now endangered due to its overuse in some religious festivals in the Chiapa de Corzo area. The Nativity scene is adorned with garlands of seeds and fruits, representing an explosion of life from Mother Earth, who gives thanks for the arrival of the Christ Child. Bananas, tangerines, pears, oranges, pomegranates, and lemons hang from bowers as if falling from the sky. Paradoxically, the world above blossoms and rains down delicious fruits to nourish the community gathered around the newborn Messiah.
Joseph and Mary inhabit that sacred green cave, dressed in traditional Tsotsil clothing. He is wearing the Pok'u'ul or a pink poncho embroidered with flowers, carrying a leather satchel on his shoulder and huaraches on his feet. She, adorned with her il chil k'uk'umal or the feathered huipil, also replete with embroidery of flowers and birds. Life flourishes everywhere in these communities, although they face new problems such as the growing presence of drug trafficking and criminal gangs. The historical strength of these Mayan peoples is community unity, although division now appears within the communities between groups that only want to follow the Bible and others that keep the traditions of their ancestors alive, for example, the processions to sacred hills, like the community of Pinar Salinas, which keeps their ancestral traditions alive. These communities have a dynamic cultural identity that, with each new generation, acquires its own unique characteristics. Such is the case of church choirs that now prefer to play instruments from norteño bands, such as the tololoche for strings and the snare drum for percussion, instead of the drum and chirimía of the ancestral music they keep alive for pilgrimages to the hills of the Chiapas Highlands and, every year, in their pilgrimage to Tepeyac in the Valley of Anáhuac.
My surprise was great when Petul, the catechist and interpreter, during Christmas Mass, translated my very brief biblical reflections into lengthy descriptions of what I was saying about the story of Mary, the child, and the shepherds in the Gospel of Matthew. I had no choice but to trust his skill as an interpreter, glancing at the congregation to nod whenever I recognized a word in the catechist's voice. My intention was to emphasize the importance of the angels' message to the shepherds in Bethlehem: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (Luke 2:14), which invites us to do something similar. Let us learn to be like the shepherds—I would say to the congregation with emphatic gestures—who became a mirror reflecting God's glory through peace here on earth, so threatened by wars. The sermon concluded by reminding the assembled community that this message was even more urgent today because Bethlehem is in Palestine, besieged by a cruel war waged in the name of God. The community responded with a resounding “Long live the Christ Child born in Palestine!” followed by the traditional reveille, sung with gusto by the choir.
Is there anything to celebrate on the fringes of the privileged world? In what places does God draw near to us to be a spark of light illuminating the nations? Who can help us see those sparks amidst the long night that humanity is traversing?
The first thing that comes to mind is that reflection by Hannah Arendt in her book The Human Condition, pointing out that in every human birth there is a promise of a future for all humanity. The thinker drew from the wellspring of her Hebrew tradition to speak of the future as something to be fulfilled through justice, as an interruption of evil in history. But perhaps she overlooked the heart of the promise God made to Abraham and Sarah in its spiritual sense, which consists of the promise being a gift from the Eternal, offering His very being to wounded humanity. It is no coincidence that this promise has a name, the one that Hebrew and Christian faith call "Messiah": the one anointed by the divine Ruah to console the suffering people. A Messiah who is slow in coming, who makes the wait long, and, paradoxically, who is already present "in secret," inviting us to enter that space of redemption "through the narrow gate." What does this metaphor mean? This thought takes on even greater significance when we celebrate the birth of a Galilean child two thousand years ago in Palestine.
The birth of Mary's son in Bethlehem of Palestine, as recounted by the Synoptic Gospels, is a sign worth following as a guiding light in the darkness. That Hebrew child, son of migrants fleeing Roman power represented by Herod and seeking refuge in Egypt, is the promise fulfilled of messianic times. Those who arrive with birth pangs in the most fragile part of the human condition, exposed to so much violence, both ancient and new. His childhood, recounted in retrospect by the evangelists, will unfold over time, especially during the brief period of barely three years he lived as an itinerant preacher in Galilee. He announced the fulfillment of the new times that we will be able to recognize in the present time when “the blind see, the deaf hear, and good news is announced to the poor” (Luke 7:22).
We are invited to pass through the narrow gate of the Messiah, which is the gate of humility: “You must become like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3), said Jesus, the Galilean. The Bible is full of stories from this other perspective, as Anna sang in the book of Samuel: “He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a throne of glory.” Or also the hymn of Jesus that praises his heavenly Abba because “he has hidden the things of the kingdom from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children,” the nepioi from the Gospel of Luke in Greek (10:21).
The arrival of the Messiah subverts the logic of the powerful and builds a new world from the perspective of those who live amidst the ruins. Like in Gaza and the Highlands of Chiapas.
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My first few weeks in Tsotsil lands have allowed me to reconnect with the Ch'ulel, This spiritual force, with its multiple meanings, is what I discovered forty-five years ago in these communities, when we visited as Dominican novices with Friar Raúl Vera. It is the spirit of the Chiapas Highlands, manifest in its hills, forests, and mist, its animals and naguales, that inspires the communities to flourish and prosper. Since then, I have returned at least once a year to the Chiapas Highlands and the canyons of Ocosingo to continue exploring the faith of the Mayan peoples, with their ancestral spirituality nourished by faith in Jesus of Nazareth as Messiah and Son of God.
Now I am about to explore and enjoy, for an extended period, the faith-based life of these communities, with its new expressions in spirituality and art, as well as its struggle for justice against the necropower groups that have reached even here with their tentacles of corruption, easy money, and the false illusion of happiness based on armed force, drugs, alcohol, and criminal pacts. A few days ago, Angélica, a dear friend from Ecosur, told me that there are several ongoing sociological and anthropological research projects on urban Indigenous children and youth in Jobel. These are supported by initiatives from civil society and churches, such as Melel Xojobal to provide alternatives for education, social life, and recreation to this population highly vulnerable to the criminal networks that take over the northern area of this city, which has the largest indigenous population in Mexico.
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Celebrating Christmas in this land is a call to return to the margins of my motherland to relearn the language of the little ones of the Kingdom. In the heart of my longings I seek to return to the sources of faith, that which I inherited from my ancestors of blood and spirit in the order of preachers.
A quiet Christmas. A time of grace and truth thanks to the child messiah, adorned with flowers and song, tears and whispers of life, who does not surrender to evil in this remote region in the mountains of southeastern Mexico. Communities that, in secret, transform adversity into gifts of life.
Jobel, December 27, 2025
Note: Comment below what Christmas means to you.
