Thursday night the lights went out at about 6:00 pm. They
came back on at about 6:45 and then went out again until about 9:30.
This is not uncommon here.
Since I had virtually nothing in the house to eat I decided
to go out to Weekend’s Pizza, in the hope that they would be serving. And they
were, with the help of a generator.
But I walked home in the dark – to a beautiful starry sky.
The heavens subtly proclaimed the glory of God.
I got up Friday to go to Esquipulas, Guatemala, the shrine
of the Black Christ, and to meet a friend I hadn’t seen for twenty three years.
The trip went well, except for hassles at Guatemala
migration office. That’s another issue, best left untold.
I parked my truck in Esquipulas and as I was approaching the
basilica I got a call from Gustavo.
We finally found each other and hugged each other. He
introduced me to his wife and youngest daughter and we went off to eat lunch.
After lunch we found a place to stay and then headed for the
basilica and the image of the Black Christ. The black crucified Christ is part
of four statues of the crucifixion scene.
I had been in Esquipulas once before with a group of
employees of Caritas but there were a lot more people here this time.
This time, there were many pilgrims, some advancing to the
statues on their knees and most backing away, walking with their faces toward
the statues. I was touched by several indigenous family groups who were praying
as they advanced on their knees – men, women, young and old, even a few kids.
Their deep faith puts me to shame.
A real highlight of the visit was the chance to talk with
Gustavo. He had fled to the US from Guatemala after escaping from a prison in a
military base. He had told me the story when he was staying with me in Ames,
waiting to be accepted into Canada as a refugee. (At that time the US was
giving political asylum to a miniscule number of applicants from Guatemala and
El Salvador, despite the terror people were suffering from the right-wing
governments there, that in Guatemala should have been called terrorist.)
But Gustavo told me that there have been recent excavations
of that military base and over 200 skeletons of victims have been found in mass
graves. He escaped or he probably would have been one of those skeletons. A report of the excavation site can be found here.
We didn’t talk more about that or about the history of his
life that I tell him he should write.
We talked as old friends (even though he’s only 53). And he
and his wife told me about his four children and seven grandchildren.
It was a blessed afternoon and evening.
We got up early and I left for Honduras, taking a different
route so that I could stop in Dulce Nombre. It was longer, but the roads in
Guatemala are incredibly better than those in Honduras. It was a little calmer,
not having to maneuver the car to avoid the hundreds of potholes we find here.
I got to Dulce Nombre, but not before passing through and
stopping in Quebraditas where I greeted the people meeting in a church sector
meeting and talked to some of the young people in the Maestro en Casa classes
being held there.
In Dulce Nombre I met briefly with folks in a zone meeting.
I did, though, have one interesting discussion with Hector,
from one of the villages. He asked if there were funds for personal projects. After
a few questions I discovered that he was concerned about some elderly people
whose homes are mere shacks and who have many needs. I gave him a few
suggestions, urging him to bring the concerns to the local church council so
that they can prioritize the needs and see what they can do by themselves – without
outside help. I volunteered to go out and meet with them after they themselves had
talked about the five families. I’m trying to help the people find ways to do
things without depending on outside sources – whether local governments or
other groups – unless it’s really needed. This is probably new for them – but I
think it’s worth the effort to help them think this through.
And so now, Saturday night, I’m sitting writing at my home
in Santa Rosa about the past 48 hours, grateful for almost everything (except
for the Guatemala migration office!)
But what’s to complain about. Complaining only closes us to
possibilities and turns us in on ourselves, as Pope Francis suggested in a
homily this week on the Gospel of the Road to Emmaus.
Jesus helped them see the possibilities and the hope. The
starry night, the black Christ, Gustavo and his family, and the people in the
Dulce Nombre parish help me do this.
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