Copyright © 2001 NLThomas
All Rights Reserved

CHIAPAS, MEXICO - As hundreds gathered in the ballroom, Gustavo called the Mayan elders forward. Five people knelt at the front, and began to chant prayers for our gathering. The smoky scent from the ceramic urn of incense filled the room. Traditional harp, violin, and flute were added and others danced as the elders continued praying.

This was the main activity for the first evening of the International Conference on Biological and Cultural Diversity held June 14-15 in San Cristobal. It moved me deeply: At a time when indigenous rights in Mexico are under assault, when military patrols in Chiapas are increasing, and paramilitary forces are entrenched more and more deeply, the place to start was with the prayers of the elders.

A week later, Diego Mendez and I climbed the mountain above the village of Acteal. We were headed to look at the Mayan crosses where I had prayed with other CPTers and 200 members of the Abejas in June 1999 as we sought protection for Acteal against paramilitary threats. We reached the last turn before the crest where the ancient crosses are located.

Just before entering the clearing, we heard chanting voices and Mayan music wafting towards us. While down below other members of the Bees were tending to the details of keeping 2,500 displaced refugees alive, the elders were on the mountaintop praying.

These two events brought me to see afresh the deep movement of Spirit in the struggle here in the highlands of Chiapas. It provoked me: How can I deepen my spiritual grounding in the midst of my own work for peace and justice?

Our best nonviolence work in CPT springs from a numinous spiritual core. Drawing from that brimming Source happens when I claim and practice regular spiritual disciplines. In the life of a CPT team, it happens in daily worship, and in private and public prayers.

John Stoner of the CPT Steering Committee tends a garden down the hill from his home.

John's Secret

John took me down past his garden into the woods: along the path to the pool he watches daily: a spring from which he waters his berries, five gallon bucket after five gallon bucket through the heat of August.

The pool, no bigger than a bathroom scale, quietly replenishes even in the dog days, and around it green leaves hang surprised, suncaught in the cool forest.

The water doesn't transport itself, though, to the cultivated plot: He carries it, trip after trip after trip.

The praying is never done. We each irrigate and moisten ourselves and our communities as we repeatedly walk to the Well together through prayer, sharing, and the affirmation of the Sacred in our midst.

On Saturday morning, the chanting of prayer in Acteal got me out of bed. At the end of two full days of festivities, the elders were up before five, kneeling in the sanctuary, praying, holding the world together. So might we all.