How can I preach the Passion among the poor?

This afternoon I will go to an aldea where I have often spent Good Friday, Debajiados.

To get there you have to go up a mountain and then down the other side. It’s about 50 minutes from here in Plan Grande and so I asked a neighbor to help with the driving. 

It is a small poor remote community that at this point does not have a Delegate of the Word to lead celebrations (though there is one in formation.) There was a young man who was in formation to be a communion minister, but he died of pneumonia, leaving his wife and four kids. Recently, the only delegate suddenly left the community,

But they are trying to live their faith. A young woman is in formation to become a catechist. Two young men (including the oldest son of the man who died of pneumonia) were confirmed this past February. 

I visited several times before I was ordained a deacon, the first time on a rainy December Sunday, going down to the church – on a “macho”. The second time, Good Friday, 2016, I took communion to a couple who lived far from the church, riding on a donkey.

I also helped with the funeral of a young girl from the community, accompanying the community to Mass and burial in a village the other side of the mountain. 

How to preach here is a serious question. 

As I prayed this morning one image came to me – suggested by the first two readings of the Good Friday Liturgy: the powerful fragility of Jesus crucified, the weakness of the Cross. 

Is there any image that better reflect the sad reality of the poor and that also give hope by reminding us of the transformative power of the Cross of Jesus and the resurrected Jesus, with his wounds?

 

from Esquipulas

This image of the suffering God reminds us that Jesus identified himself with the suffering and when we look on the faces of the poor we are looking on the faces of Christ Jesus who suffered and died with and for us. 

Many years ago I learned a famous crucifixion retablo of Mathias Grüenwald in the chapel of a hospital of people suffering from a disease that felt pustules on the skin. Jesus on the cross bears the same wounds.

There are other images of the crucified Christ identified with the suffering and persecuted. Most notable is Marc Chagall's the White Crucifixion where Jesus identifies with the Jews suffering pogroms in Russia. 

There is also Fritz Eichenberg's The Black Crucifixion

All these point to the reality of the identification of God with the suffering of this world.

This is very clear in the Holy Week liturgies. 

As Saint Óscar Romero, reflecting on the Suffering Servant Songs in Isaiah that we have been hearing this week.

The Servant of Yahweh is so closely identified with the people that biblical interpreters cannot really tell whether the Servant of Yahweh announced by Isaiah is the suffering people or the Christ who comes to redeem them.

Jon Sobrino, SJ, Salvadoran theologian and friend of Monseñor Romero, also notes this identification. of the crucified Christ and the crucified of this world.

The crucified peoples of the world are today’s Suffering Servant, innocent but hidden away, “though he had done no wrong nor spoken any falsehood.” If the Servant does not merit such treatment, then it means that we have unjustly inflicted it on him: “He was pierced for our offenses, crushed for our sins.” The Suffering Servant proclaims the truth about the crucified people, and the truth about their executioners. In the crucified people, we can and must see ourselves. As in an inverted mirror, we can see who and what we truly are by looking at what we have produced. Today the crucified people embody the scandalous and prophetic presence of Jesus among us.

So, what can I do today but remind the people (and myself) that we have a God who suffers with us so that suffering can be transformed by the power of God – both in our personal lives and in our world.

An Ignatian contemplation of the Easter Vigil

Yesterday, at the end of the retreat with those who will be baptized at the Easer Vigil, I briefly explained the Vigil liturgy. 

2015

THE LITURGY OF THE LIGHT will begin a few blocks from the church with the blessing of the Easter Fire and the Paschal candle. The community will then process to the church behind the candle, where we will hear the praise of God – in the prayer of the Paschal Candle.

THE LITURGY OF THE WORD will follow with all the readings, with sung responses, culminating with the Gospel of the Resurrection.

THE LITURGY OF BAPTISM will begin after the homily, with the Litany of the Saints, remembering how we are surrounded by millions of witnesses of the Risen Lord. Then the water will be blessed, the elect will renounce Satan profess their faith, and they will be baptized – bathed with the water of baptism. 

THE LITURGY OF THE EUCHARIST will follow with the first communion of the newly baptized. 

I didn’t try to explain everything because I wanted them to be surprised, delighted, awed by what we are experiencing in the Vigil. 

2014

But I did tell them to pay attention. I told them to be attentive with their whole being, to be especially attentive to their feelings. 

I used the questions suggested by Saint Ignatius: 

What do I see?

What do I hear?

What do I smell?

What do I taste?

What do I feel – with my body and with my spirit? 

I did not tell them what to expect but told them to be present to what is happening in them, around them, and between them.

Here are my first thoughts about what we might sense as we live through the Vigil, contemplating the presence of the Risen Lord in our midst.

What do I see in the Vigil? The Easter Fire, the Paschal Candle, the gathering space illuminated with the lighted candles of the faithful, and more.

What do I hear? The crackling of the fire, the Exultet, the readings, the songs, the Alleluia, and more. 

What do I smell? The burning wood and candles, the aromatic Chrism, and more. 

What do I taste? The Body and Blood of Christ, and more.

What do I feel? The water flowing over the bodies of the baptized, the anointing with the Chrism, the company of hundreds of people around the altar, and more.

What do I sense with my spirit? A beginning, a new life, and more, especially the presence of God.

Simone Weil once wrote that. “[the] faculty of attention […when] directed toward God, is the very substance of prayer.” 

 I pray that those to be baptized and I may be attentive to God at the Vigil and throughout our lives.

Preparing the catechumens for the Easter Vigil

Yesterday we had a retreat for those who will be baptized in the Easter Vigil together with their godparents.

In previous years, the “elect” – as the catechumens are “called” after the beginning of Lent – has their retreat in their villages. But in some places, there is only one person and I thought it would be better if we experienced the retreat as a community.

Since I am trying to conserve my energy, I asked one of the Oblatas al Divino Amor (Oblates of the Divine Love) in our parish as well as a Dulce Nombre catechist who is also one of the parish secretaries. I was so glad to have Sister Gabi and Elias help (since I had moments during the retreat where I experienced my vulnerability and weakness.)

In the retreat we reflected on baptism and the mercy of God as well as the Eucharist and Confirmation. I also did a short review of what would happen at the Vigil. 

I also led the community in the rite of anointing the elect with the oil of the catechumens.

When we baptize infants and young children, we anoint them in the chest, by the heart. Since many are adolescent girls, I decided to anoint them in the palms, which is an option. There was at least one older man whose palms had been hardened by years of hard work in the fields. What a privilege to anoint his hands and the hands of the others, asking God to give them the strength to live the baptism they were going to receive.

We have thirty-eight “elect,” including fourteen who are eighteen or older. But the majority are between fourteen and seventeen, young people who have decided to be baptized.

We do have baptisms and baptismal preparation for children under seven. Parents and god-parents come together in groups in the villages for five sessions and a retreat. 

There is also a year-long baptismal preparation for children between 7 and 13, with all the formation done in the villages.

We also have the catechumenate for those who are fourteen and older. We are one of a few parishes in our diocese who do this with all the rites.

The custom here, until this year, was that those in the catechumenate would receive Baptism and Eucharist at the Vigil. Later they would incorporate into the preparation for confirmation with others in their community.

I really wanted the Easter Vigil to be a celebration of the full Initiation of adults into the community of faith with all three sacraments – Baptism, Confirmation, and Eucharist. Father German, our pastor, and I approached the bishop and asked him to allow Father German to confirm those over eighteen. He agreed. (Those under eighteen will join other adolescents in their communities to prepare for confirmation. My hope is that they’ll form youth groups after confirmation.)

I am looking forward to the Easter Vigil – which is quite the liturgy here. (I include some photos from previous Easter Vigils.) 

We’ll begin with the blessing of the Easter Fire and the Paschal Candle, followed by a procession to the church.

2016

2019

This year, as last year, we’ll hold the vigil in our auditorium since not all those present will fit into the church.

2022

When we arrive at the vigil site, we’ll pray the Easter Song of the Exultet. If I am up to it, I’ll try to chant it.

After this, we’ll have all the readings with the sung responses.

After the homily, we’ll celebrate the baptisms and the confirmations. We believe in having adequate signs and so the elect will be baptized and so the pastor uses a lot of water in the baptisms.

2023

After the baptisms, Father German will confirm those over eighteen.

At the end of that liturgy, we will have the Prayers of the Faithful. Two of those baptized and confirmed will read the petitions, participating as full members of the community of faith.

One tradition here is that those receiving their first Communion, gather around the altar with a lit candle during the Eucharistic Prayer.

With Padre German, first communion includes reception under both species – the bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Christ. The newly-baptized will drink the Blood of Christ from the Chalice! 

To prepare them for this experience, I told them not to be afraid to take a real drink: they won’t get drunk with the Blood of Christ!

After the Easter Vigil liturgy, which will last at least five hours, there will be tamales and ticucos, as a way to celebrate together.

I look forward to the Vigil and hope and pray that I have the strength for the entire Vigil. 

I will take Sunday off, celebrating the Resurrection in the quiet of my home and garden. 

In other years I have gone to a distant village for an Easter Sunday Celebration of the Word with Communion, but I think it’s best this year to have a real “Sabbath rest.”

Living the Holy Saturdays of our lives

Wednesday I had my third chemotherapy session. 

I got to the clinic about 7:15 am and began chemo at about 8 am. The transfusion was finished about 8 pm and I left the clinic at about 8:30 pm. I was able to sleep a good bit this time during the chemo and our pastor, Padre German, arrived about 3: 45and stayed till the bitter end. We talked and we even did some parish work. He even brought me dinner!

But I was also able to read. God seems to be guiding my reading. (I also am grateful for Kindle.) This month two books have sustained me and helped me to live my treatments and my live with cancer with faith, hope, and love. Tomáš Halík’s Touch the Wounds: On Suffering, Trust, and Transformation, was first published in 2003 but just now translated into English. Sheila Cassidy’s Sharing the Darkness: The Spirituality of Caring, was published in 1988. 

About a week ago, I opened Seeing with the Heart: A Guide to Navigating Life's Adventures, by Kevin O’ Brien, SJ, part of which I read that afternoon. 

O’Brien has a section entitled “Not Rushing Easter,” exploring the experience of Holy Saturday. It was exactly what I needed to read.

I have been fascinated by Holy Saturday for almost all my adult years. 

In the Creed we profess that Jesus descended into Hell, a reference to his joining the faithful who had died before him. This is what many icons depict. But the moving image painted by Fra Angelico is found in the Saint Mark Monastery in Florence.

In 1955 Pope Pius XII restored the ancient tradition of celebrating the Easter Vigil after sunset on Holy Saturday.

For centuries, the Easter Vigil had been celebrated on Holy Saturday morning, called in many parts of Latin America “Sábado de Gloria,” “The Saturday of the Gloria,” probably because this was the first time since Lent when the Gloria was sung except for feasts and the Holy Thursday Mass.

Since 1955, Holy Saturday has been a day without Mass, a day with the church stripped bare (after the Good Friday liturgy), a time for morning and waiting.

This is very appropriate, because after Jesus was buried without all the religious rites of his faith, the women waited out the Sabbath, the day of rest. They went to the tomb on Sunday morning and became messengers of the Risen Lord.

Fr. Damasus Winzen, OSB, the founder of Mount Saviour, wrote a short pamphlet in 1957 on Holy Saturday, “The Great Sabbath Rest.”

I have written on this essay several times, here and here, but Fr. Damasus points to the challenge of Holy Saturday in his first paragraph:

Among the many blessings offered through the restoration of Holy Week is the pause of Holy Saturday. Since the Paschal Vigil has been moved back to its original place in the Easter night, Holy Saturday has become for the great majority a day without any liturgy. To people of the western hemisphere [rather, the northern hemisphere], always active and wanting to be kept busy, a day with nothing is a frightening prospect. Many may be inclined to consider a day without Mass and without communion a loss to their spiritual life.… 

Fr. Kevin O’Brien, SJ, reflecting on his personal experience, notes the importance of living the Holy Saturday moments of our lives:

Whether experienced after the death of a loved one or because of another loss, our suffering usually includes some form of loneliness or emptiness. Some years ago, I left a ministry I loved, and experienced a deep loneliness in the months of transition. Surely the loneliness was tied to the sadness of leaving friends I’d grown close to, but it was more than that. There was a stripping away of identity: a familiar role, a record of accomplishment, a comfortable routine—all those things we can rely on too heavily for a sense of self-worth. For me, this time in my life was a “Holy Saturday moment.” In the Catholic liturgy, Holy Saturday is the day after Good Friday and before Easter Sunday. Churches are left bare. No Mass is celebrated. Quiet pervades. (p. 144)

Sometimes I just want to jump over Good Friday and Holy Saturday to get to Easter. But, as Fr. O’Brien notes:

Enduring the pain of our Good Fridays or the emptiness of our Holy Saturdays is not easy. The temptation to run away, to anesthetize or insulate ourselves from the pain, is understandable but not helpful in the end. Although we should avoid unnecessary suffering, we do well to tend to, even befriend, our suffering. (p. 145)

Many times, I want the chemo to end as soon as possible so I can return to normal. (But then I remember Bruce Cockburn’s song, “The Trouble with Normal is that it always gets worse.”) 

How then to live in Holy Saturday? 

That may be my Holy Week question. 

Yet, God at times sends us messages to help us live in faith and hope. On March 30, the anniversary of the 1990 death of Sister Thea Bowman, FSPA, I encountered again his amazing quote – which now makes complete sense to me:

"When I first found out I had cancer, I didn’t know what to pray for. I didn’t know if I should pray for healing or life or death. Then I found peace in praying for what my folks call 'God’s perfect will.' As it evolved, my prayer has become, 'Lord, let me live until I die.' By that I mean I want to live, love, and serve fully until death comes. If that prayer is answered . . . how long really doesn’t matter. Whether it’s just a few months or a few years is really immaterial."

Lord, let me live until I die.

ROMERO, SCRUTINIES, AND MORE

I am in San Pedro Sula today, preparing for my third round of chemotherapy treatments. But the last four days have been adventuresome.

MONSEÑOR ROMERO 

Friday was the feast of Saint Óscar Romero, bishop and martyr of El Salvador. This year there was a major celebration in the aldea of El Zapote Santa Rosa in our parish.

A young man in the community, Darling, is a grand devotee of Monseñor Romero and arranged the Mass with people in their village.

The church was packed. Darling and his brother Ronal provided the music.

We sang the Misa Popular Salvadoreña, a quite intense Mass composed by Guillermo Cuellar. We even sang the grand Gloria which Romero mentioned in his last Sunday homily, with these intense verses.

Pero los dioses del poder y del dinero 

se oponen a que haya transfiguración. 

Por eso ahora vos, Señor, sos el primero 

en levantar tu brazo contra la opresión. 

But the gods of power and wealth 

oppose the Transfiguration. 

Therefore, you, Lord, are now the first  

to lift up your arm against oppression.

This Gloria reflects the central role of the Transfiguration of the Lord in El Salvador, whose national feast day is August 6, the feast of the Transfiguration. 

I think that there is also a subtle – or not so subtle – reference to the statue of the Divine Savior in the Plaza El Salvador del Mundo in San Salvador...

... and perhaps a hint of the revolutionary raising of the fist against oppression. Note this image of Mary of the Magnificat.

It was a good afternoon and I even had the privilege to preach at the Mass.

PREGNANT WOMEN 

Saturday, Padre German had a Mass for pregnant women in Dulce Nombre. I had forgotten about this and so didn’t attend. This was probably for the best since Sunday was busy. In addition, I had to work on the material for our parish stations of the cross.

CATECHUMENS AND SCRUTINIES

Sunday was busy – but in a very positive way.

At 9 am I found myself in Vertientes, a mountain aldea.

They have nine young people preparing to be baptized at the Easter Vigil. It’s the largest group from a single village. Of these, five are eighteen or older.

This year we have permission from the bishop for the pastor to confirm those catechumens who are 18 or older at the Vigil. This is the tradition in most of the world, but until this year the catechumens only received the sacraments of Baptism and Eucharist at the Vigil. Of the 38 or so catechumens, about 12 will be confirmed at the Vigil this year.

Since we have the catechumens in scattered villages, we try to do the major rites in the main church but we celebrate the scrutinies in the villages. It was with great joy that I could do it in Vertientes. 

But there was another special reason to be there.

One of the catechumens had missed the rite of inscription (or election) in Dulce Nombre on the first Sunday of Lent. This young man and his brother are both preparing for their baptism. Both have some intellectual deficiencies and the younger one sometimes has difficulty focusing. With great affection, I call him our lost sheep.

He came with the group from Vertientes for the rite of election, but he got lost and didn’t arrive at the church until the end of Mass.

When I went to Vertientes the next Sunday, I met him on his way to Dulce Nombre; he seems to have had no sense that I would be there for the rite. In fact, the next day he showed up in Dulce Nombre for a meeting that had nothing to do with the catechumens.

This Sunday, though, he was there. His presence, and the efforts made to include him make real for me Jesus’ parable of the lost sheep.

After the Celebration, I headed home for a few hours before heading out to San Agustín for Mass. 

There also I celebrated the rite of election with a young man who had also missed the rite in Dulce Nombre. (Some liturgists might not approve of all this, but we have to respond to the pastoral needs of people of all types in all types of situations.) 

When I arrived, I found that Padre German was hearing confessions. He is trying to visit all the communities to offer them opportunities for confession during Lent. The lines are often long, as they were in San Agustín.

Mass was supposed to start at 2 o’clock and he was still hearing confessions at 3 pm. 

So, he started Mass, handed over the Liturgy of the Word and the Scrutinies to me, and returned to hear confessions.

It was a great privilege to be able to pray the scrutinies another time – after leading the San Agustín community in the Celebration of the Word and sharing a homily with them. 

I was moved as I prayed, laying my hands on the heads of the three catechumens there in San Agustín.

Padre German emerged at the Offertory (even though there were still a few people waiting for confessions) and he finished the Mass. He’ll return to San Agustín on the morning of Wednesday in Holy Week for confessions for the sick and others.

After Mass, he had a Mass in Plan Grande in thanksgiving for someone’s safe return from abroad. I opted out since I was rather tired. I also had to prepare the texts for our parish Stations of the Cross this coming Friday.

LAB TESTS AND EXPERIENCING VULNERABILITY

Monday morning, I had to get lab tests in Santa Rosa to prepare for another chemotherapy session on Wednesday. I got there late – fasting.

After the test I went to a café to have breakfast. Even after eating I felt a little off and, as I put my computer in my backpack, I fainted. I recovered a bit with two large glasses of water and then decided just to sit and rest. 

All of a sudden, Padre Elias, a priest of the dioceses and director of the radio station, dropped in. The owner of the café had called him to tell him of my fainting. I am moved by her concern and the effort of Padre Elias to accompany me. 

So life goes on with many surprise blessings. 

HOLY WEEK BEGINS

Our parish stations of the cross in the streets of Dulce Nombre is Friday. Next week is full of Holy Week activities. 

I have to evaluate carefully with the pastor what I can do. I don’t want to do either too much or too little.

I have a retreat with the catechumens and their sponsors on Tuesday of Holy Week, but I am already working to involve two other persons in the retreat. (I’m finally learning to share responsibility.) 

There are lots of processions during Holy Week. I won’t be walking in them, though I will probably ride in the car that has the sound equipment and participate in the Masses after the Stations on Friday and on Palm Sunday and the Easter Vigil. 

It’s a great temptation to try to do too much – but learning to recognize my fragility is one of the most important lessons for me this Lent.

Pray for us, especially for the catechumens who will be baptized at the Easter Vigil. May we be signs of hope and resurrection for our parish, our nation, and the world.

-------

Note: I refer to those who will be baptized at the Easter Vigil as "catechumens," even though they are, at this point really the "elect" - after the rite of election on the First Sunday of Lent. 

Deacons and collars - not again

Returning Thursday from our diocesan clergy retreat, I spent some time going through e-mail and Facebook. On a Facebook page for permanent deacons, I came across a short article on deacons wearing clerical collars by Deacon Dominic Cerrato. I found the article a little shallow, but what troubles me more were many of the comments.

Almost five years ago I wrote on this topic (here and here) and was roundly castigated, even accused of not having a good diaconal formation. (I plead partly guilty to having a very different formation process. I can explain that later.)

So it is with some trepidation, that I return to the subject. I want to open a serious discussion with a few key questions and a few of my initial reflections. There are some initial questions that the collar controversy raises for me.

1 - What is the role, the ministry of the permanent deacon in the church? In particular, what does it mean to be a cleric?

I think this question is basic and is essentially a question of ecclesiology. I don’t deny that deacons are clergy – both those who will later be ordained priests and those who serve in the diaconate as a permanent state. But this does not make us above the other members of the church. 

Most of us don’t hold such an opinion. though Archbishop Crepaldi seems to advocate such, if this note is true. 

A few weeks ago, a friend sent me this translated note from the Facebook page of Salvo Coco. I cannot attest to the translation but the note does indicate a rather separatist notion of the clergy and the deacon: 

A typical example of clerical doctrine can be found in these words of Giampaolo Crepaldi dated September 17, 2022. The deacon's ministry is intended as a sacred role that "separates" and constitutes an exclusion from the common, daily, existential dimension of the community. No trace of Jesus' secularism. The identity of the clergy suppresses the common baptismal dignity because it “separates” (or sacralizes) the so-called ordained ministries. In this perspective the deaconate and even more the presbyterate and the bishop are placed on an ontologically different and hierarchically superior level than the faithful. In this doctrine lies the doctrinal-clerical core that hinders any serious and profound church reform.

I much prefer the discussion of the Scott Detish in Being Claimed by the Eucharist We Celebrate, who writes of the ontological claim, rather ontological difference or change as being a more appropriate way of speaking of this phenomenon. Detisch also notes how this is not exclusive for sacred orders.

…being baptized and confirmed must also be recognized as involving an ontological change, yet church tradition rarely spoke of this and almost exclusively reserved the phrase for ordination. (p. 36)

Another way of looking at this is to note how the deacon is ordained to the ordering of the community and to be a driving force for the diakonia of the whole church. according to both Pope Saint Paul VI and Pope Saint John Paul II.

In the early 1960s, Yves Congar, OP, wrote Power and Poverty in the Church. At several points I see him putting the sacrament of orders in a larger ecclesial perspective:

“St. Paul expressly says that ordained ministers organize the ministry of the saints, that is, of Christians, (Eph 4:23). They organize it, but they also invigorate and animate it and drive it forward. The are the drivers and governors of the Body in the condition of responsibility and universal service that is the Christian condition itself.” (p. 45)

With this understanding, one is ordained for the ordering of the People of God in its evangelization, its charity, and its prayer in common (the liturgy, the work [ergon] of the people [laos]). Thus, the sacrament of orders is for ordering the community and assuring that the Church reflects who it is. It is not insignificant that the diaconate is called to be the animator, the driving force for diakonia, and, as Pope Francis puts it, the custodian of the diakonia of the People of God.

But I think a very serious issue in this discussion is a question that is not addressed directly: what do we mean by "clergy"? 

In his article, Deacon Cerrato states “The absence of clerical attire by deacons sends the unspoken message that deacons aren’t clergy, diminishing not only the diaconate in the broader Catholic imagination but also an ecclesial presence.”

I think that symbols are extremely important, even though they may distort the meaning of reality. Clericals do not make the clergy, even though they may indicate that one is clergy. I wonder if at time they might distort the message. Is there something more fundamental than clericals that should enable people to identify clergy? In addition, the wearing of clericals, even though mandated for priests in canon law and often permitted for seminarians and transitional deacons is a custom that can be changed.

 

2 - Where is the deacon to be found? With whom does he identify? 

Pope Francis has been insistent that the place of the deacon is with those on the margins. the margins of society.

I would suggest that the deacon should be in direct contact with the physically poor. This does not only mean that people come to him but that he is a driving force for the church going out and immersing itself in the poor. 

I am writing this post on the feast of St. Oscar Romero. I believe his ministry can give us a hint of what might be important for us deacons.

At first, he was somewhat of a closed cleric who did respond to the poor and even, at one point, gave away new pants that some had gifted him. But he was noted for his close contacts with people in power.

Yet, when he became bishop of Santiago de María he began listen more closely to poor people who came to him.

While archbishop of San Salvador, he did not wait for people to come to him, but went out to meet them, even eating in their homes. Images of him walking along the railroad tracks amid the shacks surrounded by sisters and the poor. He went out to be among the marginalized.

So, where is the deacon to be found? Among the poor, the marginalized, those cast-aside by society.

Yes, he is with the suffering middle class, but I believe he must be among the poor, the victims of a society in which we, the middle class, profit.

I believe that if a deacon is not in direct contact with the physically poor, something might be missing in our ministry. As Thomas Halik writes in Touch the Wounds:

The painful wounds of our world are Christ’s wounds. If we ignore pain, poverty, and suffering in our world, if we turn a blind eye to them out of indifference or cowardice, if we are unwilling to acknowledge the injuries we inflict (including the injuries inflicted in our churches), and conceal them from others and ourselves with masks, cosmetics, or tranquilizing drugs, then we have no right to say to Christ, like Thomas the apostle when he touched Jesus’s wounds : “My Lord and my God.” (p 10)

And so I continually ask myself, “When was the last time I was in the home of a poor person?” It’s harder for me now, since I’m in treatment for cancer, but I feel it’s a crucial question for a deacon. 

3 – How to be among the marginalized? 

But how are we to be there? 

Not as one who comes from without, but as one to listen, to share, to be a brother to those who are poor, suffering, marginalized. 

For this we need a kenotic spirituality. We need to lower ourselves, become one with the poor and marginalized. We need to recognize that we don’t come as one with the answers, as the well or well-off person to rescue the poor. We come as brothers who share in the fragility of our human condition. 

Sheila Cassidy, a doctor who was tortured in Chile and who later became involved in care for the dying, writes in Sharing the Darkness: The Spirituality of Caring:

More than anything I have discovered that the world is not divided into the sick and those who care for them, but that we are all wounded and that we all contain within our hearts that love which is for the healing of the nations. What we lack is the courage to start giving it away. (p. 11)

We are all wounded - and God can use our wounds and the wounds of others to heal all of us.

Ann so we deacons need to offer a different spirituality, a different way of being and living. 

I would suggest that we need to move away from signs of power and privilege, to be servants of God and the poor. ;

In an essay on the priesthood, “The Man with pierced heart,” Karl Rahner notes that, “Tomorrow's priests will not be those who derive their power from a socially powerful Church, but who have the courage to let the Church make them powerless.” 

This is also a challenge for us permanent deacons. 

4 – What is the right question? Who is the deacon to be? 

I think we are asking the wrong question.

Maybe we should not be spending so much time and energy asking if deacons can and should wear collars.

Maybe we should be asking what is there in our life, our style of living, our ministry that brings us in contact with the marginalized and opens among us a place for grace

I think that when we do this, the question of collars and clericals will become superfluous – or will be easily discerned in individual pastoral circumstances. For the questions will be: 

• How do we stand at the threshold of church and world? 
• How do we live so that the grace of the altar of the liturgy where we serve penetrates the lives of the poor?
• How do we open the doors of the church, enabling the joys and griefs of the marginalized (Gaudium et spes 1) to penetrate the walls of the church gathered in prayer? 

 The central question for me is this:

How do I become an icon of Christ Jesus the Servant, who came not to be served bur to serve and to give his life for the ransom of many? And how can I be this amidst the wretched of the earth?

 

I have no one

“Do you want to be well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me.” Jesus said to him, “Rise, take up your mat, and walk.”

Monday, I went to the oncologist in San Pedro Sula. My defenses are good, though my platelets are a bit low. We scheduled the third chemotherapy for next Wednesday. 

I returned to Copán and joined the diocesan clergy retreat that had started that afternoon. Tuesday morning at Mass, tears welled up within me as I read the Gospel of the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda. (The ruins of this pool are near the church of Saint Anne in Jerusalem.) 

Photo of the pool of Bethesda (November 2004)

The people believed that an angel would stir up the waters of this pool and those who arrived first would be healed, but this man was all alone, with no one to help him. So, he was waiting. He had been ill for thirty-eight years. 

Jesus approaches him. The paralytic looks to Jesus to move him into the water, but he is in for a surprise. Jesus does not carry him to the waters, but the Living Water, Jesus, comes to him, to hear his plea and to heal him. 

It is interesting how our life experiences often shed a new light on the scriptural text. What struck me that morning at Mass is how I feel surrounded by so many people, who are – in their way – carrying me to the water.

Yes, it’s lonely, sitting for hours in chemotherapy. But Padre German, our pastor, has come twice to be with me for a few hours. Sure, it’s so uncertain, but people ask about my health. How many people are ill, without someone to aid them, to accompany them! 

In his message for the World Day of the Sick this year, Pope Francis wrote pointedly,

Illness is part of our human condition. Yet, if illness is experienced in isolation and abandonment, unaccompanied by care and compassion, it can become inhumane. When we go on a journey with others, it is not unusual for someone to feel sick, to have to stop because of fatigue or of some mishap along the way. It is precisely in such moments that we see how we are walking together: whether we are truly companions on the journey, or merely individuals on the same path, looking after our own interests and leaving others to “make do”.

How true and how sad! One of the most challenging but fulfilling parts of my diaconal ministry has been visiting the sick. At times I don’t have much to say and will use the ritual prayers as a starting point. At times, I find myself inspired and we talk for a while. When the person is disposed, I will share the Eucharist. It is always a joy when those who accompany me offer a hymn after the ill person has received. I don’t know how much I can do this now. At least, I try to share this with the communion ministers (whose main ministry is to visit the sick.) And I can help others become more aware of the central need of the sick for that human touch, that touch of the hand of God, through our hands. I recently finished a book that helps me reflect on my situation: Father Tomas Halik's Touch the Wounds: On Suffering, Trust, and Transformation.

Here are a few quotes that sustain me:

Jesus is everywhere that there are the needy — and for us they are everywhere (and he in them) as an “opportunity,” as an open gate to the Father. (p. 43) 

The first step to healing the world’s wounds is our conversion, repentance, humility — or in everyday language: the courage to be truthful about ourselves. (p. 146) 

...when Christ comes and shows us his wounds it can rouse our “courage for the truth,” our courage to take off the “armor, masks, and makeup” that we use to conceal our wounds from others, and often from ourselves. (p.147)

Disconcerting

So far, I’ve had two chemotherapy sessions to treat my prostate cancer. 

Both sessions have been long, almost eleven hours each. My oncologist explained that this is to diminish possible negative reactions.

I’ve had few reactions, none really serious.

The most difficult has been insomnia the night after the chemo. Both times I could not get to sleep. I don’t know if it was psychological, physiological (a reaction to the steroids), somatic (having slept a bit during the sessions), or a combination of these and other factors. But it only lasted one night. I could sleep on the drive back to Dulce Nombre.

But the most disconcerting has been the persistence of an awful taste in my mouth. 

At times, it’s metallic.

After the first session I had some sores in my mouth, but now the problem is with my taste buds. 

Eating has lost its attraction – though I am making sure I eat. In fact, yesterday, I made a really good lentil soup (which should last for several days). It smelled heavenly, though the taste was a bit off. 

Yet, every once in a while, the awful taste goes away. Yesterday, I had a few moments when my coffee was delectable.

I guess I need to savor such moments and remember them – in hope.

But, considering what others have experienced in chemo, I would say that I’ve been fortunate.

Christian Initiation of Adults in the Dulce Nombre parish

Yesterday we celebrated the Rito of Election of the process Chrsitian Initiation of Adults, I decided it might be helpful to give an idea of what we do.

2023 - election of catechumens

When I was at St. Thomas Aquinas Church in Ames, I got to learn a lot about the journey, observing the parish's practice. 

But our parish is so different.

The parish of Dulce Nombre de María includes about 45 widely scattered places of worship, in five municipalities. Four of these are the municipal seats – Dulce Nombre is the largest of these and has three churches. Some of the aldeas, villages, are fairly large with more than 1000 people, including El Zapote Santa Rosa, Candelaria Concepción, Plan Grande Concepción. There are a few places that are more like hamlets, caserios, with a few families or even just one extended family. 

Religious formation takes place in the cities, villages, and hamlets. Sometimes there is only one catechist. Many of the catechists have limited formal education. This past year there have been several young people who are in formation to be catechists in their communities. In one, more than five are in formation; most of them were confirmed last year. 

The bishops’ conference and the diocese are promoting religious formation by levels. This is difficult for us because of the number of catechists we have. We were about to do pilot projects in three places when the pandemic changed our plans.

Most of our formation is preparation for the sacraments. 

There are three different formal processes for the sacrament of baptism. 

For children under seven, the formation is for parents and godparents: six sessions and a retreat. Each year there are one or two celebrations of baptism of children in most communities.

A baptism in 2016 in Plan Grande

There is a separate process for children between seven and thirteen. This is almost a year long and begins whenever the catechists on a village are ready to do the catechesis and have enough candidates. 

The third process is for those fourteen and older, the catechumenate. 

For a number of reasons, a fair number of young people are not baptized as babies and so there are a good number of children between 7 and 13 baptized in their communities. And there are also young people who wait until they are 14 or older.

There is not a tradition of baptism soon after birth. I have baptized few babies less than a year old. I am not sure if there are cultural reasons or if this is merely a holdover from the time when the parents had to be married in the church and in a base community in order to have their children baptized. (Thanks be to God this ended in our parish in 2013 with the new pastor, Padre German.) 

There are usually a good number of children between 7 and 13 who are baptized each year. (There were more in the past when the regulations about married parents were in effect.) 

This year we have about 37 catechumens who will, God willing, be baptized at the Easter Village. More than 12 of them are over 18, though the majority are between 14 and 18.

We are probably one of the few parishes in the diocese who have a program for Christian initiation of adults. Due to the expanse of the parish, we don’t have a centralized catequesis. Most of the formation goes on in the local community, even if there is only one candidate. I have tried to encourage neighboring communities to join together and this has happened in a few places. 

The formation normally begins 8 or 9 months before Easter. 

 We do celebrate the major rites in the main parish church in Dulce Nombre. 

We celebrate the rite of acceptance into the catechumenate on the first or second Sunday of Advent. This past December we celebrated the rite on December 4, since the first Sunday of December we had the visit of the image of Our Lady of Suyapa in our parish. There were 40 candidates. 

welcoming the catechumens at the church entrance, December 2020

 We use the rites from Mexico, although I have added the signing of the feet from the US Spanish version. I think it is such a significant part of the rite that we have adapted it for our parish. How important it is to see godparents, priests, and even a deacon on their knees, signing the feet of the candidate!

signing of the hands

signing of the eyes

signing of the feet

Signing the feet, San Agustín 2017

This past Sunday we celebrated the Rite of Election in the church with 36. A few dropped out. One has Sunday morning classes and couldn’t get permission for the rite. Another didn’t get to the church on time – a longer story. The pastor or I will arrange for the rite in their communities. 

Since we don't have a book of the elect and because some of the catechumens can't write their names, we give each  a card and have someone write their name. They sign or put their thumbprint on the card. In the rite we have them come forward, put the card in a bowl and say their name aloud. 

I had enough energy to be able to help arrange the rite at a special Mass at 10 am in the parish. I even preached – very much inspired by the presence of so many catechumens. I reminded them that they were elected (elegidos) – not like the politicians, but “chosen” (elegidos) by the Church, the People of God.

The diocesan radio station, Radio María, broadcasts Masses every Sunday and usually broadcasts a Mass from Dulce Nombre once a month. Yesterday’s Mass and Rite of Election were broadcast. I talked to the staff of the Radio who were unfamiliar with the Rites of the Christian Initiation process. 

In Lent, there are a number of rites and activities for the “elect.”

There are three scrutinies which involve prayer and “exorcisms” as well as the handing on (entrega) of the Creed and of the Our Father. We have designed our formation so that the Creed and the Our Father are handed to the elect during their weekly sessions. 

But I was concerned about the scrutinies. It would be a major burden (of time and money) to have them come to one of the Sunday Masses, if they lived far from the Mass sites. Where there is a Mass nearby or where I could get to a Sunday morning celebration, we would use the scrutinies in the rite. 

The pastor usually celebrates Mass in five different sites – Saturday evening in Dolores, Sunday morning in Concepción and in the Saint Anthony Church in Dulce Nombre, Sunday evening in the main church in Dulce Nombre. He also usually has one or two Masses in other places in the afternoon – every other week in San Agustín. 

Scrutiny in San Agustín, 2018

I have tried to get to a village with “elect” for the rites on several Sunday mornings. It has been a real blessing, especially when a community has several “elect”. 

I spoke with Padre German about this yesterday and gave him the list of communities where there are “elect” as well as the scrutiny rites. He visits communities for Mass every day. His suggestion is that he could preside at the scrutinies at the Mass in the community during the week. For me, that seems great.

My pastoral solution for the other communities was to do a minor re-write of the scrutinies so that they could be celebrated without a priest or deacon in the communities. The scrutinies of the “elect” would take place in a community Celebration of the Word, led by the local Delegate of the Word and Catechist

In the past, the final preparation for the Easter Vigil was a retreat in their communities. But this often meant that there were only one or two in the retreat. This year we will have a retreat for all the “elect” on the Tuesday of Holy Week. This shouldn’t be a major problem since Holy Week (Semana Santa) is a major holiday. 

In our parish most local communities pray the Stations of the Cross in the streets of their villages on the Fridays of Lent. In addition, we have a parish wide Stations of the Cross on the Friday before Holy Week, traditionally the feast of Our Mother of Sorrows. We encourage our elect to take part in these as part of their preparation.

The Easter Vigil is quite a celebration here. We begin in a field with the Easter Fire and then go in procession with the Paschal Candle to the Church. 

2015

2022

Last year we used the auditorium to accommodate all the people who came. 

2022

I’ve sung (or tried) to sing the Exultet, though I may not try this year, due to my health. We also use all the readings and sing all the psalm and canticle response. 

Baptism is not a simple pouring of a little bit of water. The elect are baptized in a bath of water! 

In many parts of the world, the catechumens are fully initiated in the Church in the Easter Vigil receiving the three sacraments of initiation – Baptism, Eucharist, and Confirmation. 

I am not sure why, but in our diocese the catechumens have not been confirmed. I guess the bishops want to confirm them, probably to connect them with the universal church. I can see why those under eighteen might wait until they can be confirmed with other young people of their communities, forming a community in the preparation for confirmation. But those over eighteen? I am trying to get our bishop to permit our pastor to confirm those who are eighteen or older. 

With all the readings and baptisms, the Easter Vigil celebration can last from 5 to 6 hours. 

We are not very good with the mystagogia – the continuing formation after Easter, trying to incorporate the newly baptized into the community. 

This year I’ve asked the catechists to bring all the newly baptized to the Pentecost Vigil, which, for us, is an all-night vigil. I need to think of other ways to involve the newly baptized in the life of the church, especially those who are adults, eighteen or older. In the meantime, I look forward to the upcoming weeks, praying for strength.

This Sunday, I’ll go to Vertientes for the Rite of Election for the catechumen who got lost (and arrived at the end of the Mass.) Does this sound like the parable of the lost sheep? Not my plan.

If I have the strength, I’ll get to two or three villages for Sunday morning Celebration of the word with Scrutinies and Communion. The big challenge is the retreat in Holy Week. I hope I can work on this with some catechists. 

But the big night will be the Easter Vigil. I hope I have the strength and stamina (and the wisdom to involved lots of catechists in the process.) I will probably not take part in the procession and try to take rest during the readings.

But I want to be there for the baptisms and the First Communion of the elect. It’s a highlight – because I have seen the grace of God in the eyes and faces of so many. Here are a few pictures from previous years.

2015

2022

2015

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that we also have baptized persons preparing for matrimony who are not yet baptized. Besides receiving the pre-marriage formation, they receive a mini-catechesis on baptism and Eucharist. Either Padre German or I have baptized persons, sometimes in the mornng of their matrimony. 

In 2020, I baptized three persons preparing for their matrimony - in the middle of the pandemic!

There's another sacramental story here - five couples from one distant community planned to get married before the pandemic struck. They continued and were married together on August 24, 2020, in a room in the classroom of their aldea, since the church was not finished. Here's a photo of one of hte couples.