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Wednesday, March 5, 1997, began quietly for Eugenio Nij. For the past twelve years, forty-year-old Nij had ministered to his small Guatemalan congregation and helped with a number of community projects in his home town of San Raymundo, 25 miles north of Guatemala City.

Wednesday promised one minor break in the routine—Queno (Nij's nickname since childhood) had to go to the airport to pick up his fellow missionary, Carlos Antonio Coj n, who was flying from Mexico.

As the two men drove back into San Raymundo about 4:30 p.m., they saw the normally serene central park filled with a crowd, shouting and agitated. Things looked threatening.

	The police asked Queno to try and mediate.

When Queno asked a bystander what was happening, he learned that three hours earlier, local citizens had captured two women who had tried to abduct two children. The women had been turned over to the police, but now the mob wanted to take justice into its own hands.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first such incident. The previous months had seen a number of lynchings and attempted lynchings in various parts of Guatemala, due to mounting frustration with an epidemic of kidnappings and other violent crimes, and made even worse with an inefficient justice system.

One of the most tragic incidents had involved four innocent men (including an evangelical pastor) out on a hunting trip, who were mistaken for gang members responsible for recent assaults on busloads of people. The four men were beaten to death and their bodies burned. Ironically, the crime wave was due in part to the country's peace process that had just ended a 35-year guerrilla war, resulting in thousands of unemployed ex-combatants from both sides of the conflict.

Trying to calm the crowd
In San Raymundo, Nij knew emotions were running high. A week earlier, Elena Beatriz, an eleven-year-old girl from an evangelical family of modest means, had been kidnapped. The whole town pitched in with money for the ransom, but the girl had not been returned.

Other recent incidents—robberies, assaults—were on the rise in this town, which in the past had been relatively safe. People were frightened and angry.

Spotting some familiar faces in the crowd of mostly women and older men (which at that point numbered 300 to 400), Queno tried to calm the situation.

"Think about what you are doing—it's not right," he said. Nij tried to raise his voice above the confusion, emphasizing that everyone must respect the authorities. He pointed out that any mob action against the two women might make matters worse for Elena Beatriz.

It's difficult to know how many people actually heard Nij, but a newspaper photographer documented his presence by snapping a picture of Nij in the crowd.

Police reinforcements then arrived from Guatemala City, and tried to disperse the crowd. But they couldn't control the mob.

Seeing Nij, and assuming he was the one responsible for agitating things, a few police officers manhandled him. But when voices in the crowd told them Queno was a pastor, the police asked him to try and mediate.

Sensing the anger of the crowd, he advised the police first to transport the two jailed women out of town before things got worse. But for reasons that are not clear, they made no attempt to do so.

Then the mob began to turn on Nij, shouting that he was trying to protect the kidnappers. A friend pulled him away, and seeing there was nothing he could do, Nij and Carlos left and drove to the nearby village of Llano de la Virgen. There Nij's mission church had built a pre-school and was starting an orphanage. As planned, they had dinner followed by a service that evening.

On the news the next morning, the missionaries found out what had happened after they left. As the men of San Raymundo returned from their fields and jobs, the crowd grew to almost 2,000 and the mood worsened. About 6 p.m., they stormed the small police station, pulled the two women out of their cell, beating and kicking them. One woman was killed; the other was left for dead, but survived with serious injuries.

Arresting the wrong man
The days following the riot were tense as participants and non-participants alike struggled with feelings of guilt and shame. Those in the mob regretted taking the law into their own hands; those who had stayed out of the ordeal were ashamed for what had happened.

Plainclothes investigators combed the small town for information. People were withdrawn and apprehensive, remembering other times when Guatemalan justice seemed to imprison the innocent and let the guilty go free.

Two weeks later, the body of Elena Beatriz—brutally murdered—was found in an isolated area three miles from San Raymundo. Eugenio Nij preached her funeral, attended by 5,000 people, practically the whole town, in a massive display of solidarity.

Sunday afternoon, March 23, Nij was at home, meeting with the director of the local literacy committee, when police detectives from Guate-mala City arrived. After preliminary questioning, they took him to jail, accusing Nij (along with four other men from the town) of murder, attempted murder, causing bodily harm, and material damage in connection with the mob action. Nij knew the other four men casually, but he had not seen them in the crowd that day.

By Guatemalan law, authorities can hold suspects for up to 90 days, or even longer, without filing formal charges. As of June, Nij is still in jail, and no date has been set for a trial.

"We really don't know why Queno was arrested," says his wife, Lori, "except that there will always be somebody who doesn't like what you're doing, even when you're doing something good."

"Apparently, somebody implicated him," says Ezequiel Tepeu, a leader in the Central American Evangelical Church who has worked closely with Nij. "It's hard to know who would have said Eugenio was guilty, since that person would also have to admit being present at the lynching."

The authorities were under heavy pressure to get results—any results—to set a precedent to discourage further lynchings. Nij was one of the few people who could be identified (from the photograph) as having been at the scene. There were also newspaper reports saying an evangelical pastor had incited the mob.

Preacher comes back home
A peacemaking pastor in jail, accused of murder, isn't usual, but then Eugenio Nij has always been out of the ordinary. Like many bright small-town boys, he left San Raymundo to study, graduating with a degree in industrial design from a technical school in Quezaltenango, Guatemala's second-largest city. He also became an expert cabinet maker. But instead of pursuing either career, he was converted in 1980 and became involved with a new Church of Christ congregation started by some Americans who came to help with reconstruction after the devastating 1976 earthquake.

Seeing the young man's potential, members of the church encouraged Nij to train for full-time ministry; he left for Eagle Pass, Texas, to attend Colegio Bíblico, a Bible school affiliat-ed with the Church of Christ.

There he met Lori Pinney, who taught Christian education. A Texan, Lori had studied at Dallas Christian College and Cincinnati Bible College and Seminary and thought she was called to a life of single service to Spanish-speaking people. That began to change when Lori led a church-planting missions trip to Mexico, and Queno went along.

"I was impressed with Eugenio's commitment, his spirituality and honesty," Lori says. "And he was not the typical Latin macho male." As the relationship developed, Queno made it clear he was looking not just for a wife, but for a partner in ministry—in San Raymundo. His mother and extended family still lived there. Although many people thought Queno was crazy to return to such a small, impoverished area for ministry, he had made his commitment to God.

"He had a strong commitment to his town, and the goal from the beginning was to meet physical as well as spiritual needs," Lori says. On May 23, 1984, Queno and Lori were married.

Since the Church of Christ does not have a denominational missions agency, the Nijs, Lori's father, and several other ministers formed the New Iberian Mission Association to handle donations and provide legal backing for the couple as they headed for Guatemala after Eugenio finished school.

Besides the church, a fledgling children's home, and the Casa Agape pre-school (which enrolls thirty children ranging in age from four to seven), the Nijs have served on civic committees, working on projects like literacy, a well to supply water to the community, and health programs, including several major outreach projects with Medical Missions International.

Teams of visiting doctors, nurses, and auxiliary personnel from the U.S., Canada, and the Dominican Republic provide medical consultations, surgery, dental and ophthalmological services, which attract patients from distant towns. Their goal is to build a hospital capable of handling sophisticated procedures like open-heart surgery.

"It's amazing how much need there is and how little help is available, this close to Guatemala City," says Lori.

Short, slight, and wearing glasses, Eugenio doesn't look impressive, but he commands a lot of respect. When the lawyers in his case requested documents attesting to his character and activities on behalf of the people, virtually everyone in town provided them: the mayor, the public schools, the health center, the post office, the pastors' association, as well as the town's Catholic church and its presiding priest. Several hundred residents signed petitions requesting Nij's release.

Shades of Paul and Silas
Pastor Nij has found the prison to be just another place to minister—a place he hadn't spent much time before. "I preached 30 or 40 times in the first 50 days I was in jail," he says. "We saw some 20 or 30 conversions and about the same number of Christians getting straightened out with the Lord."

The total prison population is about 1,500; in Nij's sector, the number ranges from 120 to 240 men. There are no single cells; everyone sleeps on mats on the floor in a common area. Within that room, two benches and a pulpit define "the chapel."

Nij has counseled and encouraged many of his fellow inmates. And typically, he tries to help with physical needs as well. Nij gave away so much of his food (prisoners' families generally have to provide rations) that for a while Lori was afraid he would become malnourished. But donations from a shopkeeper in San Raymundo provide enough for Nij with surplus to share.

Still, Guatemalan jails, though probably better than those in first-century Rome, are no picnic.

"I can understand Paul and Silas now," says Nij. "It's hard being in prison and facing the legal uncertainties. It's hard to see my wife and children only once a week."

On the brighter side, he has plenty of time to read, study the Bible, pray, and praise the Lord. Christian radio station TGNA in Guatemala City, which many prisoners listen to, has been a big help. The pastor jokes he will have a whole barrel of new sermons ready when he is released, but he also says he has found jail to be a special experience from God that has strengthened him and will make his ministry more effective.

His wife noticed the change. "Earlier this year, he had been discouraged and was questioning God's call to ministry." But during his months in prison, Lori knows Queno feels God "has confirmed that he wants him in ministry. Queno senses an unusual presence of God in his preaching and personal life."

The imprisonment has taken its toll on the Nij children. Herbert, 6, has become extremely fearful, says Lori, while Tabitha, 12, is struggling with her faith. "She asks if God loves her, and if so, then why is her daddy in jail?"

Visits to the prison help, however. "They are learning to understand, and above all, to forgive those who do us harm," Nij says. "I remind my children that we need to love such people and show them Jesus."

Lori has been carrying on the ministries in San Raymundo in her husband's absence. One problem she didn't expect has been the steady stream of shady characters who offer to help.

"All kinds of people have called or come to see me," she says, "telling me to give them anywhere from $10,000 to $20,000 and they'll get Queno released immediately. Even if they weren't shysters, as most of them are, we would never pay a bribe. It's just not right."

E-mail effects
Another unanticipated aspect of the Nij story has been the impact of e-mail. Through Lori's brother and other friends, Eugenio's story literally circled the globe. The family has received countless messages of encouragement, including one from a group of underground Christians in China who know firsthand what it's like to be imprisoned. "We've heard from Africa, Japan, the U.S., just about all over the world," says Lori.

But there is another side to this electronic grapevine. Some of the stories circulating through cyberspace are grossly inaccurate, depicting the Nijs as victims of a vicious religious persecution.

One report claimed that all missionaries in Guatemala were in jail. In fact, Guatemala has a long history of religious freedom and tolerance, and the ministries in San Raymundo have continued unaffected except for Queno's absence.

"I've had to send out messages telling people not to believe anything that didn't come directly from me," says Lori.

Nij's case, along with the other four suspects, was complicated when authorities raided the offices of a small newspaper, Al Dia, in search of photos and notes that supposedly would provide evidence of their complicity. The raid was met with a storm of criticism from the media, calling it one more attack on freedom of the press. The Supreme Court ruled the action of the authorities was illegal, and the prosecutor and judge involved were both suspended and new ones later named. All of this has meant more delays.

Like other developing countries moving toward democracy, Guate-mala is struggling with limited resources, a deficient infrastructure, and the breakdown of society—with the resultant increase in drugs, gangs, disregard for authority—all complicated by the 35-year internal war. Police are poorly trained and poorly paid, and corruption is rampant, despite attempts to stamp it out.

But Eugenio Nij sees God's hand in what might seem to be merely a case of human injustice.

"I wasn't preaching the gospel (like Paul and Silas) when I got involved in this problem, but I was trying to do God's work by trying to bring peace," he says. "I did what I felt was right in the park. I know I am innocent. God obviously wanted me here in prison. My trust is in him, and when it is his time, I will be freed."

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