Father Pedro Arrupe and the missionary

On February 5, 1991, Father Pedro Arrupe, S.J., died.

A few days after arriving in Honduras in 2007, I came across this passage from Father Pedro Arrupe, SJ, who was for many years superior general of the Jesuits and had to suffer powerlessness after a stroke. (The full text is found in Pedro Arrupe: Selected Writings, p. 83-86.)

…what a missionary must be ready to undergo in a foreign country is highly instructive. To find oneself alone in a great city, without a single friend or acquaintance, without provision of any kind, whether it be physical equipment or the support and security one derives from ordinary human relationships; to be poor even as far as language is concerned, unable to express oneself, to tell people what one is, what one knows; always to be in a position of inferiority, a child just learning to speak, contemptuously dismissed in every discussion, painfully aware of the poor impression one is always making, and of the pity, or else the hostility, with which one is regarded – all this brings home to a person better than empty theorizing what poverty, in the radical sense of dis-possession, really means. Not only does it take away external attachments, it makes one truly humble of heart; for to be poor is to be humiliated, and it is from being humiliated that one learns humility.

How true. What we missionaries need above all is humility, the recognition that we are not the saviors of the world (nor even of the town we work in). We do not have all the answers, nor do we have the solutions to the problems around us. If we are really honest, we will recognize that we live among others who are as good as we are and have many deficiencies as we do. We are brothers and sisters in grace and in sin. And we will find joy in sharing the sorrows and joys of the people around us. 

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The photo of Father Arrupe is taken from the page of the Jesuits in Argentina and Uruguay which has a good article on his life and witness in Spanish, found here.

The photo of me was taken before Mass in Dulce Nombre de María a few weeks ago.

Here I am - in Honduras

I am here in Honduras. I am NOT stuck here. I am here, by the grace of God.

I want to make one thing clear to all those I know.

I have been asked many times by Hondurans, “How long will you be here?” My response has been, “Hasta que Dios quiera”.  This is the closest to my response when people in the US asked me when I discerned that I would go to Honduras, “Until God calls me somewhere else.” I sometimes would add that this might mean until I die here.

That is still my hope – remaining here until God calls me elsewhere.

I lived through the 2009 coup and am now living in the midst of COVID -19. I have no plans of leaving.

First of all, I believe this is where God continues to call me to serve. When I came here in 2007, I came to be of service to those most in need, as I explained to my spiritual director and some close friends. I still try to do that, even when it seems difficult.

Secondly, I was ordained a permanent deacon in the diocese of Santa Rosa de Copán in June 2016. I am no longer a volunteer in the diocese (though I don’t get paid by them.) As a deacon, I have a permanent commitment to the diocese that was made clear during the ordination. I am not a free agent but owe obedience (listening attentively) to the church, speaking through the bishop.

Thirdly, in 2018 I got the equivalent of permanent residency. My Honduran Id lists my status as “inmigrado”. I have not given up my US citizenship, but I no longer have temporary residence (of five years or so.) I am a part of this society.

Many US volunteers here register with the US Embassy. I have not and I don’t intend to. I am not here as a US citizen but as a member of the universal (Catholic) Church. My identity is first of all as a follower of Jesus in the Catholic Church.

So, here I am.

While I’m here I will do what I can to serve God and God’s people, the poor.

It’s a little harder now since I am stuck at home in the 24 hour per day eight day curfew – though I have walked outside and spoken (with the appropriate social spacing) with neighbors and friends. I visited the parish coffee field yesterday – which is in bloom. 

Today I stopped at a pulpería to get some time on my phone. I also stopped by the mayor’s house and told him that he could call on me if there was a need – even for transportation (since my pick up’s tank is full.)

I have no idea how long this curfew and the other restrictions will go on. I do have enough food for about a week (with a bit of Lenten austerity). The electricity and water are still functioning. I have gas for the stove and bottled water, which I hope will be enough. And, unlike many neighbors, I have internet access.

During these days, I am reading a lot, praying a fair amount, washing clothes and cleaning the house. I have two writing projects for the parish – but right now I don’t have the concentration I need to do them well.

As usual, I am in the middle of reading several books.

Before this craziness began here, I felt a need for a retreat and started reading Abide in the Heart of Christ; A 10-Day Personal Retreat with St. Ignatius Loyola, by Joe Laramie S.J. It’s a popularized form of the first week of St. Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises and was good for me.

Because I am supposed to write the parish Stations of the Cross, I started reading Caryll Houselander’s The Way of the Cross, which I’m finding very helpful – personally.

Yesterday I picked up Albert Camus’s The Plague, a novel I had read in the 1960s which had a major effect on my commitment to a faith seeking justice. I’ve read about half of it – even though it’s not an easy read. But it has helped me try to understand what is happening.

I am also in the middle of Ann Garrido’s Let’s Talk about Truth: A Guide for Preachers, Teachers, and Other Catholic Leaders in a World of Doubt and Discord. Stimulating.

Two unfinished books are J A Pagola’s Jesús: una aproximación histórica (which I have been going through slowly for more than a year) and John O’Donohue’s  Anam Cara: a book of Celtic Wisdom (suggested by my confessor).

I wish I had a good mystery novel that was a fast read, a diversion from all the seriousness. I’ll have to look.

(By the way, except for Camus’s The Plague, the other books are on Kindle. I brought Camus down with me since it and a collection of his essays, Resistance, Rebelling, and Death, have played a major role in who I am.)

Meantime, I am on the internet (too much), I have written a few friends, and I have called a few folks. But what I really long to do is to be with the people. How I do this, in a way that is not risky for them, I have to think about and wait for opportunities that God puts in my way. I have to wait patiently. 

In the meantime, let us pray for each other.

At this time, I would invoke the intercession of Saint Raphael the Archangel who accompanied Tobiah on his journey and healed his father Tobit. He is patron of the sick and healers. He is also the patron of the church where I was baptized, Saint Raphael’s in the Meadows in Philadelphia (which no longer exists), and he is the patron of the Archdiocese of Dubuque. (I served for almost 24 years in a parish and student center in the archdiocese.) May Saint Raphael guide us and heal the world.

Icon from Printery House of Concepcion Abbey

Two weeks and more

Rain, rain, rain. Though it has stopped here for a few hours, we have had strong rains for the last three days. There has been serious flooding in Tegucigalpa but here we mostly have to watch out for slippery hills. This comes after some really hot and dry weeks in September.

The rain of course makes it difficult to get clothes dried, but that’s the least of our worries here.

I haven't written for more than two weeks and so a post is necessary - especially since I'm heading to Rome, Assisi, and Ames, Iowa in two days.

This past week was the week of the Ferias Morazanicas, with at least three days of time off for official employees. Most schools were closed all week.

But I have been busy for several weeks with a variety of activities – and a rather bad chest cold (which made me stay at home and try to rest for several days.)

One of my new responsibilities as deacon has been to do the interviews of couples and witnesses after they have finished their formation. Three weeks ago, one couple was married. I was at the wedding but the pastor was the official church witness. Yet I got to the church before the wedding to baptize the young man getting married. Last week, I again assisted as deacon at a wedding Mass – but this time it was of a neighbor who married a young woman in her home village.

We are having more weddings than before and this is, for me, a good sign.

I also presided at a Quinceañera celebration, a sort of coming out celebration for fifteen-year-old young women. I have been at a few, but I haven’t seen this happen often among the poor. I tried to preach about the dignity of the person, especially young women, whose dignity come from God – not from grades, jobs, number of Facebook friends, or men. I hope the message got across.

But what disturbed me was that though the young woman, whose mother is in the US and whose biological father is presumably absent, was there even without the grandmother who is taking care of her. I also was quite taken aback when she didn’t go to Communion. It seems much more a cultural event than a religious ceremony. But then I may just be too biased and critical.

Two weeks ago we had the parish mission. Forty three parishioner went to visit almost all the villages of the parish, reaching out to those estranged from the church.

During the week, a tragic event occurred. In one village a young man, about 33, committed suicide, leaving a six-year old girl and an estranged wife. He had some serious mental problems but was taking medicine which helped him control his behavior and his health. But he had run out of the medicine which, I was told later, is only available at a hospital in Tegucigalpa and which costs about $175. He tried to find a way to borrow money to get the medicine, but to no avail. My guess is that, in desperation, he killed himself. Padre German gave a thoughtful homily at the funeral Mass, trying to help people not to blame or castigate the man. (I don’t think he knew about the difficulty of getting medicine.) I felt so bad. We have a solidarity fund and many know about it, but no one suggested that as a source for the money for the medicine.

This is, again, one of the many ways the poor suffer – not having medicine nor ways to purchase what they need.

Last week we had a meeting of Social Ministry coordinators from the villages. Only five came, but we had a very fruitful meeting talking not only of problems but of what they were doing in their areas. We talked about situations of health, water, schools, housing, and more. I came away from the meeting with a bit of hope.

Last week we also celebrated the feast of Saint Francis of Assisi, who is patron of at least four villages. I got to Delicias Concepción about 8:30 for their procession. They gathered at a home and prayed the rosary. Then they walked behind the image of Saint Francis to the church. There Padre German celebrated Mass and I preached. Here are some photos from Delicias.

Right after Mass I headed for La Entrada to have lunch with the Franciscan sisters there. It was a welcome break and a time to talk in English with one of the sisters, Nancy, who is a good friend and whom I hold partly responsible for me being here in Honduras.

The ride home was almost uneventful, since there was no road work that week. Yet on the hill from the main highway to Dulce Nombre I found the car sliding a bit because of the mud. They had scraped the road but hadn’t put down gravel. I got up the hill, but I wish I had put on my four-wheel drive before attempting the hill. At least one car was in the ditch.

Last Monday I visited the sick in San Agustín. There are many sick, elderly, and homebound there – with only one Communion minister. So I try to visit when I can. The first house I went to was the home of a severely crippled woman. I found her with a neighbor and neighbor’s children and two young girls who I think are here children. She was sitting there desgranando mazurcas de maíz – taking the grains off dried ears of corn. I sat down beside her and we talk – and I joined her and a four-year-old neighbor kid working on the ears of corn. I found such delight in sharing a simple chore with a poor ill woman.

The parish has, with the help of St. Thomas Aquinas church in Ames, purchased a vehicle to be used to transport people to hospitals and clinics at a decent cost. I got a call yesterday to see if the parish car was available yet to take a woman to the hospital in Santa Rosa. I didn’t know and I couldn’t help them since I was in Santa Rosa for a few hours. After I finished what I had to do I called and found they had obtained a ride.

The parish car to transport the sick - named after Saint Raphael.

Yet this morning someone called to try to get a ride to bring her back. I ended up going. She was extremely weak and they almost had to carry her to and from the car. I calculated that the fuel for this was about 250 lempiras, about eleven dollars. However, some private drivers would charge up significantly more – especially in the evening. When this car functions, it will be a real way to help the people.

In two days I am off to the canonization of Romero in Rome and a visit to Assisi – together with our pastor. Then I’m off to Ames, Iowa, to catch up with people at St. Thomas Aquinas Church and Catholic Student Center, which has been so generous with our parish.

I’m finishing this post with no electricity and will try to post it later today, Tuesday, if the electric returns – as it often does.

But it is not raining tonight!

I went to a youth group in Delicias tonight at 5 pm and returned in the semi-darkness to a house without electricity. Rosary and evening prayer by candlelight. And then I started making supper.

The electricity returned about 7:10 pm – just as I was finishing cooking supper.

New Orleans made me a missionary deacon

Think of your own history when you pray, and there you will find much mercy. This will also increase your awareness that the Lord is ever mindful of you; he never forgets you. So it makes sense to ask him to shed light on the smallest details of your life, for he sees them all.

Pope Francis, Apostolic Exhortation Gaudete et Exsultate, 153

I am in New Orleans, Louisiana, this week for the US National Diaconate Congress.

The last time I was here was in March 2007, just months before moving to Honduras as a lay missionary with the diocese of Santa Rosa de Copán.

I had come to New Orleans for the first time in March 2006 with a group from St. Thomas Aquinas Church in Ames, where I served as a lay campus minister. We were part of thousands who had come to respond to Hurricane Katrina.

That first visit changed my life and opened up my move to Honduras in June 2017 and my ordination as a permanent deacon in July 2016.

A passionate university student, Nathan Stein, had urged me to organize a group to New Orleans and helped me carry this out. While there we gutted three houses.

The second house belonged to an African-American woman, Sharon, who had raised her children and grandchildren in that house. She joined us that day and prayed with us before we began.

She stayed as we carried out the ruins of her house. But what moved me was her serenity. She moved my soul.

That night we reflected on the day and some students wondered how they would feel if all their possessions were ruined and were carried out of the house to the dump. I began to think about all I had accumulated and wondered what would people have to do with them after my death.

I soon began to think that maybe I was called to do something different, to even move on from my ministry at St. Thomas. Was I being called to something MORE?

Those reflections, stirred by a woman named Sharon, led me to Honduras. Years later, Bishop Darwin Andino asked me to consider the permanent diaconate, confirming my call to serve, with the grace of the sacrament of orders.

And so I am here today in New Orleans for a convention of deacons, grateful to God, who called me to move on – in the encounter with an African-American woman in hurricane devastated New Orleans.

Grace is everywhere, if we have the heart to recognize God’s presence in the smallest details of our lives.