Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Home
Latter-day Saint
Salvador: The Truth behind the Fiction, Part 2

Salvador: The Truth behind the Fiction, Part 2

Last updated on: May 9, 2016 at 7:58 pm by Margaret Blair Young

Salvador: The Truth behind the Fiction, Part 2 2016-05-09T19:58:47-07:00 Margaret Blair Young

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

The Atonement of Christ is the very root of Christian doctrine. You may know much about the gospel as it branches out from there, but if you only know the branches and those branches do not touch that root, if they have been cut free from that truth, there will be no life nor substance nor redemption in them. [Boyd K. Packer, “The Mediator,” Ensign, May 1977]

We Blairs were Dale’s disciples. In some ways we were more Dale’s disciples than Christ’s. We saw Dale as a holy man who willingly surrendered every American luxury to consecrate all of his energies (and his family’s) to helping hundreds of Mayan Indians in Guatemala. It was a visible consecration, not something imagined in hymns or paintings. We could see the people he was helping. When we visited him in 1975, we could see the dairy. We could hear the rabbits’ dying shrieks as they were skinned for the rabbit meat business. Dale was giving the Kekchi people “the good life.”

When Dale told us about how easily the Church had dismissed his noble projects, we were astounded. Dale wanted to be in partnership with the Church in all the good he was doing; his vision was not complete without that partnership. The LDS group at Valparaiso would donate all they could and would be brought to an even higher level of prosperity as the foundation donated to the fast offering fund. However, when the group sent a financial report to the Church, the response was less than enthusiastic. As Dale summarized the message, it was “We just don’t do those kinds of things in the church.” Dale’s reaction, which he shared freely with us, was, “What!? The Church doesn’t help widows and orphans? Nor take care of the sick? Nor educate the ignorant, nor work cooperatively to feed the hungry?”

At the time, I did not recognize the leap he was making. He had casually compressed the Church’s decision to not partner with his foundation as evidence that the Church did no humanitarian work. In other words, any true church or faithful church leaders would necessarily recognize his noble work for what it was. Their failure to do so indicated an abandonment of the fundamental mandates of Christianity.

I shook my head in disgust at church leaders who were so obviously blind and uninspired. How could I not be sympathetic to Dale? Aren’t most idealists misunderstood? Wasn’t Galilleo required to recant the truth because of religious powers who would not see what that visionary scientist saw? Honor often waits centuries before parading the persecuted in their overdue glory..

When our family was in Guatemala in 1975, my brother and I stayed in the southern village of Patsun while Dad and our other siblings went for a week to Dale’s project, northward. They came back with glorious tales of what our beloved Dale was doing. It was all a great success! He was teaching the people to become self-reliant. There was a small tragedy on the finca, though. My sister’s tooth got chipped. She put the half-tooth on her plate and my other sister ate it. It was an accident, of course, but my sister wept as she burst out, “Lisa ate it!” That report was included with all of the magnificent accounts of Dale’s work.

My brother and I, meanwhile, had a transformative experience in Patzun. The missionaries, Elder Taz Evans and Elder Milo Garcia, invited us to the deathbed of the first Latter-day Saint in Patzun.

My brother and I walked down the dirt road, up the main street’s cobblestone, then down another dirt path to a bamboo gate which led to Tomas Cujcuj’s adobe dwelling. That unlatched gate would invite me to a new life, though I certainly didn’t know it then.

By the time we arrived, it was dark. There was no electricity in that part of town; the hut was full of Cakchiquel Mormons holding candles. The women resembled Hermana Yalibat. All wore similar clothing-hand-woven, red huipiles to which they had added their own embroidery. They all had long, braided hair. Some wrapped their braids around their heads and some wore them down. Some braids were black; some were silver. The men, including the one dying, were dressed in white.

Hermano Tomas, wearing a knitted cap, lay on a bed which took up nearly half the space in the hut. His skin looked sallow even by candlelight. There was no question that he was dying. Weakly, he requested hymns, and the Indians sang. My brother and I used hymn books. Spanish was not native for anyone in that hut, but we all sang the words.

Cantemos, gritemos
Con huestes del cielo

Using a battery-powered projector, the missionaries showed a filmstrip of “Man’s Search for Happiness” above Tomas Cujcuj’s deathbed. The pictures were grainy against the adobe. I had seen the film (where the images actually moved) many times at Temple Square, but had never felt the reverence I felt that night. Then the missionaries asked Hermano Tomas if he would like to bear his testimony. He answered in Cakchiquel: “Ha.” Yes.

I did not understand a word he said, but felt a swell of love and awe. Who was this man who lay dying before me? I became aware that God knew him intimately. I could feel God’s love for him, for it permeated the hut. It must’ve permeated all of Patsun; surely it was too strong to be contained within one room. I knew there were angels in that poor, adobe hut where Indians, missionaries, and two red-headed gringos sang hymns by candlelight.

Tomas’s conversion, I later learned, had resulted in many Cakchiquel families listening to the missionaries, for he had been the town mayor when he joined the Church. The night before the elders first visited him, he had dreamt of two messengers who would bring him words he must heed. I learned that he and his wife had saved up money for a year so they could take a bus to Mesa, Arizona and be sealed in the temple. I learned that in his last testimony, which I heard but did not understand, he had said, “I know I will go directly to my Lord Jesus Christ.”

My brother and I left the hut a few hours before Hermano Tomas died. Because of the twenty-four hours burial laws in Guatemala, funeral arrangements were hasty. Of most urgency was getting temple clothes from Guatemala City to Patsun so that Tomas could be appropriately robed in his coffin.

I visited Tomas’s home the morning after his death. The floor was strewn with pine needles, and the scene made me think of Christmas. But there was no joy in this hut. I nodded sympathy and returned to our house. Dad and my siblings were still gone, and my brother was serving as a missionary companion to whomever needed one.

Later that day, Elder Evans knocked on the door. When I answered, he invited me to play the organ at Tomas’s funeral, the organ being a plug-in keyboard which wouldn’t make a sound without electricity. But when I walked into the chapel ahead of the funeral procession, there was no electricity. No light.

I ran to the office which controlled Patsun’s power. The door was locked. I ran back to the chapel. I prayed. “Father, please let there be light. Let there be light in this chapel so I can play music for your son, Tomas Cujcuj.”

I waited.

Nothing happened.

I prayed again. Once more, I ran to the power office. It was still locked. I ran back to the chapel and touched the organ keys to see if God might grant me a miracle of sound without the electricity to power it.

Nothing.

Then the chapel doors opened. Six men were holding Tomas Cujcuj’s coffin on their shoulders. They stepped into the chapel. Instantly, the lights came on. I closed my eyes, said a quick thank you to God, and sat down at the organ. I began playing “Behold the Lamb of God.”

Behold the Lamb of God
That taketh away
The sins of the world

The Indian men wept freely; they have not been taught to conceal their emotions. The women groaned in grief. The swell of love and recognition which had begun the night before continued. I loved them completely, and recognized that I was the least of them. I thanked God for their mercy. I thanked Him for their patience with me, an arrogant American teenager who had mangled their language and had refused to open her heart fully to them.

That day pre-destined my many returns to Guatemala. I would learn Spanish, and would delight my dad by even speaking a bit of Cakchiquel. I wonder if the love for the Mayans and the miracles of that day somehow prepared me for what would happen two years later, when I would, upon my father’s instructions, betray Dale Grover. By then, my father–the chairman of the board for the foundation–had discovered dark secrets.

TO BE CONTINUED

Previous Post

May 2, 2016

Salvador: The Truth Behind the Fiction

Next Post

May 8, 2016 Mothers' Day Tribute--Nancy Young Layton

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Ancestors family conflict in the scriptures race and religion Uncategorized

Select a Month August 2026 March 2026 January 2026 December 2025 November 2025 October 2025 September 2025 July 2025 April 2025 March 2025 January 2025 November 2024 May 2024 April 2024 November 2023 October 2023 September 2023 June 2023 September 2022 August 2022 July 2022 May 2022 April 2022 March 2022 January 2022 December 2021 October 2021 September 2021 July 2021 June 2021 October 2020 August 2020 July 2020 June 2020 March 2020 January 2020 December 2019 November 2019 October 2019 June 2019 January 2019 December 2018 November 2018 September 2018 August 2018 May 2018 March 2018 January 2018 November 2017 October 2017 August 2017 July 2017 June 2017 May 2017 March 2017 February 2017 November 2016 October 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 November 2015 August 2015 July 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

How many chapters are in the Book of Isaiah?

Select your answer to see how you score.

22 66 31 52