I AM A LEGEND

I clearly remember that summer Sunday in Santa Cruz, Bolivia. The church building was in Charcas 227 and was full of people listening to my dad’s sermon. The heat was unbearable, close to noon that Sunday. I think that was the reason I stepped outside the door. I just turned 9 years old.

I remember the streets in Santa Cruz at that time. They were dirt, sand and mud. When it rained, it was almost impossible for the few cars that were available to drive. In fact, a cart pulled by two bulls was the most common mean of transportation, as well as riding horses. That Sunday, nobody was out in the streets, with the exception of a catholic priest that slowly was walking toward me. In those days, priests dressed long gowns, all the way to the floor.

I imagine that it was because of the heat, this priest was wearing a long white gown, with a white hat and some magenta details and he was slowly walking leaning on a cane. At that moment, I felt as he was daring me.

In those days, the persecution against the evangelicals was wide open and constant. I remember kids at school looking at me as if I was demon possessed or the “son of Satan,” like some called me. They said I had goat tails in my back and that we, the evangelicals, ate babies and they went on saying other things. So, when I saw that priest walking toward me, on the same sidewalk where the church was located, I felt as he was daring me.

He arrived to where I was standing and did not even
look at me. He kept on walking leaning on his cane. Temptation was stronger than my sanctification and I do not know where I got the voice, but I said: “priest that does not heal anyone” (cura que no cura a nadie, in Spanish) and I stepped inside the church thinking that I was safe in there and that a priest would never walk into an evangelical church and contaminate himself.

Great was my surprise and horror when I realized he was right behind me, with his cane in the air, interrupting my dad’s sermon. I ran down the center isle to refuge myself behind my dad and pastor who was trying to figure out what in the world was going on. For some minutes, the priest gave a speech about all the faults of the evangelicals and the lack of reverence and respect for the holy man of God, as it was so clearly illustrated when I told him he was no good. Wishing all the curses of hell over the congregation and especially over that “son of the devil” of a boy, he left the church.

That was the end of the service for that Sunday. My parents invited me to share my side of the story in the privacy of our living room while and having a hard time keeping from laughing, they proceeded to apply a punishment that would assure them that a service would never again be disrupted by an angry priest.

If you ever go to an Assembly of God church in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, and ask about me, they will tell you this story.

I AM A LEGEND!!!