Touched deeply by a death

This morning I got a call about 7:10 telling me of the death of a young man, Gerson Noe Rivas, 20 years old last Friday, in Agua Buena, Concepción. They asked me to come.

Even though I had a 9 am workshop, I knew I had to go. 

 He was becoming more involved in the parish, especially in the social ministry. In fact, he had gone with me and three others from the parish to a Caritas workshop on social ministry. 

He also has been one of our missionaries, visiting villages for a week, evangelizing.

It took about 35 minutes to get to his village. On the way, I saw a crowd in the road as I entered the village. They had gathered where Gerson had died. 

 At about 1 in the morning, he and a friend were returning home when they ran into a pile of rocks someone had placed int he road in the road. 

The young man with him, his good friend, is in the catechumenate, to be baptized in the Easter Vigil. He had been in the Celebration of the Word yesterday in Delicias where I had prayed the Scrutinies with him and two other catechumens. 

I gave him a short ride to the house of the young man who had died. On the way he showed me his right arm which was scraped, bloody, and inflamed. 

When I arrived at the house I entered and encountered Gerson’s body on a mattress on a table, with a sheet wrapped around him. Tears flooded my eyes. 

They removed the cloth covering his hear and I could see the wound in his temple. 

But what struck me was his smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a corpse with such a beautiful smile which radiated a deep peace. As someone said later, he received death with peace. 

I prayed a bit amidst my tears. And talked with a few folks.

His mother was away, probably arranging the casket and other details. 

After about a half hour, I left. I gave a ride to a few folks, relatives of Jairo, who were going to the workshop. 

 After the workshop I went with a a neighbor and the two relatives to the wake. 

As I entered the mother was talking on the phone with a daughter, leaning over the casket, overwhelmed with grief. All of a sudden she collapsed and people carried her to a chair. After the people moved back a bit, I approached her, holding her hands, saying a few things, but mostly listening.

This is not the first son who has died. Last year a son in the US was shot and killed. 

Her husband and a son (and perhaps a daughter) are in the US. So much suffering she has experienced and how alone she must feel.

I listened a lot. For me, sitting with a person and listening seems to be the best I can do. I don’t believe in talking much.

She mentioned how last night he was reading the Mass readings, as he often did. And that he just celebrated his birthday.

He was a young man who enjoyed life. He had a lovely smile, and he was very responsible – especially in his commitment to his community. I was looking to work with him in social ministry. But now he’s with the Lord. 

I stayed around there for a while. After a while, I went and prayed with the mother who was resting in her bedroom for a bit. 

I talked with some folk who shared what a good young man he was. That was my experience, the few times I was with him. 

Now he has gone to the Lord. May God receive him with open arms and a broad smile and may God comfort his family.

I think now of the beautiful hymn for the funeral, In paradisum. 

In Paradisum deducant te Angeli

in tuo adventu suscipiant te Martyres

et perducant te in civitatem sanctam Jerusalem.

Chorus Angelorum te suscipiant

et cum Lazaro quondam paupere

aeternam habeas requiem. 

May the angels lead you into paradise;

may the martyrs greet you at your arrival

and lead you into the holy City of Jerusalem.

May the choir of Angels greet you.

And, with Lazarus, who once was poor,

may you have eternal rest. 

May the saints receive you, Jairo. 

 I have to choose the readings for tomorrow. Padre German suggested one of the Servant Songs of Isaiah since Jairo had the heart of a servant. I think the beatitudes would be the perfect Gospel. 

Blessed may you be, Jairo.

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This post was exited to give his age and his involvement as a missionary in the parish.

Life and death - Holy Week and Easter

This was a strange Holy Week for me. 

Perhaps this flowering rose bush is a good symbol. The bush has almost died a few times and has been devastated a few times by sompopos (cutter ants who eat all the leaves).But this year it bloomed with multiple roses on a single branch - the first time it has done this so extravagantly.

Last year I spent Holy Week as a hermit, alone at home. 

This year there are some activities, but we are trying to avoid major concentrations of people and urging people to take health safeguards. 

For many years we began Holy Week with a parish-wide stations of the Cross in Dulce Nombre on the Friday before Holy Week, traditionally celebrated in honor of Our Mother of Sorrows. Most years I wrote the Stations, usually with a specific local concern in mind. The texts were photocopied for the use of people in their villages on Good Friday. To avoid major concentrations of people, we cancelled this year’s parish Stations. 

Because we often had a number of catechumens baptized at the Easter Vigil, we usually had only one parish-wide vigil. This year there will be Vigil celebrations in many communities. The Dulce Nombre Vigil was smaller, since only people from a few communities will be invited. Fernando, a transitional deacon in our parish, led a celebration in San Agustín and I went to Vertientes for a Vigil with them and the nearby community of San José El Bosque. 

But there is more to the ministry of a deacon in Holy Week – and throughout the year. 

For me Holy Week began on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, helping guide a geologist and a civil engineer in the community of San Marcos Pavas, which suffered serious damages during the hurricanes last year.

The two men in their thirties (the guys in straw hats in the first photo) came from Santa Rosa and spent almost five hours going through the community and examining the terrain and the houses. Several community members accompanied them, showing them what had happened and giving a little history, since there have been problems of landslides and sinking soil for many years. 

 

The geologist will make a report that he’ll share with the community so that they can send it to various public authorities and other institutions to see what can be done to stabilize the situation of the community. 

It was a long and hot day, with lots of walking, and I forgot my hat. So, I found myself over-tired. 

Palm Sunday 

I went to Dulce Nombre to participate in the Palm Sunday procession and Mass. After Mass we sent about 14 parishioners as missionaries in several communities in the parish.

Monday, after getting the car washed in Dulce Nombre, I went to get some items in Santa Rosa de Copán. In the afternoon I went to Debajiados to preside at a Celebration of the end of the novenario for the young woman who died there and whom I mentioned in an earlier blog post. 

The custom here is to have nine days of prayer in the home after the death of a family member. The people often request a Mass at the end of the novenario, especially if they were not able to have a funeral Mass. Padre German couldn’t make it to the community for the Mass at the end of the novenario and so I went.

A small crowd gathered in the church. I used the daily readings, partly because it was Holy Week and partly because it was the Gospel of Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus. In think that like Mary, Maria Maricela was full of love and enthusiasm for her Lord.

the church in Debajiados 

Tuesday, I went to San Antonio Alto. 

In the morning we had the Lenten retreat It wasn’t well attended, partly because many people are still harvesting coffee in the fields. After the retreat, I went and visited the sick – eleven persons in a small village. I’ve gone there several times to visit the sick but there were never this many. 

I tried not to rush the visits, because it’s important to talk with them, to see how they are doing. I had decided to use the first verse of the Holy Thursday Gospel with them, to help them see the love that God has for them, accompanying them in their sickness.

He loved his own in the world and he loved them to the end.

Wednesday, I went to Granadillal. Again, I led the retreat in the morning and visited the sick afterwards. There were only two houses to visit, though I spent some time talking with a catechist about two persons with mental health problems. Thank God there is a psychiatrist who is willing to help these and other persons with serious problems. 

Thursday, one of the diocesan Chrism Masses was held in Santa Rosa de Copán. Many of the priests from this part of the diocese were there as well as the three transitional deacons who will be ordained to the presbyterate on May 1. 

Part of the Mass is procession of the oils at the offertory. The oils are brought to the bishop and then one of the deacons takes them to the table where they would later be blessed or consecrated. I ended up taking the Oil of the Sick, which seemed so fitting after visiting so many suffering people this week. 

In the afternoon, I presided at a Celebration of the Word with Communion in Concepción and later in the evening at Plan Grande. Washing the feet of the people is such a privilege. One of the persons whose foot I washed in Concepción is an older man who always walks around barefoot. His and others are not feet that are cushioned by good footwear. Many have rough feet as well as bunions caused by inadequate shoes. I caressed their feet with gentleness. I recalled this icon which I used on the prayer card for my ordination.

Good Friday, it was raining and so I didn’t go out to the Stations here in Plan Grande in the morning. I also felt a need for some quiet reflection. 

I was planning to go to Plan de Naranjo in the afternoon for the Celebration of the Office of the Passion. A half hour before I planned to leave, I got a phone call from someone there, advising me not to come since the roads were slippery with all the rain. I was glad that they called me because I was a bit concerned, remembering how slippery it was the last time I went there.

I ended up at the celebration in Dulce Nombre. This was the first time as a deacon that I served at a parish Good Friday liturgy. Usually, I’ve gone to remote villages that don’t have a Communion minister. I was moved, especially seeing the newly restored crucifix that belonged to Padre Juan Gennaro, the Italian missionary who built the church.

Holy Saturday, I spent at home, cleaning and baking. I made bread and cinnamon rolls to share with the Franciscan sisters at lunch on Easter in La Entrada. I also made enough cinnamon rolls to share some with the pastor who asked me for some.

EASTER VIGIL 

Saturday evening I presided at the Easter Vigil in Vertientes, which included participation from other nearby communities. We decided to celebrate in the unfinished church and so they put in some provisional lighting. The large church was filled!

We began in darkness outside the church with a great Easter Fire. Then we entered and proceeded with the Vigil. We didn’t use all the Old Testament readings but this let us have a careful reading of the creation and exodus passages. (I also could get home before 9:30 pm).

The planners did an excellent job with the liturgy and it was a time of rebirth.

Easter Sunday for me began with a Mass in Dulce Nombre. We welcomed back the missionaries who had spent the week in several communities. 

I ended up preaching. The liturgy was recorded by a local channel and I checked out my homily – with my grammatical errors at the end. The surprise – it was almost exactly 7 minutes.

After the Mass, I hurried to La Entrada for lunch with the Dubuque Franciscan Sisters and an associate who lives across from their house in Gracias. It was good to be with them, to share good food (including vegetarian quiche and pecan pie), and to catch up on life. I was quite tired and so I left earlier than the others. 

Easter Monday 

I intended to spend Monday as a day of rest. I got up late, spent a lot of time praying, and was about to begin doing some chores around the house as well as catch up on reading. Then I got a call. 

Cristina from Las Pavas couldn’t get through to the pastor and so tried me. She wanted to know if there were provisions to help a family that had suffered the death of a family member and would need some food for the all-night vigil as well as for the novenario. 

Providing food is an important part of the experience of sitting with those who have died and with their families. I arranged to get the food and proceeded there, only to find people outside the church, with several police cars. 

I soon learned that Carlos Arturo, 36 years old and suffering from epilepsy, had been killed and his body still lay in the coffee field across from the church. 

I found the mother and a brother of the murder victim and prayed with them. Later I approached the field and saw the body covered by a plastic tablecloth. I prayed and blessed the body. I spent a few hours there, speaking with people. 

More police came in about an hour to examine the site where the body was found as well as make an initial examination of the body. 

The carried the body up the hill and placed it on the ground outside the church. People gathered around.

It was not easy to watch, as they examined the four machete wounds. I can’t imagine how hard it was for the family. 

Then they took the body to the morgue in Santa Rosa de Copán and told the family they could come and get the body the next day. 

I stayed for a while and agreed to come the following morning to take some folks to bring the body back to Las Pavas. 

EASTER TUESDAY 

Tuesday was a long day – an hour from my house to get to Las Pavas and then two hours to the morgue in Santa Rosa. We were about three hours waiting at the morgue, though I went with a school teacher from Las Pavas to get lunch for those who came. Before we got lunch, she invited me to have a cup of coffee in a coffee with another woman from Las Pavas.

We got back to Las Pavas late in the afternoon. 

They had planned to wake the body – an all-night vigil, in the family home. The road was slippery from the rain and so they carried the body down the hill. 

I had visited the parents last year before the pandemic, bringing them communion, but I hardly recognized the father who had had a stroke and couldn’t speak. But when he saw me, he came up to me and I put my arm around him. We stood there for quite some time. I did not know how to comfort him – a few words, but most of all he rested his head on my shoulder.

Before I left, we had a short prayer around the casket, commending Carlos Arturo to God. The pastor is away, and I couldn’t return for the burial Wednesday morning since I had a catechists meeting. With a sad heart, I left. I’m hoping that the pastor can get to Las Pavas for a Mass at the end of the novenario. 

Wednesday I rested after the catechists meeting here in Plan Grande. Two of the catechists arrived early and so I showed them my garden, where they insisted on taking a few photos.

Today, Thursday, I intended to go to Santa Rosa for some supplies but I got a call from the parish secretary asking if I could preside at a funeral service at 1 pm this afternoon. Tomorrow, I have two couples who will be coming to the parish for the final pre-marriage interview. Life goes on and there are new beginnings, even in the face of death. And there are the surprises of flowering roses from bushes that seemed dead.

Curfew, violence, and continuing injustice

According to COPECO (sort of like FEMA) a few hours ago,  there are 139 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in Honduras with seven deaths and three who have recovered. There have been no new cases.

The government has taken stringent preventative measures. There has been a curfew for about ten days – but it seemed very much an on-off type with people circulating during the day. Stricter measures were announced yesterday – four days of no circulation at all (except for emergency vehicles) and three days when people are allowed to circulate for a few hours each day to get to banks and supermarkets. This means that almost everyone has only one day to leave the house to get necessities.

There are also travel restrictions. The borders have been closed for a few days as well as entry through commercial airlines. Now only Honduran citizens or residents are allowed in, subject to strict checking at the airports and strict measures to prevent any spread of the virus.

It is interesting to note that some municipalities seem to be doing a better job at prevention and at getting the word out. The municipality of San Agustín has been stopping vehicles and fumigating them for more than five days. They also have announced that the town is closed off and only emergency entries and exits will be permitted. The mayor has called for help to assure transparency in the distribution of food and provisions.

I have also heard that at least one aldea has closed off entry. It is very close to the main road between La Entrada and Copán Ruinas (and the Guatemala border) and people from outside were entering the village. As a preventive measure they are closed.

But in the midst of this, the desperate situation of the majority of people continues. I have heard of protests of people who have no food and I have heard of government efforts to pass out basic provisions but I have not seen any of this and so I will not comment.

Yet... In the last few days, death has stalked through Plan Grande, where I live.

Friday, I presided at a small prayer in a house for an infant who died shortly after birth. I wrote about this earlier. Yesterday I visited the young woman (who is mentally and emotionally disabled) and brought her communion. I spent an hour talking with her family and saw friends and family dropping by to give them bread.

This morning I awoke to news of two deaths.

One was Don Andrés, a 97 year old man whom I had given a ride two times. The last time he sat in the front seat and we talked. Before he stepped out of the car, he promised to pray for me. The least I could do was to pray beside his coffin. What is most interesting is that he was an evangelical – but not the pushy type. I found out, talking to his son, that he had talked with them about me – and all I had done was give him a ride.

The second death was tragic. Last night about nine I heard “pop pop” a few times. I thought it was fireworks. But this morning I found out that it was gunfire. There seems to have been a dispute and the one guy shot the other six times. Alcohol was present.

I knew the twenty five year old who was killed and the family. I stopped by their house and talked with the family. The mother leaned on me. I put aside my social-distancing fears and held her and talked with her. What else can one do?

Violence, lack of medical care, lack of diversions for youth, the prevalence of alcohol, the lack of conflict management skills, and more are still here. And the poverty. The one who was killed was the only son still here in Honduras; his father and brothers are in the US.

I grieve.

As a way to keep in tough (and stay sane), I will try to write at least every two days. I also might try to do some reflections on My Walk the Way blog.

By the way, the Honduras Bishops Conference released a statement which I have yet to read. I may translate parts of it.

Life and death and challenges

Wednesday I had a very good meeting with the catechists of the parish. Even though the turn-out was less than we hoped for, it was a good gathering.

I try in each meeting to have a number of activities, including some time reading and praying with a scripture passage. I’ve used lectio divina with groups as well as the Ignatian imaginative contemplative approach. This time I decided to do a detailed reading of the healing of the woman with the hemorrhage and the daughter of Jairo in Mark 5: 21-43. I thought it might be useful to help the catechists find ways to read the scriptures in depth. It went over well.

After the meeting, I went to Santa Rosa and got my car. The repair of the motor was costly, but I have hopes of many more years with Santiago (the name of my pick up.)

Thursday, we had a meeting of the coordinators of social ministry from the communities. We asked for two from each village which would have brought in more than 90 people. But we only had twenty very committed and very thoughtful men and women, young and old. I was delighted.

After giving them some perspective on what is social ministry (in light of the base communities) and talking about what the ministry does, I had them present themselves and share one thing they are doing.

They are very serious about visiting the sick and the homebound. They also try to respond to the needs of the poor, collecting food and money (especially when there are large medical costs). One sector has a yearly visit to the regional prison. Many others take seriously the concern for our common home, cleaning up trash and reforesting the hillsides. A special concern is for the water sources for the communities.

Then I had them identify problems. The most common were medical and environmental. They noted how a major problem is access to medical care. Some rural health centers don’t have a nurse; others have a nurse, but no medicine. I have been hearing these criticisms of the government health system for many years.

But one of the most serious concerns was for the lack of potable water and the contamination of streams as well as some water sources. In one area the release of waters from the coffee process and as well as human and animal waste has polluted one major stream that flows through many communities.

I was pleasantly surprised to hear that a number of people in that area have gotten together and have put pressure on the mayors in the area to do something. They are waiting – but while they are waiting they have formed two “comités de vigilancia” – “watchdog committee” who are monitoring the situation.

They will be talking with people from another part of the parish who have a case of contamination of a stream – probably mostly from a milk cattle operation.

I left the meeting with hope. We’ll be meeting again in a few months, but I hope to keep in contact with these people to see how I can support them in what they’re doing.

At the meeting, I heard of the death of Don Cecilio, a man in his eighties from Barbascales, one of the most remote villages (which I’ve never visited.) About twelve days ago, Padre German had gone up to visit the man and his family – by car and horseback!

Padre is away for a needed rest and so I offered to go for a funeral service. The funeral was going to be in Delicias, Concepción. We went and waited till the people arrived – with the casket and the people in three pickups.

As is my custom, I spoke with the widow. But as I looked around I realized that I knew a good number of the people in the church, many were relatives and friends from Debajiados, another very remote and poor village (which I have visited often.) I also saw a young man who lives in the department of Colon on the north coast but is from Barbascales. Don Cecilio was his grandfather and he had been at his bedside when he died. This young man is deeply involved in the work of the church – and even had the chance to get to World Youth Day in Panamá.

After the service, I decided I’d go and pray in the cemetery. Because the cemetery is often far from the church and the people usually walk there, most priests don’t go to the cemetery. I’ve gone a few times but I decided to go this time. I remember how much the rites at the graveside consoled me at the burials of my parents and so I try, when I can, to go. I am glad I went.

Burying Don Cecilio

It is the same cemetery where we had buried Juan Ángel Pérez from Debajiados, in September 2016. There we laid to rest of body of Don Cecilio. I remarked to the young man how much I respected Juan Ángel and found out that he and Juan Ángel were friends and they had talked over the phone the day of his death.

As I left the cemetery, I paused and saw the concrete cross over the grave of Juan Ángel. Tears almost came to the service as I reminded the loss of this fine young man.

I left the cemetery about 5:15 since I had to get to Dulce Nombre for the Celebration of the Word with Communion in place of the usual Mass on Thursday evenings. It was a time of peace.

I got home and after a little prayer (and a glass of wine) I went to bed.

This morning I got up and decided to see if the car started. I had to jump start it on Thursday. Sure enough it didn’t start without a push. So I took it to Santa Rosa where it was – hopefully – fixed.

I had company in the journey to Santa Rosa – José, the president of the coffee association. He had some material I needed to pass on to the director of Caritas about some possibilities for coffee growers. On the trip, we talked and José told me how, because the association had been formed, they were able to help other members of the community of El Zapote get a grant to help plant coffee and also managed to get two young men accepted into a special nine-month training program in the production of coffee. Not only are they getting good prices for the coffee they sell to Ames, they have taken the initiative to help others in the community as well as to look for ways to better their production and look for more markets.

José noted how they were grateful for the help they had received from St. Thomas Aquinas Church in Ames, even as he keeps bugging me to see if the new association that is distributing their coffee, El Zapote Coffee, can purchase more coffee each year.

These have been three days filled with life for me – even in the face of death, even in the face of serious environmental damage. Being with the people gives life.

A saint has passed over to the Lord

This morning I learned that Don Efraín Martinez died last night in his home in Plan Grande. According to one person he was surrounded by his family – his wife and children and others – who were kneeling at his bedside.

I had thought of him Tuesday and was planning on visiting him, but, sad to say, I put it off.

I had visited Don Efráin in his illness twice, but knew him, most of all for his gentle smile. 

When I visited I discovered a man ready to meet his Maker. He had prostate cancer which spread throughout his body in the last few weeks.

He was extremely lucid when I visited him and spoke of being ready. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such peace and tranquility in a person who knows he is going to die. (I may have to amend that; in the last few days of his life my Dad also was at peace.)

When I got the word, I went to pray at the home, where the family was gathered, with the coffin in the living room. After greeting Susana, his wife, and some of their children and grandchildren, I went and prayed, first alone, then with the family, using the rite for a short service in the home. I was near tears, recalling the holiness next door which Don Efraín showed.

In his recent apostolic exhortation, Gaudete et Exsultate, Pope Francis calls on us to notice the saints next door. As he wrote (no. 8):

Let us be spurred on by the signs of holiness that the Lord shows us through the humblest members of that people which “shares also in Christ’s prophetic office, spreading abroad a living witness to him, especially by means of a life of faith and charity”. We should consider the fact that, as Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross suggests, real history is made by so many of them.

I have several things to do today in Dulce Nombre and Santa Rosa but plan to return to the house this evening, to be with the family.

They plan to have a Mass or a Celebration of the Word tomorrow – a worthy way to commend him to God. I will be there.

And so I pray for him in the words of the hymn “In Paradisum”:

May the angels lead you into paradise;

May the martyrs accompany you as you come

And lead you into the holy city, Jerusalem.

May the choir of angels receive you,

And with Lazarus who once was poor
may you have everlasting rest.