Handshakes and Shovels

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged.” – Jesus

Some years ago, I officiated a wedding celebration in Yuma, Arizona. I want to mention two things about Yuma. First, it can get really hot. The day I arrived, in late September, it was “only” a dry 100 degrees, but I was told it had been a humid 118 degrees the previous week. Second, research and observation informed me that Yuma’s population is about half Hispanic.

The bride, Veronica, was Mexican and asked that part of the service, especially her vows, be in Spanish. With some coaching and much practice, I was able to honor her request.

The ceremony took place outside at a golf club in the shade of a large pepper tree. Only the immediate family sat in chairs; the other guests stood. When the procession began, the guests, without prompting, formed themselves into an aisleway. There was no music, so when the bride, escorted by her father, came to the “aisle,” the guests began to softly applaud, creating their own beautiful “wedding march.”

The ceremony was charming, simple, and beautiful, but my most vivid memory of the weekend was my impression of the bride’s father, Melitón.

At the rehearsal dinner Melitón and I sat next to each other. Our time together began awkwardly since he spoke little English and I spoke little Spanish. After a few minutes I decided it would be discourteous, if not insulting, for me to sit there silently. So I ventured out with, “Donde viva?” (Where do you live?) He replied, “Aquí, en Yuma.” (Here, in Yuma.) I asked, “Circa?” (Close by?) And so we began our halting, slightly difficult, “Como se dice?/How do you say?” conversation.

I inquired about his work, and he said he worked on a large, vegetable-growing farm. I asked if it was hot work. He said it was very hot and mentioned the recent 118-degree days. “Did you work only in the mornings and evenings?” With a gently dismissive “You don’t know what you’re talking about” wave of his hand, he said, “We work all day long, no matter the heat.”

He said he worked with a regular crew of about eight and had worked on the same farm and for the same owner for eighteen years. He spoke highly of his patrón (boss), “William.” Interestingly, Melitón did not say good wages or good benefits made William a good patron; instead he pointed to the fact that William worked right alongside his crew. With gestures and animation, Melitón said, “If I have a shovel in my hands, he has a shovel in his hands.”

He talked about his family and how he would not let his children take jobs while they were in school because he wanted them to focus on their studies so that they could have “a better life than mine.” He was very proud of his children.

Melitón was clearly a hardworking man. He was sturdily built with rough and stained hands. His rugged face looked not just Hispanic dark, but working-in-the-sun dark. But my strongest impression of Melitón was his dignity. It was a dignity conveyed by his nearly at-attention posture, his firm handshake, and his self-confident, look-you-in-the-eye, manner. He reminded me of my father, not only by what he did but also by his bearing.

“Farm worker” did not begin to describe Melitón.

I do not have some grand lesson in mind here except to say this one thing: Next time you drive by a crew working in a farm field, be suspicious of any judgments you might make about them.

This article was first published in the Covenant Companion Summer 2025 issue, the official magazine of the Evangelical Covenant Church.