The parish of Dulce Nombre celebrated the Vigil of Pentecost
from about 7:00 pm on Saturday night to about 5:30 am on Pentecost Sunday
morning. We started late with a bonfire and procession – we were supposed to begin at 6:00 pm – and we ended
early with the rosary – we planned to end at 6:00 am. I made it through without a nap, but I’m
exhausted and exhilarated.
Mass began about 2:15 am and ended about 5:00 am. We used
all the Pentecost Vigil readings with their responsorial psalms and even added Luke’s
account of the Pentecost in the second
chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, as well as the Pentecost sequence.
Padre German asked me about ten days ago to preach. I
prayed, read, and thought about it many times and finally began with a
question, “Where does the Spirit blow?”
But I started looking at where the Spirit is not present,
using two of the readings – to throw some light on our situation here in
Honduras.
The story of the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11: 1-9), the
people who wanted to be famous, to make a name for themselves, brought to mind
the domination and power over others that I see here in Honduras, not just in political
and social elites but even among the poor and in the church. Those who have a
little power lord it over others, seeking a name for themselves, or – at least –
a connection with those in power.
The question that came up for me when I read Ezekiel’s
account of the dry bones (Ezekiel 37: 1-14) was “Where are the dry bones here?”
I had worked with a group of young people who were going to do a socio-drama
identifying some dry bones, but they didn’t show up. But we had identified some
– a person obsessed with revenge for the death of a loved one, a young woman
looked down upon by others, a young man who had lost his sense of worth, an
adolescent whose parents only accuse him of being useless. But I added some
others – the way the society here treats campesinos as dirt, the way woman are
victimized and suffer violence and maltreatment. The list could go on.
But just a few hours before Mass, I began to reflect more
deeply on the prophecy of Joel (3: 1-5), where young people shall have visions
and the old shall dream dreams. I thought of all the young people who find
themselves without vision, without a sense of meaning for their lives. I recall
the words of a young man, now in the US, who once told me while I was trying to
persuade him not to go to the US, “What does Honduras have to offer me?” The
young cannot find jobs, even professionals. I ran across a young doctor a few
weeks ago who was looking for a public health position; he was not hopeful,
partly because he was not one to look for a job based on political connections.
I thought of others who give up, and waste their lives in drugs or drink or sports.
I thought of the young people who have lost hope. I also thought of the old who
have lost their dreams and are worried about the lives and safety of their
children and grandchildren, threatened by violence, gangs, and poverty. They
need reams, not nightmares.
Later in the Mass, Padre German took my ideas and clarified
them for me. Where the Spirit doesn’t blow, old men have nightmares, old women
have insomnia, and the young are depressed.
Though the situation is desperate, I do not love hope. I do
believe that these dead bones can live again, as God tells Ezekiel.
I had meant to give some examples, beyond the story of the
first Pentecost, of what happens when the Spirit blows, but I guess preaching
at 3:30 in the morning can accelerate memory loss.
But when I wrote my notes I thought of signs of hope, signs
of the presence of the Spirit.
There’s the youth group that has become a full-fledged base
community in their village, with about 20 young people meeting each week.
There are the catechists who take their students to visit
the sick and pray with them.
There’s the couple in their late seventies this past week in
Plan Grande.
There are the growing number of couples who are considering the
sacrament of matrimony.
There are people who help poor families in their villages
and the communities that came together to prepare the celebration of the
wedding here in Plan Grande and the celebration of the Pentecost vigil.
They realize that the gift of the Holy Spirit is also a
challenge, a call.
And so I ended my homily encouraging people to look at the
description of the Holy Spirit in the Sequence and to live that Sequence in
their daily lives.
Come, Father of the poor;
Come giver of gifts;
Come light of the hearts.
Clean that which is stained;
Water what is dry;
Heal what is ill;
Bend what is rigid;
Warm up what is cold;
direct what has gone astray.
I closed with these thoughts:
Come, Holy Spirit -
and let us do your work, so that we may be signs of the Reign of God in
our world. Come, Holy Spirit.
It looked like a great night – but, just as the fire was blessed, a torrential rain fell and continued for a few hours. I, taking advantage of the privilege of age, rode in the parish pickup that carried the sound system. Yet most everyone got soaked.
When we arrived at the church, people tried to dry out and the pastor shared some of his clothing. Sweet bread and coffee helped to take off a bit of the chill. 
About midnight we had a break for coffee and tamales and ticucos (which are a specialty of western Honduras). 
During the procession, I noted a woman with a baby. I offered to carry the baby for a bit, and she obliged. The ten-month old was heavy, but I was glad and privileged to carry this child. I passed the baby, Jairo, back to his mother as we approached the church. As I walked the last two blocks back to the church, I felt overwhelmed by the opportunity this mother had given me to carry this little boy for about five blocks. I also reflected on how mothers carry their children, first in the womb and later in their arms. What sacrifice – but often with great joy.
When we arrived back at the church, the pastor gave the final blessing and I read a short reflection, sending us forth to live the Spirit in our lives. (The Spanish text is here.) 
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