Saint Charles de Foucauld, mission, friendship, and my cancer

The life of Charles de Foucauld and the communities which were inspired by his life have fascinated me since the early 1980s, especially when I met some Little Brothers on the Lower East Side of Manhattan and attended Mass there many Sundays. My diaconal stole for my ordination bears the heart and cross which he sewed on his habit.

Yet there was one aspect of the life of Saint Charles de Foucauld that I never knew until I recently read Little Sister Cathy Wright’s book, Saint Charles de Foucauld: His Life and Spirituality.

About 1907, a severe drought hit the Algerian Sahara, including Tamanrasset, where he was living. His life was in danger and his poor neighbors helped restore his life. As Sister Cathy writes:

    Charles was at his lowest point, physically and as well as spiritually. He felt himself broken and a failure. Previously no matter how poor he was, he had always been the one who had something to give to others. True to the missionary customs of the day, he felt he should never receive anything from the people, never be beholden to them. Now, for the first time in his life, except possibly in Morocco, he had nothing left to give. 

    Brother Charles was now the one in need, and the Tuareg responded by scouring the countryside looking for a little bit of milk to nurse him back to health. Their sense of the sacred duty of hospitality moved them to care for the foreigner. Charles truly owed them his life. Weakness brought about a level of relationship that would not have been possible without this reciprocity. It was a conversion for him in terms of his own inner life — of accepting his weakness and need — and one that further transformed his theories about mission into a relationship of friendship. (pp. 92, 94)

This event in the life of Saint Charles de Foucauld has struck me deeply in the last few weeks. 

I've had some prostate problems since June last year. After some medication and later a blood test (PSA), my doctor in November sent me to a urologist. A young Honduran doctor whom I knew from his work with Honduras Amigas, a medical brigade that comes regularly to our area, arranged an appointment for me with a urologist in San Pedro Sula in December. 

After that appointment, it was clear to me that I had prostate cancer, though its extent was unclear. The urologist ordered a biopsy.

Because of Christmas holidays, I was not able to schedule a biopsy until January. A Honduran friend whom I’ve known for 15 years gave me a ride to San Pedro and refused my offer to at least pay for the fuel. The young doctor arranged for a place for me to stay with a friend of his and then accompanied me to the hospital for the biopsy.

The Saturday before the biopsy we had a meeting of the parish’s communion ministers. I asked our pastor, Padre German, for the anointing of the sick, which we celebrated at the meeting of the communion ministers.

Last Friday I went to San Pedro to meet with the urologist and later with an oncologist. I have to get an MRI (a full body scan) in Santa Rosa this week and then I’ll go see the oncologist to determine what treatment will be best.

I have been reluctant to share my medical situation publicly, partly because I did not fully know my medical situation and partly because I don’t like to call attention to myself, especially living in the midst of so much suffering. I shared information with some friends and family. I put a generic request for prayers for me on my Facebook page, but no more than that.

Early on, I did share my medical situation with some close friends here and in the US, with my spiritual director, and my pastor and the bishop. But Friday, I decided to share more broadly – first with a detailed e-mail to some friends and family and then with a Facebook post restricted to friends. 

The responses have been overwhelming. Some friends have sent me e-mails or private messages, several sharing their experience with prostate cancer. But over 100 wrote comments on my Facebook post and there are, as of now, more than 160 likes – from Catholics, Episcopalians, Protestants, Jews, Muslims, and others, from all over the globe, including people here in Honduras whom I know. These signs of solidarity, love, and accompaniment give me strength and courage. 

After the biopsy, I had thought my situation might be worse and was, as Nouwen and Rolheiser have written, “befriending my death.” 

When I thought of offering to host a night of the Posadas next December, I noted to myself, “if I’m still alive.” This was not a macabre fascination with death but, in the words of Fr. Ronald Rolheiser, “an acceptance of my vulnerability and mortality,” something which I have been struggling with for the past year or so. It has been a freeing experience.

Last year I came across this quote of Ronald Rolheiser in Essential Spiritual Writings, p. 22:

Henri Nouwen suggests that at a certain point of our lives, the real question is no longer: What can I still do so that my life makes a contribution? Rather, the question becomes: How can I now live so that my death will be an optimal blessing for my family, my church, and the world? We must leave home a second time, and this time we face a much larger unknown.

About three months ago, I began considering if God might be calling me to something more.

There are a lot of changes in my life: the Dubuque Franciscans left Honduras a few weeks ago; my pastor will probably be changed in April; I turned seventy-five last June. 

I feel a need or a call to not only be closer to the poor but also to devote myself to more quiet – for contemplation and for some writing projects I’d like to finish. I have even begun looking for places to make an eight-day Ignatian directed retreat.

But now this comes along – provoking a change, though I have no idea where this will lead me. But, as if to push me into unknown waters, earlier this week I came across these words of Patrick McGrath, SJ, in An Ignatian Book of Days (p.29):

Looking back on our lives, can any of us honestly say we knew exactly the path our lives would take? Isn’t it true that God has moved about in each of our lives and surprised us with all manner of twists and turns we could not have predicted or perhaps even desired? Ignatius reminds us that we must remain ever open to the new ways God is inviting us to live our lives. If anything impedes our ability to remain open, then we must prayerfully consider what to do. When Ignatius instructs us not to fix our desires on health over sickness, for example, he prods us to consider whether our faith allows us to trust that God can be experienced even in frailty and sickness—and that good can come of it.

What are the new ways God is inviting me to live my life? 

I don’t know, but I feel surrounded by a community of love that is accompanying me into uncharted waters. I also feel that these experiences are helping me move forward, becoming more open to the people around me. 

This is a blessing. 

I want to share two other thoughts,  seemingly unconnected. 

First, in a meeting with Padre German, my pastor, a few days ago, as I brought him up to date on my situation, he told me what a Jesuit once told him. 

The Jesuit was talking of where one wants to be buried. He noted that these are the people whom we will see on the day of the resurrection of the dead and so we should ask to be buried where we will be surrounded by people we know and love.

That touched me, because I have told people that, when I die, I want to be buried in the cemetery in the nearby aldea of Candelaria where I have assisted at the burial of people from Plan Grande and Candelaria – my neighbors. 

Second, a few days ago, I was reflecting how I see my ministry as opening spaces for grace. Then, I remembered the ending of Georges Bernanos’s novel, The Diary of a Country Priest.

A friend who had left the active priesthood and was married had given the country priest a place to stay for the night. His condition worsened, and he was vomiting blood. He asked his friend for absolution which his friend did with some trepidation: “Although I realized that I had no right to accede ever hastily to this request, it was quite impossible in the name of humanity and friendship, to refuse him.” 

Afterwards, his friend sent for the parish priest and apologized for the “delay that threatened to deprive my colleague of the final consolations of the church.” Shortly after, as this friend tells it, the country priest “put his hand over mine, and his eyes entreated me to draw closer to him. He then uttered these words, almost in my ear. And I am quite sure that I have recorded them accurately, for his voice, though halting, was strongly distinct. 

    ‘Does it matter? Grace is . . . everywhere.’ 

     I think he died just then.

Yes, grace is everywhere. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to recognize.

Quite a day

Saturday was quite a day. 

I woke up early (5:20 am) to a chill morning (55 F on the terrace). After putting on the coffee and taking a warm shower, I sat down to pray in my prayer room. About 7:00 am, I had breakfast, washed some clothes and hung them up to dry, even though it’s cold and drizzly. I also did a bit of computer work. 

From my house on the morning of January 1

At about 8 am, I headed out to Dulce Nombre. I had an interview with a couple who will be married next week. These interviews are part of their final preparation – going through a number of questions with them and two witnesses to make sure there are no glitches and that they can freely and voluntarily share the sacrament of matrimony. 

Often these interviews are a gift for me, giving me a share in the lives of a couple who want to welcome God in their marriage in a special, sacramental way. Sometimes they are couples who have not been living together, but often these are couples who have lived together for several years and have children. In a culture where many couples just get together and have kids, it is a real sign of faith when a couple decides to share the sacrament. 

 This time, the interview was especially significant. I’ve known the husband since my first years helping in the parish. He was involved in some of the youth group activities. I also had the privilege of baptizing their child two years ago. 

After the interview, I went to the meeting of the extraordinary ministers of communion in the parish. They meet every month and I usually accompany them. This time, though, they accompanied me. 

This week I’ll be going to San Pedro Sula for a biopsy of my prostate. I had asked our pastor, Padre German, if I could receive the sacrament of the anointing of the sick and I requested that we do this during the meeting of the ministers. 

So, after the meeting was finished, we gathered around and celebrated the sacrament. Before being anointed on the forehead and the hands, we prayed the penitential rite and Father German read the Gospel of the healing of the servant of the centurion. I found myself close to tears, surrounded by the love of God and of Padre German and the communion ministers. In some ways, I felt like the sick man let down by his friends into the house where Jesus was (Luke 5: 17-26), surrounded I was by those who were present and by others who have supported me in this time and who have offered to help me. 

After this, the ministers had a gift exchange and then lunch and a cake. 

Rather than go back home, I stayed around the parish center since at 4:00 we celebrated the 17th anniversary of Father German’s priestly ordination.

I got home close to 7:00 pm, had dinner, read, and prayed. 

Sunday, I went to a rural village for a Celebration of the Word with Communion. In the afternoon, I went to San Agustín for Mass, serving as deacon and preaching.

Tomorrow, I’ll be preparing for my trip to San Pedro on Tuesday. 

I’ll close with this rather amazing photo that someone took yesterday before the Mass to celebrate the anniversary of Father German’s ordination.

Choose life in the face of death

This morning, sitting in my prayer room, my quiet was broken by the song of two yellow chorchas, orioles, at the window. Their beauty astounded me, since they have been gone since last year. I wasn't able to capture a photo of them but here's a photo of a small bird, the size of a chickadee,  that I saw this morning. 

As I continued to pray, my reading on the scripture of the day focused on the text from Deuteronomy 30: 15-20:

I set before you: life and blessing, death and curse…. Choose life.

I would be preaching later and focused on the two paths before us – life and blessing, death and curse. I had no idea that I would see glimpses of both.

Padre German had invited me to accompany him in visits to the sick as well as two Masses. He asked me to preach at both.

I arrived at the parish about 8:30 am and we went in search of three sick persons who were in need of a pastoral visit. We only visited one – since the other two had gone to the hospital, because of the severity of their situation.

We visited a very thin elderly woman, confined to her bed, and after prayer, she received communion. The house was simple and the woman was being cared for by a relative.

We then returned to the parish where we met a couple with their six-month old child who was very ill. I had met the couple and the child on Sunday at Mass and noted the yellowish complexion of the child. The child had been in a San Pedro hospital for a few weeks but was still ill. In fact, the parents were so worried that they brought the child to be baptized.

Padre German baptized and confirmed the baby in a moving ceremony, where the child was laid on a mattress to ease the pain in his body. Tears flowed as the child was welcomed into the community of faith.

I found out later that the mother had had a medical condition during pregnancy which could have been cured but the medicine was unavailable in Honduras. The result is a gravely ill child whose survival is in question.

After the baptism we headed to Plan de Naranjo, one of the most remote aldeas (villages) in the parish. The last part of the trip was treacherous as Padre maneuvered the pick-up on roads – If you can call them that – with deep ruts and potholes, some at least a foot deep. I had visited the community in December 2015 and it had been a poor road but this was many times worse – the result of the lack of attention by the municipal authorities.

There was a small group at Mass. After Mass we headed to the nearby village of Joyas Galanas. But on the way we stopped at the site of the house of one of the women at Mass. The house had collapsed last November, with her inside, during one of the intense rainy weeks. It may have been a landslide but there also seems to have been a geological fault that went for at least a kilometer, down the hill and up the next hill. It was a devastating sight.

Her family is rebuilding at another nearby site, further down the road. When we approached the house, her father-in-law came out to greet us from the house just up from theirs. One of his eyes was gone and the empty socket was surrounded by flesh and scabs. He had lost the eye when working in a coffee field. He had not gone to a hospital – because he was afraid to go there. I think that he was afraid that he would not get out of there alive. Padre talked with him and we hope to take him to the hospital sometime soon so as to prevent gangrene and diminish the terrible condition of the wound and his skin. Often people don’t trust the public health facilities. This is not unrealistic, since they are often poorly staffed and have little or no medicine, because of government neglect.

Then we headed to Joyas Galanas – gratefully the road was a little better than the roads closer to Plan de Naranjo.

Almost no one knew about the Mass. A message had been sent but not delivered. So we went to see an eighty-nine year old man who was gravely ill.

He lived with his common law wife, a daughter, and a grandson in a small dirt-floor shack with plastic table cloths lining the wooden walls to try to keep out the cold air.

Padre prayed and anointed him. The man was hardly responsive when Padre asked him if he repented his sins.

We soon learned that his wife and he were not married in the church. He had been widowed and then he and his current wife moved in together and had several children. Three survived – nine others died, some from measles! Padre questioned the woman if she wanted to get married to him. She was somewhat hesitant – perhaps thinking that she couldn’t because he had been married beforehand. However, Padre explained that this was not a problem since the previous wife died.

Padre then questioned them if they loved each other and wanted to be married. It was touching listening to them respond; I could see their love for each other. Padre then heard the woman’s confession and the wedding began.

She sat on the side of the bed as they were questioned about their commitment. They even exchanged rings. She took off one of her rings and put it on his little finger (since the ring finger joint was so inflamed that the ring didn’t fit.)

I stood there with one of the daughters and her son. I explained to the grandchild how significant this was – his grandparents were getting married. Yesterday was the day of friendship (as they call St. Valentine’s Day here), but today is the day of love, expressed in the commitment of his grandparents. He got it. His mother, who seemed rather timid, stood there, watching her parents’ marriage, visibly moved. Tears welled up in me as I witnessed their marriage vows.

We left and then returned to Dulce Nombre. There we stopped to greet a ninety-one year old man who had four heart attacks and had spent time in a San Pedro hospital. He was incredibly lucid, sitting on the porch of his rather nice house.

Then I came home.

I needed some time to process the day and went to the Holy Hour (but tuned out the prayers being said). I prayed evening prayer and reviewed the day.

When I entered, one young man in his late teens was sitting in one of the last pews. By the time the Holy Hour ended, there were five young men in their teens in the last pews, praying.

Life and blessing, death and curse.

I saw life – the love between the old couple, the love of the couple with their gravely ill child, people caring for ill and aged persons.

I was the blessing, most of all in the six sacraments what were celebrated today.

I saw death – gravely ill people, including an infant and two aged persons.

I saw the curse of neglected villages, poor medical assistance, and more.

But I also saw people choosing life – from the warm care that Padre German showed to the ill to the people who were caring for those who were ill.

 In this situation, where death and curse seem to abound, I want to choose life.

Ten days in January

The last ten days have gone by in a flash.

Much of my work has been at home, preparing material for the base communities, based on saints of mercy. It’s not easy work – since I try to make the material understandable to people with great faith but limited formal education. I also try to prepare questions that make them think about what they read in terms of their lives and allow them the chance to share. This is not easy since much of the educational system (as well as the religious education system) is oriented to the question-answer memorization method. I finally got the booklet done and got it printed. Now the distribution begins.

I was also busy several days reviewing scholarship applications. St. Thomas Aquinas Church in Ames, Iowa, is providing funds for partial scholarships for student in the alternative program called Maestro en Casa, which provides classes on weekends for middle school and high school students. They listen to programs on the radio, fill out workbooks, and have classes one or two days each weekend.

Sunday January 24 was a good day. My neighbors’ children got married at the 9 am Mass in Dulce Nombre. I was glad to see them taking this step – which so many young people avoid.

After the Mass I met with twenty young people to try to begin the formation of leaders for youth base communities or groups in the parish. We only had representation from eight communities, but five of them have functioning groups. We have some activities planned and I need to get materials ready for them.

Monday January 25 was another good day.  

In the morning I took members of the small coffee producers association in El Zapote de Santa Rosa to Estu Café in Santa Rosa de Copán, a business that does cupping, roasting, and training of baristas. I thought only one or two would be coming, but eight showed up. I also thought that Estu Café would only take the coffee. But Juan Carlos and his staff spent almost three hours with the producers, talking to them about cupping, producing quality coffee, and giving them an abbreviated experience of how cupping is done. I am most grateful for the work of Estu Café.  

I will be forwarding the results to folks at St. Thomas Aquinas in Ames to help them determine if and how much coffee they are interested in buying.

In the afternoon I got back in time to help transport some of the men who had been working on the parish coffee land, clearing the brush around the plants in preparation for fertilizing the field before the next harvest. I took about seven guys to their villages about twenty minutes away. Then back home for some food and rest.

Wednesday I made another trip to Santa Rosa, mostly to do some shopping. But the real joy was to spend lunch at Weekend’s Pizza with the Dubuque Franciscan sisters who now live in two places, Gracias and La Entrada. Visiting with them refreshes my spirits.

Thursday was the feast of St. Thomas Aquinas. I decided to accompany Padre German to Mass in the village of El Zapote de Dulce Nombre. He praised Saint Thomas church up and down and prayed for the parish, ever grateful for their solidarity and aid.

After Mass he went to visit two bed-ridden old people to hear their confessions and celebrate the anointing of the sick with them. He had to rush to another village for Mass and so asked me to share Holy Communion with them and pray with them.

What a great privilege it was to be there with these two persons, people of faith. They were living in the home of some family members who cared to them. I asked them to pray for the parish, telling them that that is their mission.

I couldn’t help but remember caring for my dad is his last years. I spoke to the family and encouraged them to continue the loving care they were giving. In the first house I shared how seeing a poor family in El Salvador caring for a sick older family member helped me make the decision to care for my dad at home.

Friday, I stopped down to the parish coffee field where a small group was fertilizing a part of the field. I also spoke to Padre German about the base community booklet and then headed out to Santa Rosa- my third trip last week – to get copies made.

Today the dioceses celebrated the opening of the Jubilee year of Mercy and the hundredth anniversary of the founding of the diocese of Santa Rosa de Copán. That deserves a separate post which I’ll try to write later today or tomorrow – complete with photos. For a preview of the photos, check out the album here.

A Christmas moment

The Christmas season didn’t get real for me until this morning.

It wasn't a nativity scene - un nacimiento - that brought this on - but witnessing the anointing of the sick.

The nacimientos can be very moving - though they are often amusing as the people put all sorts of items in the display - from Snow White on a horse to Winnie the Pooh and a half-naked Barbie doll. 

Everything is present at the birth of the Savior - even if his image gets lost amid the other figures.

I went to Dulce Nombre to go with Padre German to Mass in two towns – Quebraditas and San Augustín. But first we went to visit a very sick woman who lives outside of the nearby town of Concepción.

We got there, down a rutted dirt road, through a field, and up a hill. We first passed by a very poor house with a mother and four kids.

The old woman, 81 years old she told us, had been in Tegucigalpa but was abandoned by some of her family. But finally ended up in this dirt-poor house. The floor was dirt and the house was of bahareque – mud and sticks p with a tin roof.  Three members of the family – a couple and their 15 year old son escorted us into the room where Adela was lying on the bed. She was so sick that she could only consume liquids.

The woman had not been baptized (as well as she could remember). So Padre German baptized her conditionally, gave her the anointing of the sick, and shared communion with her.

The poverty was tangible.

As I watched and listened, I noticed a small picture of the Baby Jesus in the manger over Adela’s bed.

In a place like this, Jesus was born, God became flesh.

In the midst of poverty God comes to save us.

As he left, Padre German told the couple that he could send over some basic grains when they needed them.

We left for Mass in Quebraditas.

As Mass was finished I spoke with a young woman whom I know whom I find very thoughtful. She told me that her mother was very ill, suffering for nine months, and that the doctors still haven’t been able to treat her adequately. She thinks it’s something to do with the liver.

I told Padre German and he went to anoint her mother and share the Eucharist with her. It was moving as the spouse and several of the children and grandchildren gathered around her bed. Tears were flowing.

As we left, Padre German got a call and a request for another anointing. On our way to San Augustine we stopped in Granadillal, where Padre German spoke at length with the 77 year old man and anointed him. The house was poor – with just one bed. But a crowd gathered – some relatives and about 8 kids  (who may or may not have been related.)

Mass at San Augustin was not as crowded as normal – probably because of the coffee harvest. Padre German asked me to preach – to give him a little relief.

It may seem strange but the three anointings of the sick have made Christmas more real – especially the first visit.

God has come among us as a poor, defenseless baby. Today he came, in a special way, to visit the sick and dying.

Our God doesn’t save us – or give us hope – from afar.

Children in Debajiados, December 23, 2012

He pitches his tent among us – in the midst of the poor houses of the poor.