The religious mysticism of San Juan Chamula

by Alexandra Cleanthous (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Mexico

We are outside the mysterious church of San Juan, in the small village of Chamula in the Mexican region of Chiapas. The white, green and blue colours of the church look even brighter under the cloudy, afternoon sky. I follow Rodrigo and Paola, my Mexican friends who organised this trip, walking towards the legendary temple. I feel like an intruder among the Tzotzil, the local tribe people of Mayan origin. Once outside and while we are waiting to buy our tickets, Paola walks me through the history of the Tzotzil people and how they managed to keep their identity intact from other cultures. The Catholic faith the Spanish brought with their arrival during the 16th century, didn’t beat the Mayan religion. “What is the Mayan religion?”, I ask my friend while I try to avoid a girl who tries to sell me a scarf. “The Mayas worship the forces of the nature, the animals of the jungle and the planets of the sky. And here, in the church of San Juan Chamula, the one and only god of Catholicism finds common ground with the Mayan polytheism”, she tells me proudly. Rodrigo interrupts our conversation and with a sharp voice instructs us to put our cameras away. “Photos are not allowed”. I roll my eyes while tucking my camera in my bag, but Paola explains that “in the Mayan tradition taking a photo of someone is like taking a piece of their soul”. I get goosebumps because now I’m not sure what I’ll discover when we enter the temple. A few moments later we are finally inside. Due to my Greek Orthodox upbringing I’ve visited a lot of churches, but this is by far the most unforgettable one, even without photos. Once inside, the first thing I see is the absence of furniture – the floor is covered in pine needles and there is a strong smell of burning candles in the air. Everywhere I look there are candles and wax on the floor. Floral fabrics drape from the roof to the walls creating a giant tent. I try to be as discreet as possible even though the locals don’t seem to be distracted by our presence. I immediately notice blood on the floor, and I realise is from the animal sacrifices to the gods. If you are lucky, you might even witness one. The women pray kneeling on the floor wearing the traditional Chamula black wool skirt and carry their babies on their backs. It is such a strange feeling but the sound of a man’s guitar coming from a different corner makes it feel so peaceful. There are Coca cola cans on the floor, I never learned why. I look around and I see mirrors hanging from the walls next to the Saints’ images and statues. These mirrors are Tzotzils’ version of a confession box. They confess their sins in front of the only person you can’t lie to: one’s self. Among the worshippers, there are some who clean the colourful statues and chit chat in a language I don’t understand. They are called “stewards” and they are responsible for the care of the temple. This is a position of high respect and to become one, people might wait up to 30 years. The stewards spend thousands of pesos in order to keep the figures of the saints in good shape, to clean the altars and to help with general duties inside the church. The church is open 24/7 and there is no priest. Rodrigo somehow learns that a priest comes over once a month to perform baptisms. “This is the Catholic influence”, I think to myself. We slowly find our way out. The sun has now almost set and the square of the church is empty. I’m both fascinated and confused from this unexpected experience. After twenty minutes drive we are back to San Cristobal de las Casas, the city we are staying and the main of the region, sitting in the local restaurant. While the Mariachi are singing in the background, I take a sip from my warm corn and chicken soup and my mind goes back to this one of a kind white, green and blue church.