Maximon, god of Santiago de Atitlan

The family had just moved into a new house a few days before a strange happening. The 14 year old daughter was in the street and was approached by a tall strange looking man who beckoned her to come to him. Her sister, several years younger, grabbed her by the hand and forbid her to go. While this was happening, the 14-year-old girl began having difficulty breathing. The mother was summoned and they immediately took her to a doctor. The doctor said there was no problem and she was taken home.

The following day the girl had her 14th birthday. In the afternoon she again began having difficulty breathing. They tried to find the doctor but it was Sunday and the doctor was not available. The entire look of the girl changed as she was on the bed and she became increasingly more difficult to calm down. The mother noted that the girl's voice was changing as well. It was masculine and the girl was saying strange things. She was speaking the words but it wasn't her voice and the content was different as well. The voice was making comments about five family members who had died within the recent past, saying that three of them had accepted Christ, but "he" was able to take two of them to hell. When the men came with the Bibles from the church things got even worse, with the voice screaming when the Bible got close. The family was crying while the men prayed. This went on for better than three hours...

An encounter with Maximón

Contributor Lola Reid traveled to Guatemala in search of Maximón, the icon most highly venerated by the country's Maya inhabitants. In the following chronicle, Lola recounts what was, in her own words, an inspirational encounter.

Surrounded by the slate-blue spires of four volcanic peaks, I meander along the streets of Santiago Atitlán, a highland village in Guatemala. I approach a small and unusually decorated cement home perched at the crest of a hill, its position giving it the appearance of a temple at the summit of an ancient Maya pyramid. A two-foot-wide border of mulberry paint decorates the lower half of the wall; the upper portion is brilliant puce green. These outrageous colors compete for attention with several garlands of multi-colored plastic flags featuring cutwork patterns of the Day of the Dead (November 2) skeletons dancing, eating and laughing.

Inside the house, two statues of crucified dark-skinned Christians flank a dead white Christ interred within a glass coffin. Red and green Christmas lights flash alternately to provide an eerie illumination on the pallid face. Slouched along a wooden bench flanking the wall, eight men of the indigenous council chatter amicably among themselves in Tzutujil Maya and, with me, in Spanish. The flickering flames of more than seventy candles create menacing shadows in the gloom. My nose and throat are assaulted by an intense stench, a blend of alcohol, beer, burning candlewax, incense, cigarettes and cigars. The fading light of the setting sun enshrouds our world in blackness.

Three men climb a ladder, disappearing through a trap-door set into the ceiling. Minutes later, a three-foot-tall wooden Maximón is placed reverently upon a woven reed mat, a symbol of nobility to the ancient Maya. His rigid mouth firmly clenches an unlit cigar. [Worshippers present cigarettes and cigars in homage to the icon's name, a combination of Simon and max, the Maya word for tobacco]. The leader cleanses himself with a smoke bath of incense burning in a censer created from a coffee can with wire coathanger handles, then offers the cleansing to the men and me.

Kneeling in front of the effigy, the leader commences the ceremony in Latin learned from Catholic masses, before switching to the more familiar Tzutujil. He refers to quartz crystals, white seeds, playing cards, red seeds of the Tzetzé bush and the Tzolkín, a three-thousand-year-old Count of Days, to divine the future.

For nearly fifty minutes, the leader and another man kneel on the hard floor. The droning Tzutujil and the incessant swinging of the incense burner mesmerize me. Smoke permeates the room, its eventual dissipation interpreted as consumption by the gods and ancestors. After the ceremony, the leader proudly informs me that he has studied as a daykeeper for fifteen years and visits this shrine every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.

A traditional Tzutujil couple with four children and a grandmother arrive. After the presentation of candles, alcohol and incense, the young mother sits in a straight-backed wooden chair facing Maximón. Her bare feet rest inside a man's patent leather dress shoes far too large for her tiny feet. Maximón's uppermost hat is placed upon her head, the long scarves attached to the hat-brim draping over her shoulders. Her husband kneels beside her on the floor. The three older children sit placidly with their grandmother, who cradles a baby. Several times during the two-hour appeal, the prayer-leader turns the hat so that the scarves obscure the mother's face. Occasionally, he places a long cape over the father's head, covering his shoulders. Near the end of the ceremony, the grandmother and the four children crouch on the floor beside the man and woman.

After the family departs, it is explained that the woman's eyesight is gradually diminishing. Local doctors believe her vision could be saved by an operation in Guatemala City, but they prefer to appeal to Maximón with his legendary curative powers. Eager for a drink after the lengthy ceremony, the men present the icon and the rest of us with more liquor. We toast Maximón, then each other. I thank the men for their hospitality, and we say goodbye with a handshake.