It all sounded fine to Cam and Robby, who enjoyed their time wandering around the streets of Guatemala City, sampling the local food, and trying out their limited Spanish.
The trip to Antigua two weeks later was not so enjoyable. Before riding on ahead on horseback, Edward Bishop had arranged for Cam and Robby to be transported on a mule cart. As the cart climbed up the western side of the mountain range, rain began to pour down. The four mules pulling the cart slowed to a crawl. The driver whipped them mercilessly and yelled curses at the top of his lungs. But no matter what he tried, he could not get the mules to move any faster on the treacherous trail. Indeed, the trail was so slippery that on some corners, the wheels of the cart slid sideways, sending clods of mud shooting up over the passengers. Once they finally reached the top of the mountain range, the mules lunged down the other side, careening around sharp turns. As Cam looked over the edge of the steep cliffs that dropped away at the side of the trail, all he could do was to pray they would make it to Antigua alive.
They did, and Edward Bishop was waiting to show them to their room. It was a simple affair with just two army cots and a basin for washing. It suited Cam and Robby just fine. They knew their next stop in the mountains would be much more primitive.
The Bible conference proved to be an eye-opening experience. Cam had been told a little of the religious history of Guatemala. He knew the Spanish had invaded the country in 1523 and declared Roman Catholicism to be the only religion. Most of the country’s two million Indians continued to practice their old Mayan religions along with the religion of their Spanish masters. Then in 1871, a revolution occurred that eventually brought to power General Justo Rufino Barrios. General Barrios was a reformer who opened the way for Protestant churches to come to Guatemala. He told people they were free to worship wherever they wanted, and the first public, non-Catholic schools were set up. The general went so far as to travel to New York City to ask the Presbyterian Church to send missionaries to his country. The church responded to the request and later joined forces with Central American Mission. All of this had happened over forty years before, but many government officials and citizens of Guatemala were still fiercely Roman Catholic and resented any Protestant group working in the country.
At the conference, Cam and Robby got to hear the testimonies of Guatemalan Protestant Christians. Cam could hardly believe what he heard. It was like reading from the book of Acts. One shoemaker told the group how he had been thrown into jail sixty-three times for drunkenness before being converted. Since then he had not been drunk again, but he had been thrown in jail three more times—those times for preaching the gospel. As others recounted stories of being beaten or stoned, Cam began to wonder what he had signed up for.
Finally, the last day of the conference arrived. At the meeting that morning, Edward Bishop spoke about the need for Christians to share their faith with others, even strangers. He urged all who were present to find someone to talk to about their faith that day. Cam gulped. He had been a Christian since he was twelve years old, and most of his friends were Christians. This was not because he had played any part in converting them, but because they had also been raised in Christian homes and had followed their parents’ examples.
As he sat on a folding canvas chair in the meeting, Cam realized for the first time that he had never actually talked about his faith with a non-Christian. Here was Edward Bishop challenging him to share his faith in Spanish, and he had never even tried to do it in English! Worse still, he was a missionary! He wondered how he could have overlooked such an important point. Convinced he should remedy the situation right away, Cam slipped out when the meeting concluded for lunch. Somehow he had to find the right person to share his faith with.
It was not an easy task for Cam. His hands were sweaty, his heart beat wildly, and he had no idea how to start. He walked up to an old woman carrying a bag of sweet potatoes. A young boy accompanied her, and Cam decided he was going to talk to them about his faith. However, when he opened his mouth to speak, only little squeaking noises came out. Cam fled the scene, grateful in his embarrassment that he would never have to see the old woman or young boy again.
Finally, he calmed down enough to try again. This time he spotted a young man leaning against a storefront. Gingerly, Cam approached him. This time he knew what he was going to say; he’d been rehearsing it for a block. He would say, ¿Conoce usted al Señor Jesús? which meant, “Do you know the Lord Jesus?” Relief flooded through Cam when he finally got the words out.
The young man frowned, obviously confused. Finally he responded. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the man,” he replied in Spanish as he shrugged his shoulders. He then added sympathetically, “I’m a stranger in town, too.”
Cam felt himself turning red. He should have thought! Jesus was a common man’s name in Spanish, and the young man had assumed Cam was looking for someone named Mr. Jesus somewhere in the city. Not knowing enough Spanish to untangle the confusion, Cam mumbled, “Thank you anyway,” as he turned and fled once again.
Too embarrassed to return to the conference, Cam rushed to his room. He shut the door firmly behind him and sank to his knees beside his cot. “Lord, I’m a failure,” he cried, wondering how he had managed to come so far without thinking about what being a missionary would entail. He wondered how he could face anyone again after the fool he’d just made of himself.
The next morning Cam was still disturbed about the events of the day before. He was glad when Edward Bishop called him and Robby into his office to give them their assignments. Cam was eager to get out of the city and into the countryside. Robby would be going north from Antigua to sell Bibles, while Cam would be going five miles southwest to sell Bibles around the towns of San Antonia Aguas Calientes and Santa Catarina Barahona. A tribe of Indians called the Cakchiquel lived in the area. Few if any Christians were among them, and many had never seen or heard of the Bible.
Not too many preparations had to be made before the two men parted. Tecpan, where Robby was headed, was about thirty miles to the north. Robby and Cam pooled their money to buy Robby a horse, which cost twenty-five dollars. One thing was for sure, Cam joked. Even though the horse was bony, it would provide a much less hair-raising journey for Robby than having to ride again on a mule cart.
The two friends parted on October 23, 1917. They agreed to meet each other in a month in nearby Santiago. Then they would travel together back to Guatemala City for Thanksgiving and to attend another of Edward Bishop’s Bible conferences. Cam watched until Robby and his horse had disappeared from sight.
A local pastor, Isidro Alarcón, had offered to guide Cam across the coffee plantations to Santa Catarina Barahona. After Robby had departed, Cam hoisted the backpack filled with Spanish Bibles onto his back and carried his suitcase in his right hand. Isidro Alarcón, who was also carrying a supply of Bibles, led the way through the winding cobblestone streets of Antigua and out into the Guatemalan countryside. As Cam fell into step behind him, he wondered what he and Robby would be talking about in a month’s time. After his failed attempts at sharing his faith the day before, he wasn’t so sure he had much to say to the Cakchiquel Indians.
Chapter 5
On the Trail
When the trail widened, Isidro Alarcón and Cam walked side by side. Cam spoke first. “Are there any Christians among the Cakchiquel Indians?” he asked.
“Yes, and it’s quite a story, don Guillermo,” Isidro Alarcón replied, his eyes shining. “About eight months ago, a Cakchiquel man named Silverio Lopez was working in Guatemala City. Unlike most of the Cakchiquel, he could read and write a little Spanish, and so he bought a Bible in the city with which he hoped to improve his reading. Alas, he became discouraged and soon gave up trying to read the Bible. About then his wife sent a message saying their son had died and their daughter was very ill. Silverio Lopez quit his job and set out for home right away. In fact, he walked along this very trail.”
Cam nodded. On the trail they had passed a number of Indian men dressed in their tunic shirts tied with a sash and worn over white pants that stopped just below their knees. Cam could easily imagine one of them being Silverio Lopez hurrying home to see whether his daughter was alive or dead.
The pastor continued. “Fortunately, his daughter was still alive when he got home, and so he went straight to the village witch doctor to find out what he should do to stop the evil spirits of his dead ancestors from killing her, too. The witch doctor told Silverio to buy candles and burn them in front of a specific image at the Catholic church. Silverio hurried to obey, convinced it would save his daughter.
“Despite his best efforts, his daughter got no better and hung between life and death. But then Silverio Lopez had another problem: debt. The witch doctor charged a lot of money for his advice, and the candles were not cheap either. Silverio also had to pay for his son’s funeral. With no job and more candles to buy, he did not know what to do.”
Cam fell back behind Pastor Alarcón as a mule train headed in the opposite direction passed them on the trail. Each mule had two enormous burlap pannier bags draped across it with two more sacks heaped on its back.
“Coffee beans,” informed Isidro Alarcón, noticing Cam’s inquisitive look.
When the mule train had passed, Cam prodded the pastor to continue with the story. “What happened next?” he asked.
“One day on his way back from the market, Silverio Lopez found a torn piece of paper. It had writing on it, so he picked it up and read the words. It was a quote from the Bible. It read, ‘My house should be called a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.’
“Silverio thought about the words all the way home. He got out his Spanish Bible and looked the particular verse up. He then began reading the Bible again. It was difficult for him, but this time he persevered. By the next morning, he had decided what he would do. He stopped consulting the witch doctor, walked to Antigua to buy proper medicine for his daughter, and then came to find me.”
“Why you?” asked Cam, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.
“Someone had told him I could teach him the Bible, so he showed up on my doorstep wanting to know how he could believe in the God of the Bible. I told him, and he decided to become a Christian right there in my living room. He went back to his Cakchiquel people and began reading the Bible aloud to them. That was six months ago,” Isidro Alarcón chuckled. “Now there are forty new converts in the village!”
“What an amazing story!” exclaimed Cam, thinking again of his own failed efforts at sharing his faith.
By now they had reached the top of a hill. Spread below them was a beautiful sight—a wide, shallow valley rimmed with three volcanoes: Agua, Acatenango, and Fuego. A shining blue lake and two villages were located in the valley.
“That is Santa Catarina Barahona,” said Pastor Alarcón, pointing toward the village on the right, “and the village on the left is San Antonia Aguas Calientes.”
Cam stood for several minutes taking in the view. He wished his parents were there to see it, as it would be impossible to adequately describe the vista in a letter.
It was a quick descent to the valley floor, and an hour later Cam found himself being greeted by a short, barefoot Indian man. “My name is Francisco Díaz. Welcome in the Lord’s name,” he said in halting Spanish. “We have made you a bed in the chapel, but now I think you would be hungry.”
Cam grinned. “Indeed I am,” he replied.
“I will leave you now,” said Pastor Alarcón. “I will visit with Silverio Lopez and then be on my way home.”
