Being Pilgrims

Last Wednesday, I went on a long journey with 6 other people from Pastoral Social to visit an economically poor family with a little girl who is immobile and cannot talk. We wanted to reach out to them and share in God's love. So, we each bought some basic food or other essential item, such as beans, rice, sugar, soap, and corn. We hauled these items on our backs, along with $15 raised through a second collection at church. This family lives 2 hours away by foot from the town of Santo Domingo, so they actually pertain to another municipality. While they do not technically belong to our parish community, we know that God's kingdom does not have borders. We all pertain to the same family and so out of this solidarity we set out on foot.

When we arrived, Sandra, the mom let us into her home. We began with a prayer and a reading from the Scriptures because we are all in need of spiritual nourishment. Then we just sat for a while to chat with her and get to know her daughter, Jenifer Patricia. They live in a small, mud home far away from the heart of their municipality and therefore far from any form of governmental aid. Both of Sandra's parents have died and her sisters live in Guatemala. So, she has no family close by to help her out, and her husband works all day. Essentially, she is trapped because she cannot carry her daughter on a long walk and cannot abandon her in the house.

My heart broke open listening to her story, but I think what touched me most was when one of the members of Pastoral Social, Elma, took Jenifer in her arms and said that we were her new friends. She provided such a loving touch to a beautiful child who we could easily view as a mere burden to her mom. This is what Pastoral Social is about, recognizing the dignity within each one of us and being a loving presence that is transformative. Needless to say, the walk back didn't seem as long.

Excursion to Santa Marta, Cabañas

Just a few weeks ago, a group of 27 adults and 5 kids from the Asociacion de Desarrollo Comunal Indigena Nahuat (ADESCOIN) took a 4-hour trip to a small canton at the Honduran border called Santa Marta. We were invited there by an NGO called Asociacion de Desarrollo Economico Social (ADES), which had sent two groups to visit us in Santo Domingo de Guzman. They came to learn about the indigenous culture and the history of our town and so they invited us to learn about the history of and activities going on in their town. It was the first time that many of the people from Santo Domingo had ever been to that area of El Salvador, so what a great opportunity for them to know more about their own country.

When we arrived, a group of people met us at the local school and took us on a brief tour of the town. We got to see their green-house project, which allows them to grow veggies even during the dry season. When it does rain, they use a rainwater irrigation system and also have an organic fertilizer project. While it is funded by a foreign NGO, all of the employees are from Santa Marta and some are even getting educated in engineering so that they can head the project, making it more sustainable. It was great to see them so organized; hopefully their experience will be an inspiration for us!

After the tour, a couple of women told us about the history of the town, specifically during the recent Civil War and even sang some songs they had written to memorialize their suffering. They had a tragic experience of the armed forces invading their town in the late 1970s, suspicious of people organizing against the government. They would enter peoples homes, take out the men and torture, disappear, or kill them and then rape the women and young girls. They would take the babies and throw them in the air and spear them. They would then sometimes set the homes on fire, even with people inside. At the start of the 80s, the people of Santa Marta could not take it anymore and fled into Honduras. As they were crossing the Rio Lempa, hundreds were killed, either by the strong current, by helicopters firing at them, or by the Honduran army firing at them from the other side of the river. Those who made it safely, eventually made it to a refugee camp where they lived for several years before returning to repopulate Santa Marta. I was left speechless, trying to imagine what it must have been like going through that since I have never seen war firsthand. The people from Santo Domingo, however, recounted that they had a similar history of soldiers coming into their homes and taking out the men, killing them right there or disappearing them. And it was people from within town that ratted people out, giving out names to the army of men they accused of being guerillas, even if they weren't. Because of this, men had to spend nights in a cave nearby for many years of the war and to this day there is some division in town, due to the fact that some of those who were accusers are still alive. How do you even begin a real reconciliation when this tragic past is still so fresh?

At the end of the trip, we visited a community radio nearby, called Radio Victoria. It was great to hear about the work of this radio to offer a space for people in the surrounding area to debate issues, state the needs of their communities, etc... They get to express their voice in a country with a mass communications system that is more dedicated to consumerism and the needs of the wealthy. They radio team even invited us to make an announcement on air, so Don Margarito said a greeting in Nahuat and then of course translated it into Spanish.

While it was a long day, with more hours spent in transport than in location, I felt blessed to be a part of this interchange of pueblos.

Look Into My Eyes

I am part of a group of 4 people responsible for planning the readings, reflections, prayers, and songs every Thursday for the Hora Santa (an hour where people honor the Monstrance). We have been picking themes each time, themes with a certain degree of content. For instance, we have done the theme of peace (focused on how true peace cannot exist without justice), faith (focused on how faith is empty if it is not accompanied by works), and the Reign of God (focused on how we are called to work towards achieving the Reign of God here on Earth).

It was just this Thursday that we focused on the Reign of God. The reading we chose was from the Gospel of Luke, 17:20-21, which says, “Some Pharisees asked Jesus when the Kingdom of God would come. His answer was, ‘The Kingdom of God does not come in such a way as to be seen. No one will say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’; because the Kingdom of God is within you.’” The Kingdom of God, therefore, is not a destination but is present in each of us because Christ lives within us. I led the reflection after this reading, although I was nervous to speak in Spanish without notes in front of me. I think my face got kind of red out of nervousness. Anyway, I asked everyone there to look into the eyes of the person next to them, to look deep into their eyes because eyes are the window to our soul. It is within our soul that there exists a light which is Christ, making us sacraments (or encounters with Christ), just as the Monstrance is a form of the sacramental Christ. In being temples of Christ, we each have dignity, and it is in recognizing and honoring this dignity in each of us that we begin the construction of the Reign of God.

The reflection didn’t go exactly as planned in my mind because people did not want to look into each other's eyes. They all just remained looking at me. It could be a cultural discomfort, but I think it is unfortunate that in prayer, people have the habit of only looking up into the sky or down at their feet. Why don’t we look at each other? Each of us is a prayer. We are each sacred.

Hands of Solidarity

Just the other day I left my class at the University of El Salvador to travel back to Santo Domingo de Guzman. I got off an inner-city bus at the Western Bus Terminal with my money in hand ready to board the bus to Sonsonate (the biggest town near Santo Domingo). I have been trying to foster the habit of having my money ready so I am not rummaging through my wallet, drawing attention to what I’ve got. So, as I faced an old man, emaciated, leaning against a pole with a crutch, I rationalized not giving him any of the money in my hand. He also did not have a hat in his hand or even a hand out asking for money. Then a few yards away was a woman, also emaciated, sitting along the curb. I also passed her by. If I gave her a quarter, then I would have to get my wallet out of my bag, which I didn’t want to do. Justification. Then, as I was about to round the corner into the terminal, I was faced with a man with a withered arm, shaking, with a hat in his lap to collect money. What to do?

I was reminded of the story of Peter in the Gospels after Jesus was arrested. He was asked by three different people if he knew Jesus, and he denied him all three times. In my case, I was faced with Christ, present in these three people, people with human dignity. As I approached the third person, could I really deny Christ a third time? There will always be people asking for money, in need of assistance. How do I respond to everyone as a Christian?

This brings to mind how after the mass for the patron feast, the priest in my community invited the bishop and several other people to have lunch with him. We had served them all lunch, but they had an uninvited guest at the table. His name is Juan. He is mute and drools, but he can fully understand what you say to him. And he is a human being. The others at the table, however, did not even look at him. He just sat there and watched them eat. If he could have spoken, I wonder what he would have said. His eyes said enough. Christ’s eyes, eyes of hunger, hunger for food and for inclusion. We women cooks decided to serve him food, so he ate on the benches near us, although we could have invited him to actually sit with us. Don’t we as a church preach that we are all invited to the Lord’s Table? We all failed Christ, present in Juan, that day.

Hanging my hat in Santo Domingo de Guzman

So after several months of searching on foot and within my heart, I have finally discovered where I am meant to be. It is a small, country town in the Western end of El Salvador called Santo Domingo de Guzman. I have visited there a few times in the past month and will be moving there permanently at the end of this week. Temporarily I will be living with a family who have an extra room while I look for a small house of my own. This family is made up of a German man (Hans Piter), his Salvadoran wife (Maria Rodriguez Piter) and their son, who I have yet to meet. Hans lived in the States for 30 years, so I will have someone to chat with in English when my head starts hurting from speaking Spanish all day every day!!! They seem like a very welcoming family, but I probably won't stay their for long because one of the girls I have befriended there has already located a small house that is for rent. While living with a family would provide some company, I am looking forward to having my own space.

In being introduced by the priest (Fr. Juan Jose Ausencio) to the family I will be living with, I felt further confirmed in my decision to stay in Santo Domingo. He mentioned that I was a missioner and that I have helped him see a different side to being a missioner than what they normally envision. Typically when they think of a missioner, it is someone who goes door to door with a Bible and just preaches to people. However, he has seen that I am approaching mission with an attitude of wanting to get close to the community, learn from them, and find a way to support them (and not just giving out resources). I wanted to give him a big hug for having come to this realization about me. I will be excited to work in a team with him (I will be collaborating at the church, probably in helping organize a social ministry because he has not yet formed one).

While helping promote the social doctrine of the Church is something that I can offer from my own education, Fr. Juan Jose was right when he said that I definitely am here to learn a lot. One of the things I want to learn more about is the artisan craft developed by the women of the community. They have, for many years, earned a living (although a very minimal amount) through making products out of clay. They are very skilled in this work, and several have offered to teach me the process! I am just so excited to visit with the women in their homes and see how they work because at the moment they each work pretty much on their own. Without being organized, they are struggling to find a way to commercialize their product. I am hoping that in getting to know them more and their passion for this delicate hand-craft, I will find ways to bring them more together and discover openings with them in the market. Unfortunately marketing was not my specialty in college, so I inscribed in a university class on Gender and Economy, sponsored by a local women's organization, because with more education on this topic, I will be able to serve these women to the best of my ability.

Something, however, that is not offered as a university course that this community is very knowledgeable in is Nahuat, the indigenous Pipil language. While this language is almost completely lost, there are some elderly people in the community who can speak it. One of these hablantes de Nahuat is Don Genaro, the director of the Casa de la Cultura (the cultural center). He has written a book of phrases in Nahuat, translated into Spanish, and is working on a book on the history of Santo Domingo de Guzman (previously called Huitzapan = river of thorns). He is just a wealth of wisdom, and I cannot wait to learn a lot from him. It seems that in general it is the adult population that wants to advance the indigenous culture and not hide their identity anymore (there has been a lot of discrimination of the indigenous population in the past and still continues today but to a lesser extent, which has led many to ignore that identity). Those that seem particularly adverse to embracing this identity are the youth, who are more interested in learning English and how to use computers (which are practical for them in socio-economic advancement). What would be great would be to find a way to bridge the two realities together - connect their past to their future. Their is so much richness to this community, and I cannot wait to discover more as I continue in mission.

Shallow roots

I just finished reading a book called Consider This Senora, which is about a group of foreigners who for different reasons find themselves living in a small village in central Mexico. In the end, they all move away, and one of the men of the village comments, "Their roots are shallow from frequent transplanting."

This quote really struck me because I too have been transplanted a lot. I grew up in Louisville, Ky, went to college in Boston, lived for a year in the Dominican Republic, moved back to Louisville for a year, and now I am in El Salvador. Do I have too shallow of roots to be nourished? I look at some of my cousins who all live close to one another, who have started families of their own, who have kids who play together, and I feel a little envious. I am physically far from my family and can only talk to them once and a while on skype or by email. I chose to be a missioner to become more connected to people, to reality, but am I actually becoming more disconnected by transplanting myself too often?

On top of that, I am thrown into a foreign culture, with different traditions/customs, a different spirituality, different sense of time, with food that, while tasty, can cause me to become ill, where I don't always understand what people are saying, where people stare because I look different, etc... I don't really feel like I fit in. Do I belong here? Where do I belong?

When I ask myself these questions, which happens often, I can begin to feel lost and alone, but then I have to remind myself of what one of my teachers, Sr. Peggy, told our class on liberation theology. She said that rather than asking ourselves where we belong, we should ask, "To whom do I belong?/ Whose am I?" Roots are developed in people, not just in places. Of course, it is going to take a while to develop roots in a community here. I may never belong in El Salvador, but I hope I can find a community of people to belong to.

My sense of hope comes from the ginkgo tree. Apparently, it is unknown whether or not the gingko tree (which Larry Lewis, MM, references in his book The Misfit), has a native population anywhere in the world. Whether or not it actually has a home, they are grown in many different places/environments. They are known to have a preference for disturbed sites, like rocky slopes and cliff edges, and can adapt to the harsh, urban environment with pollution and limited growing space. They are so resilient that they were among the few living things that survived the atomic blast at Hiroshima. This tree has been transplanted to many different environments, and while it may never fully naturalize itself in all of them (like in the US), it finds the nourishment it needs to thrive. Like the gingko, I am drawn also to and nourished by more disturbed environments. I just hope I have its adaptability and resilience (but not its foul odor ;)! I am ready to find my next home and plant my "gingko roots."

Semana Santa

As we are in the middle of Semana Santa (Holy Week), I am reminded of the suffering that Christ endured because of the kind of life he was proclaiming with his words and actions. He stood next to those that others ignored and gave strength and hope to those that the powerful wanted to remain weak. He invited all to his table. Do I do this? I often find myself judging others by their words and actions, rather than looking for God's presence within that person. And yet I find myself in a country where people don't think twice to invite me into their home and offer me something to eat and drink. Without doing anything to deserve it, I am brought to the table.

I am feeling so overwhelmed to find a ministry and find out what I have to offer, that I forget what being in mission is all about: becoming part of a community that breaths life. This is why the following statement from my Lenten reflection book really spoke to me: "We believe with the apostle John that Jesus is 'the Word of Life' and that where there is life, there God reveals himself. Where the poor begin to live, where the poor begin to liberate themselves, where men and women are able to sit down aoround a common table and share, there is the God of life." This is what I strife for.


A great reminder for me of this hope is a mural of the Last Supper that is painted inside a building in Perquin, El Salvador. It is a table filled with people who have given their lives in the pursuit of justice, most from El Salvador but among the few foreigners present is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Can you imagine being invited to eat at that table?