An Easter Story

The whole dome of heaven was a transparent blue, as blue as the cloak of Our Lady Guadalupe Hidalgo. In the eastern sky the morning star shone as brilliant as a bit of ice on the high Sierras. Along the edge of a low mesa rose an adobe village that had stood beneath such skies for almost two hundred years. A whisper of wind preceded the dawn, and through the low gamma grasses Juan Chavez walked, bareheaded, to the village church.

Juan should have been on his way to irrigate his field, but this morning was different. Juan had a great thing to ask, and could not wait until Sunday to light a candle. His hand was almost as rough as the ancient wooden doors to the chapel he pushed open. He dipped his fingertip into the Holy Water and, kneeling, crossed himself. He was a little afraid to be alone in the dark chapel where usually he was but one of the hundred parishioners gathered for mass. The quiet of the chapel blanketed Juan's fears as he slowly came to the alter rail, and knelt on the hard, cold stone floor.

"Dear Jesus on the Cross, hear me now. Hear my prayer. I know that I am the most fortunate of men; you have granted me a loving wife and wonderful children. My land always produces enough to feed us all. I have never asked anything of you, but now sweet Lord, I need a great thing". Christ looked down from his cross above the alter with a sorrowful little smile, but was silent. "My youngest child, Maria, went off to the big city and married a gringo. They have three small children, and a big house on a hill. I don't understand how they became rich, but they go to church regularly like good folk. Listen, Jesus, I need your intercession. Father Kevin read me a letter that Maria wrote. I am told that Maria has the cancer. Her body is filled with lumps that grow and give her great pains. The gringo doctors have done everything their art is capable of, but she is going to die. I will not go to the Brujo with his evil magic spells, but I beg of you as our last resort; please give my Maria ten more years to raise her family, to reap the joy of watching her children grow."
Christ on his cross was touched by the plea from a virtuous man, and whispered: "Juan, my good and faithful servant, surely you know that all must die; that the balance of the universe would be thrown out of order if death did not come." Juan looked up into the eyes of his master, and asked again that his Maria have a respite. Christ was silent upon his cross.

Juan got up from the stone floor and left the chapel. He paused on the front steps of the old dirt church, and looked up to see a twin contrail far above. Far away over the horizon, Maria awoke and slipped into her kitchen to make an Easter breakfast for her family. Un-noticed was that the tumorous lumps had already begun to shrink. The doctors noticed the change, and were amazed as the cancer shrank and Maria's health returned.

It came to be known that her father had prayed for her recovery, and the story became a family legend. Whenever the family gathered for a wedding, a birth, or a funeral, the story was retold about how Juan Chavez' prayer had healed Maria. The old people would nod in quiet acceptance of the truth of the story, and little children listened in awe just out of sight of their elders. The years passed, slowly for some, more quickly for others. Maria's family continued to prosper, and the children grew tall and strong over the long years. In Juan's village the time passed more quickly. The young people left for greater opportunities in the cities. A good road was built from the highway thirty miles away to the center of the village. Electricity came to replace the church candles. Each year more of the village elders found their way to sleep next to their grandparents in the churchyard. Juan Chavez' wife died, and his tired bones began to stiffen until he was unable to work from before dawn until after sunset, and his little farm fell into neglect. Ten years passed.

Maria awoke and slid from her bed one morning to make breakfast for her teenaged children, and discovered a lump the size of a walnut under her left arm. She remained silent about her discovery, but made an appointment with her doctor. Two days later when the doctor finally examined Maria, the lump had grown noticeably larger and there was a lump starting on her neck and another on her right shoulder. The doctor ordered x-rays and tests, but already knew that the cancer had returned more deadly than it had been ten years previously. The news that Maria had but a little time left to live struck her family hard. They brought her flowers and little books of inspiration to keep her hopes alive, but Maria had already accepted her mortality. Maria was at peace, but wanted to see her father again. Maria's family was afraid for her to leave the hospital and return to a primitive village out on the distant mesa. They went anyway.

Juan Chavez welcomed his child, and her family. His fortunes had not improved over the years, but he made his grandchildren comfortable before the fireplace and gave his bed to his daughter and her husband. The little portion of rice, beans and tortillas seemed inadequate to his guests, but it was all that Juan had to offer. Juan bid them good night and went out to sleep in the shed. As he went down the path, he heard Maria's husband follow.

"Mr. Chavez, for years I've heard how your prayers saved Maria so long ago. Can't you pray again for her? For us?" Juan's eyes sought the ground and his shoulders slumped beneath the question. "Senor, I can not. I bargained for ten years more for Maria, and God granted that prayer. How can I go again now?" Maria's husband, who expected nothing more, turned with a sigh and went back up the path to the little house.

Over night the clouds built up into towering thunderheads and the air grew thick with moisture. Long before dawn, Juan Chavez was awake wrestling with his conscience. Finally, he quietly left the shed where his goats once lived and walked again down the long path that led to his church. By the time he reached the front steps of the chapel, fat drops of cool rain were beginning to kick up little poofs of dust as they hit the ground. Inside the chapel the thick adobe walls and high roof muted the sound of distant thunder. Juan dipped his fingertip into the Holy Water. He knelt and crossed himself. He moved to the front of the chapel and lit a candle before kneeling again before the polished alter rail.

Juan's prayer was as fervent as it had ever been. Though his knees hurt terribly from the cold stones, he continued to pray for a long time. Finally, Christ on his cross was moved by the simple piety of the old man. "Juan, Christ whispered, did I not tell you before that the balance of the universe must not be upset?" Juan looked up into the eyes of the wooden Christ and silently nodded his head. "Juan, to preserve the balanced of all things I took from you ten years, and gave them to Maria. For this you will soon be with me, and Maria will join us in joy." Outside the old church the thunder rolled across the mountains, and a chill wind shook the cactus to their roots. Ladybugs came out to welcome the rain. On an acre of flat ground twenty miles away, thousands of little frogs came out of hibernation and began hopping about in search of a mate. In a canyon where a flash flood had just washed away several tons of sand, a bit of gold-laden quartz was revealed for the first time in eight hundred years. A hawk momentarily relieved of the endless search for food, wheeled in lazy circles above the mesa.

They searched for Juan Chavez when he failed to show up at the little house by mid-morning. They found him, cold as the stones beneath him in the chapel. The family stayed for the funeral, and then returned to Albuquerque where Maria died a month later. Now Maria sleeps with her father and mother and grandparents, and great-grandparents in the churchyard of a little chapel that must soon fall into ruin and melt back into the dirt from which it was raised.