Two funerals

Sunday, I saw a Facebook note from a young man from a parish village who is now in the US. He has recently reunited with his brother who’s been in the us for several years. 

Sunday morning he posted an image of his grandmother who had just died. As I read his post, I wondered if I’d be called upon for the funeral – since the pastor is away. On Monday I was supposed to go to Santa Rosa for some medical exams and a doctor’s appointment.

Sure enough, a message arrived in the late afternoon asking me if I could come. My question was when and how. They even said that they could make other arrangements, but I told them I’d make it. I know the family and the village and thought that it was very important to get there. We managed to work things out.

I went early to Santa Rosa for the exams and hurried back to the village, with plenty of time to spare.

As we were waiting, in the room of the house where the coffin, a woman approached me and asked me if we could also include the cremains of her twenty-four year old son in the service. Of course, I said. 

But it was much more complicated. Her son’s body had been found two years ago in the US, near Chicago, with his papers, but US authorities had to verify that it was his body. It took two years and at times she thought – hoped – that it had not been his body, but she had no idea what happened to him. Finally, last week, the box of his ashes arrived – and she finally had closure. 

But two years of insecurity and worry leave wounds that are open and sore.

Several times during the prayers I was close to tears. 

But I was almost bowled over when the little choir sang the “Lord, have mercy” of the Nicaraguan Campesino Mass.

Cristo, Cristo Jesús, identifícate con nosotros. 

Señor, Señor, mi Dios, identifícate con nosotros. 

Cristo, Cristo Jesús, Solidarízate 

no con la clase opresora que exprime y devora a la comunidad 

sino con el oprimido con el pueblo mío, sediento de paz. 

Christ, Christ Jesus, identify with us. Lord, Lord, my God, identify with us. Christ, Christ Jesus, identify with us. Christ, Christ Jesus, be in solidarity with us, Not with the oppressing class which crushes and devours the community, But with the oppressed, my people, thirsting for peace.

This version of “Lord, have mercy” is not used much here in Honduras. Probably because it is quite revolutionary (and I like it, as I like the “Lord, have mercy” of the Misa Salvadoreña). 

This hymn reminds us of how God made flesh totally identifies with the poor and suffering. 

What an important message, when the poor are not recognized. 

As I preached, I could not help reminding us in that room that, in the midst of the pain and the sorrows, Christ identifies with us, with them. We have a God who is in solidarity with us – becoming one with us, becoming poor with the poor.

As I write this, I am thinking  of the passage from Matthew that I often use with the sick: "Come to me, you who are burdened." I used it Tuesday visiting a sick man who is near death - barely conscious. 

But I think of the box with the ashes of the young man. 

When I picked it up, I found that it was much heavier than I thought it would be. Perhaps it reflects the heaviness, the sadness of the mother and the grandmother. 

So much pain, so much suffering – I don’t know if we could get through it without a God who identifies with our pain.

A missionary priest is blessed

Today, September 23, an Oklahoma-born diocesan priest who was martyred in Guatemala will be declared blessed. Father Stanley Rother, known as Padre Francisco or Padre ‘Aplas to the people he served in Santiago Atitlán, Guatemala, was a farm boy who almost never made it to the priesthood. Yet he was loved by the indigenous people he served.

Last night I listened to the Vatican Radio interview with María Ruiz Scaperlanda who wrote a recent biography on Father Stanley, The Shepherd Who Didn't Run: Father Stanley Rother, Martyr from Oklahoma.  (There is also an earlier book, Love in a Fearful Land by Henri Nouwen.)

I was struck when María mentioned his “gift of presence.”

Presence is central to my understanding of my mission here. Sure I will teach, preach, preside at Celebrations of the Word, bring Communion to the sick, lead workshops, help projects; and now, as I deacon, I will baptize and preside at weddings and funerals. But what is essential is “to be present,” to witness to the loving presence of God here among the poor.

As Father Stanley noted in a letter:

[O]ur presence here means a lot for the people…. When I hear the people during Mass here on Sunday or Thursday, the cacophony of prayers going up to the Lord, His presence must be there. I am delighted to be a part…. At first signs of danger, the shepherd can’t run and leave the sheep fend for themselves. I heard about a couple of groups of nuns in Nicaragua that left during the fighting and later wanted to go back. The people asked them where were you when we needed you? They couldn’t stay and were forced to leave. I don’t want that to happen to me. I have too much of my life invested here to run.

That inspires me to deepen my commitment to be here, no matter what. As Father Stanley also wrote:

We just need the help of God to do our work well and to be able to take it if the time comes that we are asked to suffer for Him.

I have written previously about Father Stanley Rother here and here

Quotes taken from María Ruiz Scaperlanda’s The Shepherd Who Didn’t Run.

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The photo is taken from the page of Vatican Radio’sinterview of María Ruiz Scaperlanda who wrote a recent biography of Fr. Stanley Rother.