Fr. Michael El Salvador Missions

Door to Door Catholics

2010-09-08T09:34:00.001-07:00

Every month, our "Evangelization Group" picks one of our 36 communities and goes door to door. We visit all the Catholics, the fall away Catholics, the fall away Protestants, and those who are unaffiliated. Those who are established in a Protestant Church, we respectfully let them be.

The whole idea is to give a personal invitation to our people to come to know Christ and His Church. Being from the U.S., this method rubs me the wrong way. We come from a culture where it is considered rude to talk religion to strangers. We would consider it a violation of my personal space if you came to my house and pushed your religion on me.

We decided to have training with our Evangelizers so that they could properly defend our faith, while being kind and respectful of the beliefs of others. We trained them not to be upset if people do not receive you into their homes. We also teach them how to read their comfort level and not be pushy. Meet them wherever they might be. Do not expect people to pray like we do. Simply share your prayer.

I am shocked how quickly people open their doors to us. I'm also shocked on how much the established Protestants appreciate that we simply wave to them and wish them peace without forcing a conversation where we try to prove each other wrong. We have come a long way in our relationship. I would not say it is Ecumenical yet, but it is no longer hostile like it used to be.

My Evangelizers are very good at defending the faith. Many people have heard those little catch phrases that people use in an attempt to debunk the Catholic Church. They say things like, "Why do you worship Mary?" or "I don't need a priest to confess my sins." or "Why don't the Catholics study the Bible?" I am embarrassed at the number of Catholics who cannot respond to these mildest of critiques. At the same time, I am edified by my Evangelizers who seem to reach to the heart of the matter and really help people, not just know more, but know Christ. It is awesome to see.

It turns out that the reason so many in Latin America have left the Catholic Church is because no one visited them. They felt abandoned in parishes as big as mine where I physically can't get to their community except once a month. They had little opportunity to be trained in the faith and the Mass, because of its infrequency, it seems like it is optional. Some people have irregular marriage situations and know they cannot go to Communion. They are very serious about never offending Christ through the Eucharist. At the same time, they cannot convince their boyfriend (and sometimes girlfriend) to get married. Money is an excuse, not a reason.

There is great hope. So many have come back to the Faith and the Mass. Youth groups are forming. Many are becoming educators of others. The Charismatic Movement has been a great help. All of our charity has helped calm some of those resentments that non-Catholics once had. Still, we need to work on the personal level, and not just programs.

Many Clevelanders have gifted me with holy cards, metals, rosaries, and other things. I give them away as presents to the people we meet. The primary decoration of my people's homes are these holy pictures and objects. They LOVE your gifts.

The grade schools have invited me to put on a one-man drama of some bible stories (they'd never let me do that in an American public school). Most of the non-Catholic children are not baptized and have virtually no place in their Churches and very little religious education. They love the plays. I have more kids coming to my Masses than adults. They actually bring their friends to church and are so well behaved. They are constantly helping me. God bless them.

Snake Bite

2010-08-27T08:05:00.000-07:00

San Pedro is our poorest community. There is no road to get there, so I have to walk an hour and a half down a cow path. Getting back out of the valley takes an hour longer. Grueling. Most people have no electricity and live off the produce of the land. Someone once asked me how much the average person would make a year in San Pedro. The question itself shows how different our worlds are. They simply do not calculate wealth or identity in terms of money. It is all about how many cows, chickens, bags of beans and corn. They even have rabbit farms.

One little boy was bitten by a snake. The snakes here are poisonous, not to add to the many levels of discomfort. I have seen a number of snakes but I have never had a close call. This little boy, however, was afraid to tell his mom. I think it was denial. He knew how serious it was and did not want to believe it happened. Luckily his sister told on him. This is an occasion when tattling is aloud.

The mother acted quickly. With no telephone, no car, no clinic, let alone a hospital, she grabbed her two children and carried them up the mountain to Teotepeque. I bet she made better time than I would have made. When she got here, she went to the church. Thanks to the good people of St. Albert the Great, we have been able to fund an ambulance project. She found Remberto, our ambulance driver, and he quickly drove them two hours to the Capital where the hospital is located.

The little boy is recovering. For many weeks, he has been swollen, but the medicine probably saved his life. They cannot afford any of the treatments or medicine, but the government has been helping. The health care is cheap, but that usually means everyone gets a lower standard of health care and the very poor still can't afford it. We pitch in with the donations we have available.

Try to imagine if you were bitten by a snake. How long would it take you to get help? If you answered less than four hours, then be grateful. There are so many aspects of El Salvador that makes me appreciate all that our forefather have done to build up the basic infrastructure of the United States. Roads, phones, hospitals, medicines, vehicles, jobs. Give thanks to a parents, grandparents and their grandparents. It wasn't easy to create, but the sweat a tears of our ancestors means that we are that much more secure. May God help us give stability to the lives of my parishioners as well.

Festival de Maiz

2010-08-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

This was the fifth Corn Festival for Chiltiupan and the second for Teotepeque. The Port of La Libertad, where Fr. Paul Schindler is stationed, also had their Corn Festival. All of them were on the same day because that is when the corn is ripe for eating right off the cob.

It rained, but there were still lots of people. All of the food, the corn, the tamales, the atol, the elotes locos, and everything else you can make from corn was donated by the farmers of our parishes. In Chiltiupan and Teotepeque, it was then given to the people for free. People even donated sugar, milk, cheese, firewood, and everything else we needed for the party. We had dancers and music and skits. Teotepeque had games for the kids. Of course, we had a fantastic Mass in the Port, Teotepeque, and Chilitupan. As a result we couldn't go and visit each other's festivals, so we settled with sharing memories afterward.

The church in Chiltiupan, where I was celebrating Mass, was filled with cornstalks. I'd tease the kids by acting so surprised, "A corn field inside the church." The kids all laughed because, it was unusual. Many of the children and youth dressed up in traditional Indian farmer outfits. Some of the kids even dressed up as corn on the cob. We processed from the two ends of Chiltiupan and the two processions joined each other at the church. Very symbolic.

My friends, the Pocasangres, came from the capital, San Salvador. It was great to show off Chiltiupan to them and share the generosity of my people. Unfortunately I didn't get to spend too much time with them. I was running around dealing with problems. In the end, it was a great time for all.

Delfina

2010-08-20T11:00:00.000-07:00

There is a woman named Delfina. She is a diabetic and lives in extreme poverty. Her husband has poor health as well and they have a hard time scraping together enough to eat.

Even though she is not Catholic, Fr. Mark has been helping her for the last year or so. When we go to the capital, we periodically purchase some insulin for her. Thanks to our donors, we have been able to continue to supply her with her medicine. I have watched her over the past year gain some healthy weight and looks much stronger. It is amazing to me to think of how much money we Americans spend a year trying to lose weight, yet here is a woman who doesn't have enough money just to fill out her cheek bones.

I love the fact that we help Delfina even though she is not from our parish. She lives here in town, but she is Evangelical. We do not help her because she is Catholic; we help her because we are Catholic. I remember Bishop Lenon saying that once and it has always stuck with me.

There used to be about four people a week coming by the rectory looking for a bag of food. Unfortunately, the word got out and now there are more like 24 people. It is a problem since we quickly spent all the money that was designated for hunger outreach. We have separate money for the medical needs, which are plentiful, but it is difficult to get people on the healthy road when they do not have enough to eat.

When I began VIDA Charities, the vitamin project to the school children, the idea was to help get rid of malnutrition. I am happy to say, many areas have seen a dramatic decrease in malnutrition over the past 10 years. From VIDA Charities sprung a ProLife group (ProVida) who helps get vitamins to pregnant women and the elderly. Still, there are some, like Delfina, who struggle with hunger. We do what we can.

Sometimes things seem too dire and overwhelming. How can we preach the Word of God when people have empty stomachs? Still, Jesus told us the poor will always be with us. Just because they are still poor does not give us the right to despair. If anything, this is our opportunity to shine and show God that we understand His message.

We cannot give to those who can pay us back and expect a reward in heaven. So, to all of you who have been so very generous over the many years of the Cleveland missions, may God reward you abundantly. My poor people are still poor and cannot pay you back, but that is when the spiritual benefits are the greatest. Believe me when I say we are grateful and we are praying for you. You literally extended the lives of many of my people. May God extend your lives to eternity in paradise.

A visit to my friend Franklyn

2010-08-16T15:15:00.000-07:00

I recently visited my friend Franklyn. He is a six-year old boy. I have written about him in earlier blogs. When I arrived at his house, his grandmother, who cares for him, we very grateful to see me. I was with Deacon John Travis who was visiting the missions for two weeks. We brought here some medicine for her arthritis.

As soon as he saw me, Franklyn ran out the back door. I was a little heart-broken. I thought we were friends. His grandma let me pass through the house out the back door to see where Franklyn had gone. The home is a dirt floor. Every chair and table has been pieced together like a Frankenstein puzzle. The walls are just metal and the sunlight can be seen peeking in through various holes in the roof. Nothing looks really clean. Even the pictures on the walls are just pages from magazines.

I had to duck through the entrance of the back door and watch my step. The ground was uneven. I looked up to see where Franklyn had gone, but he hadn't gone far. He was way up high in a tree picking some kind of fruit. I said, "Franklyn, come down my friend. Don't get hurt. I want to visit with you." He said, "Wait, I'm almost ready." When he finally came down, he was carrying two bags of those mysterious fruits. He gave me one and then gave the other to Deacon Travis. What a good boy.

I asked how he was doing in school. He brought me his book bag, which is ripped already. Grandma had stitched it together again. Franklyn proceeded to pull out of the bag all his notebooks. He showed me every single page in every single notebook. When it appeared he had not done his homework, I would say, "Now Franklyn, you do your homework. Your teacher expects you to do your work." On other pages, he received a ten out of ten grade. I would cheer and point it out to Deacon Travis, "Look at this! He can write the letter 'B'." Franklyn was so proud. He has learned his letters, numbers, and colors.

Last year, when I had first arrived in the missions, Franklyn was a bit savage. He didn't know how to read or write his own name. He didn't know how to play with others. He never would say "please" or "thank you." On the other hand, he was always asking for an extra sandwich for his grandma. I knew he was a good boy. With the help of donors from Cleveland, I got him into school. I am so proud of his progress.

I mentioned to his grandma about a boarding school, if her health prevents her from taking well enough care of Franklyn. Franklyn didn't like the idea. He wants to see his grandma every day, he told me. I asked her to pray about it. I'm not sure she is fit or capable of raising a little boy, but they love each other. I'll keep checking in on them.

Don Juan's Generosity

2010-07-19T20:39:00.000-07:00

Sorry it has been a while since I blogged. The internet and power in general has been on and off.

There are several men who come around the parish looking for a hand out. Most of them are dealing with a drinking problem. One man lives on the property simply because he is blind, mostly deaf, and has some mental issues. We give him a place to sleep and some food. He comes and goes as he pleases.

Because of his mental condition, I often catch him shadow boxing, fighting the demons in his head. Most people are afraid of him. His name is Don Juan. He has whole parts of the Bible memorized. Sometimes he asks me to read to him. It is amazing to see him converse with God during his highs and lows. The man in the picture is not Don Juan, but he looks something like him.

To be honest, it can be burdensome when you are rushing out the door to the next village or project only to be stopped by Don Juan. He is very sensitive and will only allow the priests to care for him, though he is not Catholic. Of course, that doesn't stop us from helping. I help him, not because he is Catholic, but because I am. We basically have to stop everything and get him some sliced hot dogs, a hard boiled egg, a tortilla, water and coffee. He always asks for an orange, if we have one. To be honest, Fr. Mark is much better with him than I am.

An older man came to the door. He was drunk. It absolutely breaks my heart to see this man stumbling and slurring his speech. This is the time of his life when he should be honored. Instead, the addiction has taken over. He asked me for some food. I told him very clearly, "You cannot come here when you are drunk. I would be happy to share a little something with you when you feel better. Do not come here drunk. There are children and teenagers. You are giving a bad example. I will help you when you sober up."

He acted as if he didn't hear me or that the words didn't make sense. He simply kept repeating, "Una tortilla, Padre." I was getting annoyed. Then, surprising me to no end, Don Juan gave the man a piece of his hot dog. I was stupefied. Here is a desperately poor man reaching out to give to another man, simply because he has something to give. It was a moment of great humility for me. Having something to share is an expression of dignity. Unfortunately, the drunk man just threw it on the ground. He didn't know what it was because most people don't eat hot dogs here. On the bright side, being blind, Don Juan didn't see what he did with the hot dog, and with a smile on his face, gave him another piece.

My heart softened. As sweetly as I could, I asked the drunk man to come back when he was feeling better. As the man left, I blessed Don Juan. From his poverty, he sacrificed for another.

Children having Children-and the women who care for them

2010-06-09T20:39:00.002-07:00

In my parish boundary, we have three different orders of Catholic nuns working with our parish: the Ursalines from Cleveland, Sr. Rose Elizabeth Terrell; the Dominicans de la Asunicinita, Hermanas Lucia, Gloria, Mary, y Gloria; and the Franciscan Sisters, Hermanas Maribel y Guadalupe.

The Franciscan sisters invited me to their mother house in Santa Tecla. It is a big city with lots of work to be done. The sisters take care of a retired priest, work on the pastoral staff of parishes in Mission territory (like us), have a clinic, a store, and more. The order is small, only 14 women, most are young novices.

About six blocks away from the Mother House, the sisters have a shelter for children who have children. They can have up to 14 teenage girls who are pregnant or are raising their infant children. All of the girls were innocent victims, almost always at the hands of their own family.

When the girls arrive at the shelter, some as young as ten years old, they are scared of everyone. They don't let you come near them. They don't speak. They just try to blend in to the background and not be noticed.

The dear Franciscan sisters and novices are so gentle and kind. Their patience seems so easy and graceful. I felt like I was in the presence of Saints. Even though I am "healthy," every one of the sisters treated me with the same kind of gentleness and love. It brings me to tears.

The young moms slowly come out of their shells as they learn how to trust Christ. They have classes to help their education and to learn how to be good mothers. The sisters feed them and shelter them. They take them to the hospital to give birth. They bring them home and show them how to nurse their little ones. They teach them basic domestic skills and put structure in their lives. On the wall is written common phrase everyone must use each day: "Excuse me" "Please," "With your permission," "Thank you," "Can I help?"

The babies are all about the same age: between two and three now. They have been living in this healthy environment all their lives. All the moms readily pick up any child that needs a hug. Two of the three year-olds amazed me with their memory. They named every sister and novice in the house and remembered my name and Fr. Mark, even an hour later, yelling out, "Adios Padre Miguel! Salud!"

The young moms were like little sisters. They were not afraid of me. In fact, they love their priest, Fr. Hector, and the dear sisters who dedicate their lives to helping them. They seemed happy and grateful. They even hugged the nuns in a way that meant more than just a casual greetings. It was like seeing a friend who saved your life. It is through these wonderful women these girls found Christ, stability, and hope.

The girls can stay in the shelter until they are 18 years old. The little ones can stay as long as the mother is still there. If they so desire, the sisters will help place the children in an adoption home. Most choose to keep their children. I admire them. It isn't easy being 18 with a five year old.

After my visit, all I want to do is more of God's work. I am so inspired! I am only one man and there is so much work to be done. How I wish I could do it all, to love God's people in every way. In the end, this is not God's plan, and God knows best. He chooses to limit me so that I may share the burden with others and they may share the joy of serving our Lord.

On his knees

2010-05-24T04:44:00.001-07:00

I have written before about the heroic work of my pastor, Fr. Mark Riley. After a year of living here in El Salvador, I continue to be inspired by his dedication to the poor and the needy.

There is a young man, Alex. He has had a troubled life and has no family. He never learned how to read. When he was younger, he was shot six times after a soccer game by people he didn't know. One of his friends was killed. Since then, he's had a lot of physical pain and ailments. He has fallen into the bad habit of medicating his pain, both emotional and physical, with alcohol. When he is doing well, he is a true joy. He is always up beat. Always helping everyone. Always waving and greeting the people. When he slips into his vice, he disappears for awhile, mostly out of shame.

Fr. Mark has helped him a great deal: taking him to the hospital, giving him pep-talks, letting him tag along for a Mass in the village, giving him some chores to do just to stay active. Sometimes we play basketball with him. Even with his wounds, he becomes a Lebron James. I am a mere pawn on his court. Awesome!

The other day, Alex came up to my truck crying. He was doubled over with pain. Apparently, he had some sort of diabetic attack. He was so scared. We prayed over him and had the ambulance take him to the hospital. He came back after a week looking much better. He needs to take his medication, which is injected. I can't stand needles. Just thinking about it now, I might pass out on my keyboaworighsprigphjiacsaierfoinj

Sorry about that. I'm up again. Fr. Mark, called the doctor, a nurse, even the States, to learn how to give an injection for diabetes. Then, he administered it. What a guy! What a priest! What a missionary!

There are so many more examples of the wonders I see Fr. Mark perform. He kneels for an entire rosary at a wake service, even turning down the pillow they offer him for his knees. He drops everything to care for the homeless blind man who comes every morning for breakfast. He walked over an hour to a community for Mass because the rains were too bad for his truck. His TRUCK! Never mind his feet. He got sick and still kept hauling water into the house when the power went out and even made me dinner. He gives up his free days and his down time to go visit a troubled family that he's been worrying about and for whom he has been praying. He apologizes quickly for a moment of impatience and is always ready to compliment the work of others.

I am truly blessed to be his associate, and we are blessed to have him in our village. May God reward him for his kindness and selfless dedication.

New Chapel

2010-05-21T18:16:00.000-07:00

The image to the right is an old chapel in the community of San Benito (St. Benedict). You may remember San Benito from other blogs. This is the community where the most beautiful girl in town was struck by lighting. It is also the community where the children lost both parents in a car accident.

As you can see, it is a small, agricultural community. The Catholic presence is strong. The Mass is packed with the faithful. There are a lot of youth who attend Mass and are actively involved in the life of the parish. Interestingly, the youth are very traditional, without having any influence of conservatism or liberalism. On their own, perhaps from the memory of their grandparents, all the girls keep their heads veiled when in Mass. Teen aged, beautiful girls! Even in my parish there are a multitude of cultures and sub-cultures. I am very impressed with how deeply devoted they are to the Eucharist and each other. They really work at being the most humble servant.

The chapel is insufficient. Six years ago, the archbishop came to visit their community. They were embarrassed that he thought their chapel needed some repair. On the other hand, it does. The earthquake in 2001 made holes in the walls. The roof is falling apart. The materials are better for making a stove than a building.

The community asked me if there was any funding to build a chapel. They all promised to chip in, mostly in labor since they are so poor. I just had mass there today and the collection was maybe $3. Even though they only have Mass once a month, they can only afford about $3. At this rate, we might have a new chapel by the time Christ returns.

This community is right next to the community of Paraiso. In fact, they share a Mass. One month we go to Paraiso, the next month we go to San Benito. Paraiso is the location of the chapel that was built in memory of my grandmother. Her picture is on the wall there. Often they want me to tell them about her. God bless you grams.

I did not promise the community anything. I simply told them I would write a blog about it and see what happens. Sometimes people feel distant from their faith because they are frustrated with the sitting in the pews and listening. They want to get out there and do something. They want to do something that will honor their loved ones and give glory to God. They want to be part of something bigger. I suppose that is why I became a priest, why people decide to have families, and why the Catholic Church is the most generous charitable institution in the world. So, if you are looking for an outlet, come down here and build a chapel. Then, come and pray in our chapel, side by side with your brothers and sisters.

Medical Brigade

2010-05-21T18:01:00.001-07:00

In April, a Medical Brigade came from St. Dominic's Parish in Cleveland. There were nurses, doctors, specialists, pharmacists, and translators.

First we went to El Zonte. We set up right by the beach. A little sandy, but a nice breeze. The second site was Cuervo Arriba, the poorest community of Chilitiupan. It was mountainous and rugged, but very well organized by the local volunteers from the health ministry.

The medicines got stopped at the border, but we managed to have enough supplies at our parish clinic of Santo Domingo in Chiltiupan to meet our needs. When the medical supplies clear customs, we will use them to restock what was used from the clinic.

Dr. William Pena is the physician at our parish clinic. He worked diligently with Dr. Barbara Williams from Cleveland to make this medical brigade possible. We are extremely grateful for their efforts.

It was back in 1999 when I first came to El Salvador. I was a translator for a medical team from Cleveland. It felt like old times as I worked again as a translator for the nurses.

There were a great number of patients. We worked hard at making sure they had medications and references for continual medical attention. God bless all of you who worked so hard in the heat.

I pray this experience of working for and with my people is spiritually and emotionally uplifting for those who had come down to Chiltiupan. I consider it a great success and consistent with our Catholic teaching to care for the whole person, body and soul.

Having a parish clinic in Chiltiupan and a parish ambulance in Teotepeque is an irreplaceable benefit to the poor people in my parish who live almost two hours away from the nearest hospital. All of this has been possible thanks to the donors and missionaries of Cleveland. I am standing on the shoulders of giants. May you all be rewarded for your great generosity. Remember what Christ told us: what you did for the least of my people, you did for me.

Sad story (Parental Warning)

2010-05-21T17:21:00.000-07:00

A little boy was killed in a car accident. It was the car in front of me. I pulled over as fast as I could. I didn't see the accident, but it must have happened 15 seconds before I got there.

A group of six men began walking toward me. I got scared that they thought I was the one who hit the child. I remembered the U.S. Ambassador's office warned us that, if we hit anyone, especially a child, DO NOT STOP! The people will kill you! That is not an expression; it's a fact. You are supposed to keep driving until you get to a police station.

I yelled over to the approaching men, "Do you need a cell phone?" They yelled back, "I just called the police. They're on the way." They were still approaching quickly. I stopped and thought about getting back into my truck. I yelled, "What happened?" They replied, "Some guy hit a boy and drove away." I figured I was safe. I approached the men and walked passed them toward the boy. They walked with me.

I ask the man at my side, "Is the family Catholic." He responded, "I don't think the child is baptized in any faith."

The little one was only two years old. He died instantly. Mom was crying over him and asking God why this happened. I knelt and prayed. I was shaking. I didn't even know what to pray. I just recited, "Jesus help us. Mary pray for us. Give us hope dear Lord." I must have prayed the Our Father twenty times. I finally spoke, "Senora, I'm a priest. Would you like me to baptize your child?" You are not supposed to baptized the dead, but I remember my professor said that people have been revised after a few minutes of being officially dead. Therefore, we really don't know when the soul leaves the body. If someone has very recently died, within the last couple of minutes, go ahead and baptize them. If we are wrong, God will understand.

I repeated my question, "Senora, I am a priest. Would you like me to baptize your child?" To my surprise, the woman looked up at me and yelled, "What sin do you think my son has!?" I wasn't expecting that. I simply responded, "I don't think your son has sin. I just want to help." She went back to crying and yelling at God. I know she was agonizing. I can't expect her in a moment like this to choose her words. She was just reacting. I wasn't much help.

This area is mostly evangelical. They have a different understanding of baptism and do not baptize their children. For them, baptism is for washing away personal sins. For Catholics, baptism makes you a member of the Church, it makes you an adopted child of God, it washes away Original Sin, and it washes away personal sin. An unbaptized child, we assume, would receive God's mercy and eternal life. Yet, we the disciples, are still bound to baptize all nations and not to prohibit the little ones to come unto Christ. It is more about our confidence in Jesus than our fear of being left out of paradise. I believe this child is on the arms of my Lord as I am writing this blog.

The police arrived. There was about five of them. By now, a substantial crowd had formed as the neighbors all came out to see what happened. It pained me to see little kids there, traumatized, like me. The police were carrying machine guns. By their stance, you could tell they were prepared to handle a mob. They were in a semi-circle, hands on their weapons.

Another car came up but stayed at a distance. It was the driver who hit the boy. He was only about twenty. He wasn't from around here. I give him a lot of credit. He turned himself in to the police in El Zonte. He could have kept driving, but he chose to do the right thing.

The father of the child came out of the house. He was devastated, as you could imagine. He saw the driver and simply made a guess based on the way the police kept him at a distance and protected him that this was the man who killed his son. Six men held him back. He was standing right next to me. I saw his eyes. He looked possessed. All he wanted to do was kill that man.

The police all prepared themselves and told the driver to go to the police station. The officer-in-charge calmed down the father and kept repeating, "I understand. I understand." The officer never took his hand off his gun and never got too close to the crowd.

I decided to leave. The crowd wants blood. I am a foreigner and a priest in another religion. It would be too easy for them to scapegoat me into becoming their victim. The Catholic parishioners who were next to me agreed that I should go, so I left.

The boy's name is Emerson. 15 seconds earlier, it could have been me driving to the police station.

Dear Lord, help this family. Help our culture seek you and not more blood. Help us look to the Sacraments not as a condemnation, but as salvation. Help me bring your comfort to my people. Amen.

Three little princesses

2010-05-11T16:13:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't sent any blogs in a while. I've had tons to share and many distractions.

There is a family of five living in a place called Aguacayo. They live in something that is little more than a cardboard box. The dad used to live in the capital, San Salvador. It is bigger than Cleveland and more like Chicago but without the same amount of financial development. He worked as a security guard. His family just didn't fit in. Everyone called them names that would be like our calling someone a "country-bumpkin." So he took his family back to the country.

Talk about having strikes against you. They both have been rejected by their family simply because everyone is so poor, they've taken on a fend-for-yourself mentality. They only recently started coming to Church because we were the only ones who seem to care about them. Maybe being so far away from the Gospel is why their family sees no reason to help each other. The wife can't read or write. She can count to ten, but can't do math, not even addition. The three girls, who I affectionately call "princesas," are always a little dirty, thin and smaller than they should be. One is about five. Another just turned three. Another is still nursing. Mom and dad are not married.

Every week I pick them up in my truck on the way to Mass. They three girls are too small to ride in the back, so I let mom and the kids sit up front. They love to point out all the flowers along the way.

What catches me about this family is the way they are family. Dad used to be a soldier in the civil war. I can't image the horrors he witnessed and maybe even committed. What I do see is a loving husband and dad. He's hugging his girls. He's helping his wife in and out of my pickup.

I love how the little girls recognize me. They sit so quietly in Mass and, when my gaze catches them, they give a big smile, like it is nice to be noticed. Mom is always upbeat despite their desperate situation. Dad is trying. It's almost time to sow the crops. Maybe he can get some work. I pray for them often. It can be hard to sleep at night thinking about them. Those little princesses don't even know they are poor. When they look up at mom and dad, their whole world seems hopeful and joy-filled.

I usually bring them a bag of food for the week. I talk to mom about keeping the kids clean. I hope we can help them get some decent housing. So many needs, so little support. God help us.

Holy Week

2010-04-13T06:32:00.001-07:00

Holy week was amazing. These people really know how to celebrate the Pascal Mystery (and exaust their priest).

On Tuesday of Holy Week, Chiltiupan put on a series of dramas depicting different times of Jesus' life. One group reenacted the calling of the Apostles. Another group reenacted the raising of Lazarus. Another group put on a play about all these characters from the Bible that were invited to Mary and Martha's house for a party. Each one was a little funny and a little rough around the edges with their flaws. It brought me to tears when Mary, the mother of Jesus, came to the party. The respect! The admiration! It seemed like she was really there.

On Holy Thursday, people dressed as the 12 apostles and I washed their feet. It was really nice. How seriously they took their roles as apostles.

That night, there was a "silent procession." They had a statue of Jesus bound and blind folded. They carried him down the street as if he was being arrested. The only sound was a drum beating, like soldiers on a march.

On Friday, the youth group acted out the Stations of the Cross. They started with the last supper and went all the way to the burial. The play took place as we walked to different stations all over the village. I got sunburned. To be honest, it was very difficult to watch Jesus be beaten. The actor actually had welts on his back after the performance.

On Friday night, a huge crowd processed for the "Santo Entierro," or the "Holy Burial." This huge "Urna" which had a glass case with a statue of the body of Jesus inside, was carried by twelve men. It must have weighed literally a ton. It was connected to a generator on wheels so that it could have lights. They procession was very slow. It lasted six hours, until 1:00 AM. I only made it two hours. It was very reverent and inspirational.

Easter Vigil was great! I went to Teotepeque. For the first time in my life, I was asked to sing the Exultet, but, of course in Spanish. I practice a million times. I had it down. Then I froze. Humbling. As if they didn't suffer enough carrying that Urna, now they had to listen to me struggle to get to the end of the song. The choir said, "There's always next year."

I personally baptized 21 and Confirmed another 5. The whole parish brought in around 45 new Catholics. This is mission territory after all.

I pray your Holy Week was equally as enriching.

Msgr. Romero

2010-03-26T17:45:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, we took a group of parishioners down to the Cathedral in the Archdiocese of San Salvador. Tens of thousands have been gathering to remember the thirtieth anniversary of the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero.

During the nations civil war in late 1970's and throughout the 1980's, the nation was devastated by murder and poverty. It is commonly spoke about as a war of the poor against the rich. Msgr. Romero did not see it that way. He saw it as brothers killing brothers. In God's eyes, we are from the same family. It is the divine will that we love, forgive, and help one another. A civil war is the opposite of that.

Even today, the name "Romero" brings strong feelings on both the politically right and left. Many of my parishioners did not want to attend the Mass because of some sort of fear it was a political statement. You do not know how much I appreciate the right to banter back and forth about anything and everything political in the United States. Here, there is still fear, resentments, and deep wounds.

The Mass was beautiful. Even the Salvadoran president was there. Cardinal McCarick, the former archbishop of Washington D.C., celebrated the Mass. There were lots of priests. It made me homesick. I'm used to watching the line of priests in St. John's Cathedral in Cleveland and naming most of them. I hardly know any of the priests here.

Msgr. Romero is in the canonization process. Both political sides claim him as their own. Yet, as much as Romero is loved and admired around the world, in El Salvador, there is still a hesitation to be considered a student of the salvadoran martyr. It saddens me. He was assassinated, basically for telling the military and the gorillas to put down their weapons and disobey any order to kill their brothers and sisters. Those who survived the war still struggle with poverty and trauma. It seems to me, they need him just as much today as they did back then. The country is still very violent and gangs are ruling the cities. Msgr. Romero, pray for us, that we might find peace and a better world for our children.

Let the burdened come unto me

2010-03-13T09:25:00.000-08:00

This morning we had a breakfast for the homeless. Most of them are alcoholics or drug addicts. Their shirts are ripped. They sold their shoes for a shot of grain alcohol. Their hair is unwashed. But their smiles were immaculate.

We had scrambled eggs mixed with hot dogs, beans and tortillas. They were in heaven. In fact, we all felt like this must be what heaven is like. There was a new dignity and a common table. All were equals, at least for a time.

I have written to you before about Tio. That's him in the picture. He was late coming and all our street people wanted to postpone the breakfast until he arrived. When he came, there was great rejoicing. He was kind and jovial and grateful.

A guitar group sang a few songs. Our charismatic leader prayed and we all knelt on the ground and called out to the Holy Spirit. They heard talks from a few of the members of Alcoholics Anonymous. Every now and then, someone would chime in with an "Amen."

One of the gentlemen, Pedro, got up and left before the food arrived. I recognize him because I called the police on him the other night. He was drunk and asking me for money and would not leave the property. I told him, "When you have been drinking, you cannot come to the parish. This is a safe place for children, the youth group, and those looking to escape the bonds of alcoholism. Come back when you feel better." To be honest, Pedro suffers from mental imbalances. I think he uses alcohol and drugs to medicate himself. He is a suffering soul, and I do care for him. At the same time, he is not the only soul under my care. I must protect the whole flock. The police helped escort him away. Now, I wondered if he left the breakfast because I was there.

Someone handed me a plate of food. I would like to sit and eat with my poor brothers, but I am the "pastor," the shepherd. And one of my lambs has wandered away. So I took my plate of food and went searching for Pedro. I went down to his favorite place near the liquor store, if you can call it that. I gave him the plate of food and a smile. Pedro said to me, "Let's go eat with the others." And we walked back to the parish. Along they way, he teased me for having and American accent. He asked for a rosary. He told me he really left because he didn't feel good. Maybe that's true, but I'm just glad he's coming back.

I few others arrived for the breakfast, just because they were hungry. My little friend Franklyn came over. He drew some pictures on a plate and told me about school. I'm so proud of him. He is much more sociable now that he is in a classroom. He even has friends.

One young mother came from San Isidro. They don't even have electricity there. Her infant son needs medical therapy because the muscles in his neck are underdeveloped. His head flops around a bit. He seems a little better. I gave them a chair and plate of food. This really is like heaven.

I found a few scapulars. I ran out to the drunks' hang out. They seemed so peaceful and satisfied with their bellies full. They were talking about going to AA and how nice the people were to them. I gave them the scapulars. They all want to come to Mass tomorrow. I told them, "It is the Lord's day. No drinking, just praying. Agreed?" And with a big smile and even a sense of confidence they agreed.

May God deliver these poor men from the bondage of their vice and may we always see in them what God sees in us. Amen.

Back from Argentina

2010-03-10T11:17:00.000-08:00

I just got back from Argentina. That's the name of a little village here, so it is not the country. I drove there. It was very remote and poor. We were beginning the vitamin project in their school. They made a big fuss, with the mayor, the health minister, the promoters, the superintendent, and the whole student body.

This is an area that doesn't have a Catholic chapel. They tend to be either protestant or unaffiliated with any faith. When we arrived, people looked suspiciously at us. It is one of the few areas in my parish boundaries where I am still a stranger.

Many of the guests of honor were late. Give me five minutes with the kids, and I'll win their hearts. I sat down on the playground. One or two came close. I did a magic trick. Ten or twelve now. I sang a song. Now I can't even count how many pairs of eyes surround me. I asked if they wanted a story. They screamed "yes" and led me to the "story telling tree." They all sat around the tree and in the branches and gave me a large rock to sit on so I could tell the story. With all my dramatic skill, I was the little boy David, AGAINST THE GIANT GOLIATH. They cheered and yelled.

The guests of honor all had speeches to give. For my speech, I told them, "I am Padre Miguel. I am a Catholic priest. This morning, the kids wanted me to tell them a Bible story. I taught them about David and Goliath. I am not just a teacher of the Bible; I am also a student. The Bible teaches me that, to be a person of faith, I must treat people with respect and care for them. 'What you do for the least of my people, you do for me.' says the Lord. The donors from the United States are good people who trust in Jesus and try to live his teachings. They wanted to give a meaningful present to their brothers and sisters in El Salvador. Vitamins help these children grow up healthy and smarter. All of us are children of God, so, really, we are like brothers and sisters. Let me show you." Then I sang a sing-along. The kids loved it.

"So you see, I want these children to know God's love. I love them because, it is in loving them that I love Jesus. Faith is not just for adults. And faith without works of charity is just a noisy gong. Therefore, this work of charity, on behalf of the Catholic Church and our parish, is our way of loving God through our care and concern for your little ones. 'Let the little ones come unto me.' says the Lord."

When it was time to leave, the kids were begging for more stories. I asked if they remembered the story of Jonah. "What ate Jonah?" I asked. One little girls said, "He ate an apple and fell asleep because it was poisoned." Close, but that is Snow White. So I told a few more. Even the parents were coming closer to hear how it ended.

There is a great need for evangelization, witnesses of faith, and more priests and lay ministers. With the two hours I gave them, they were like a desert absorbing the winter rains. Thank you all for your support and prayers. We ARE making a difference!

Visited by Space Men

2010-02-23T16:52:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday, I spent the night in the capital city of San Salvador. I have friends there. 19 years ago my family hosted exchange students from El Salvador. We were assigned brothers: Rogelio Pocasangre and Jorge Mauricio Pocasangre. My dad couldn't pronounce their names so we just called them "Paco" and "Taco."

Taco and I have remained very close over the years. He went to Mississippi State University and studied Industrial Engineering. At Thanksgiving and other vacations, we would have him come to Cleveland. I told my mom, "You bring the turkey; I'll bring the Indians."

Taco fell in love with his wife Liset when she admitted her favorite U.S. city is Cleveland. I was the priest who celebrated their wedding. "Do you, Taco... I mean J. Mauricio, take Liset...." They now have two adorable kids: Luis Emelio, 4 years old, and Lucy, 2 years old. They love when Padre Mike comes to visit. Every time I go back to the U.S., Luis wants me to bring back gum. "Padre Mike? Mi chicle?"

So, while I was in the capital, Fr. Mark was by himself in Teotepeque. He's pretty used to it, having lived here alone for three years. Nonetheless, every time a coconut falls out of the tree and hits the roof, he jumps. Then he rechecks the doors to make sure all is secure. I do the same when I'm by myself.

Sunday was especially spooking. At about 9:30 PM there was a quick but powerful BOOM! The house shook. I didn't feel a think in the capital, but all the inhabitants of Teotepeque certainly felt it. Fr. Mark called around and even the next morning tried to investigate the cause of the disturbance. Some reported a stream of clouds coming out of the ocean. Rumors were flying that the peaceful people of Guatemala fired a missile at El Salvador, or maybe a meteorite.

The mystery was solved when we read in the newspaper that the U.S. space shuttle Endeavor, could not make reentry into the Kennedy Space Center via its usual route due to the cold weather you all have been experiencing. Instead, it approached Florida from the south and flew directly over Teotepeque. Upon entering the atmosphere, it appeared and a firey comet leaving the streak of smoke. Because it broke the sound barrier, it caused a sonic boom directly over our village.

Now, my little cow herders and farmers would never believe that men from space made that big boom, but, for us in the know, it was a historic evening. I'm kind of sad I missed it.

Why don't you come to El Salvador

2010-02-19T17:21:00.000-08:00

We've had a number of visitors come from Cleveland to see our mission sites. It has been great to see them, especially Fr. John Ostrowski, "Johnny O." We had St. Christopher, Rocky River, St. Joseph Villa Angela, St. John Newmann, and a few other groups. I'm really hoping St. Raphael's will be able to come down in May.

Each group did something different. One group brought hats and markers for the grade school kids to draw their own designs. They LOVED it! One group poured a concrete floor for a house. I saw some visitors roll bread for baking. They saw presentations by the knitting club (which helps them earn a little income for their families). Fr. Mark took a group with him when he anointed a very poor and elderly person in Cacho de Oro. Sr. Rose Elizabeth is the absolute best with groups. I appreciate her so much.

The other day, I used Skype to meet with my nephew's second grade class at Holy Trinity in Avon. They had fantastic questions. It was a lot of fun. Yet another way we can share the missions with Cleveland.

I really believe that the experience of mission life was meant to be a blessing to Cleveland. I hope and pray that people, not only support the missions (while that is very important), but also enjoy the spiritual benefits of the missions. I remember one person saying, "Maybe it would be better for us not to buy the plane tickets and instead just send the money to the missions." I told him, "I disagree. I don't want your money. I want you to come down here and learn to love your brothers and sisters in El Salvador. I want you to see they are not statistics, they are flesh and blood. God could not stay in the heavens. He needed to become one of us, to touch and hug and share a meal with us. He could have just doubled the portions of blessings, but there is no great blessing than communicating, 'You are worth visiting.' It is only when you understand why we give donations that your donations have a value to us."

Perhaps there are some people in Cleveland considering becoming lay missionaries. I urge you to consider a three-year commitment. You will grow a great deal from the experience, and we could sure use the help. Talk to Fr. Steve Vellenga of the Cleveland Diocesan Mission Office if you are at least open to the possibility. Imagine if you could spend three years teaching, organizing, and praying with my people. My sister told me, "You know, you'll never be the same if you become a missionary." Well, I hope not. I hope I will become a little more the person God knows I could be. Maybe you could use a little growth as well. Something to consider.

Tons of beans

2010-02-10T16:38:00.001-08:00

Back in November, hurricane Ida hit Latin America. El Salvador received heavy flooding which caused a great deal of damage and loss of life. Thanks be to God, my parishioners were not harmed, but the bean crops failed. Beans are an important part of their diet and, for many, they depend on the crop for basic sustenance.

In response to their troubles, we organized a list of all those whose crops failed or partially failed. Thanks to the generosity of the people of St. Rita's parish and St. Barnabas parish, we were able to help subsidize the families that would otherwise go hungry or at least have an imbalanced diet.

I literally had to haul tons of beans to the various communities (12 and a half tons). The leaders helped distribute the beans according to the size of their families and the amount of crops that were lost. People are incredibly grateful.

What was most moving for me was that, when the flooding originally took place, all of our communities pitched in and donated bags and bags of corn (the crop that had been harvested already). Those donations went to San Salvador where whole neighborhoods were wiped out. It was the poor helping the poor. For exactly the same reason Clevelanders donate to El Salvador, my parishioners wanted to contribute to those who were suffering and even poorer than us.

In addition, many communities reported to me that their loss of the bean crops were not all that significant. "Father, it would be better to give the beans to the other communities, like the ones in Siberia. They need it more than we do." Because of their selflessness, we were much more able to meet the needs of those most affected.

This experience taught me how quickly we can get organized, how honest my parishioners are about their true needs, how generous my people can be, both in Cleveland and in El Salvador, and the meaning behind our giving. We don't merely give because others need. We give because we can, and that is a source of thanksgiving. We are proud and grateful for the work of our hands. When we can give to others, that does something to our dignity. It is exercised a little more. My people are not merely takers; they are blessed enough to have something worth sharing. Today they walk with their heads a little higher. That is something no one could have bestowed upon them; they had to learn it for themselves, and learn it they did.

Shoes for Tio

2010-01-26T15:01:00.000-08:00

There are several homeless men that live in Teotepeque. Each has their own story about how they ended up there. Most have an addiction to alcohol. Some are elderly and abandoned by their families. Some were not able to support their families so they left in shame and wandered to my village. There is even a woman who occasionally lives in the streets when her drinking gets away from her. You can imagine how especially dangerous that life is for a woman.

It is very disconcerting to me when I see them past out drunk, sleeping in the road. I often stop my truck and help get them at least to the sidewalk for safety sake. They frequently rob from each other. Sometimes their faces and clothing are bloody from a fight or simply a bad fall.

They all know me. I believe in the dignity of every person, though I am certain we don't always live up to that dignity. The least I can do is wave to them and offer a smile. I try not to speak with them if they have been drinking, but, in their sober moments, we sit together and talk. I have to be clear about the parameters. I may be friendly to them, but I will not give them money and they may not come to the parish rectory looking for help. We have too many kids around the church. I tell them, "Would you want your kids hanging around a drunk?" They usually say that is why they left home.

In general, they obey the rules. When someone is in violation of my rules, I simply look over at the others and they police their own. "Padre, can I have a quarter?" I look over at a gentlemen I call "Tio." He grabs the other drunk and laughs, "Don't you know that Padre never gives out money!? But, if we behave, he might bring us a tortilla, right Padre?" I smile an nod as if my first in command has done his duty.

One day, I was walking with a funeral procession to the cemetery. Tio was with us. It was a rare occasion to see him clear-headed. To my surprise, he helped the grieving family. He dug the grave with great diligence. He helped lower the casket. He covered it up again. He even helped keep a drunk family member in line. On the way back to the rectory I told him how impressed I was. I asked if it was one of his family members that died. He said, "No, I don't know them. I just figure, one day I will die and I hope someone has the decency to put me in the ground. I don't have anyone to cry for me, but maybe, in death, I can have a little honor." I was truly touched. I said a prayer for him and promised, if I'm still here, he will have a Christian burial.

I noticed that the men have no shoes or their shoes are falling apart. Their feet are calloused, bleeding, and infected. I decided to get some of the men some cheap shoes. I'm afraid to get them good shoes because they will sell them so as to drink. Every time I saw them, they asked when they were getting their shoes. Finally, I found the perfect store. $5 a pair. Some were grateful. Some were upset they were not the more expensive kind. The very next morning, I saw one of the men who had complained about his shoes. He was barefoot again. I asked where his shoes were. He responded, "Umm... I fell down again, Padre (fell off the wagon). When I was passed out drunk, someone stole my shoes." Well, it was worth a try.

Vitamins

2010-01-14T13:02:00.000-08:00

My involvement with El Salvador begins in 1999. I was a seminarian and came to visit our Cleveland Mission Sites. I spoke some Spanish, so I translated for a medical team who was also visiting from Cleveland. It was through that experience that I realized, for the first time, the true extent of poverty.

When I returned to the U.S., the images of the sick people living in mud huts haunted me. I had to do something. I inquired of the medical team for whom I translated what they would suggest is the greatest need for the people we served. They listed three: Education, clean water, and a balanced diet. I had my commitments in Cleveland so I couldn't very well dedicate time to teaching. I don't know anything about water systems. But, when it comes to a balanced diet, I thought of a way to help. What about vitamins?

I began VIDA Charities, under the umbrella of the Cleveland Mission Office. The plan was to get funding from Cleveland donations, purchase multi-vitamin supplements, and distribute them in the grade schools of the communities where our missionaries work. The hope is that the vitamins will help balance the children's diets, motivate them to go to school, and improve the general health and education of the population.

It was a lot of trial and error and more headaches than I care to recall, but we got it working. We have officially begun the tenth year of consistent vitamins distributed to the schools in our mission sites. The health minister says it has made a huge difference in weight, height, and the ability to fight disease.

It costs about $15,000 a year. The vitamins are purchased in El Salvador. That helps us stay consistent with the type of vitamins and it helps us avoid the endless papers that have to be filled out when importing pills.

I want to thank all of you who have supported this projects all these years. Your generosity has made a big difference in the lives of my parishioners, and a big difference in my life as well. I especially want to thank my parents, the Knights of Columbus, and the good people of St. Charles Borromeo parish in Parma. Since the begining, your generosity has allowed me to focus my energies on the day to day activity rather than worrying about where we would get the money.

I especially want to thank Don Lito. He lives in my village of Teotepeque. He is the engine that makes VIDA Charities run. He purchases the vitamins, oversees the distribution, coordinates with the local health officials, and even does a bachleoriate speech at the graduation of the school because of his work with VIDA Charities.

God bless you all and God bless the poor. Who knows?, perhaps the next great mind of the 21st century is here in our schools, developing his or her mind with the help our vitamins, waiting for the chance to change the world for the better.

Inspired by the Holy Spirit

2010-01-07T11:19:00.000-08:00

There was a terrible car accident. As is common around here, there were thirty passengers in the back of an old, beat-up pick-up truck. The breaks went out. The truck flipped. Seven have died, 23 in the hospital. Soooooo sad.

I had the funeral for the last victim. He was a father of seven. His wife and one daughter were also killed. The other six children are now orphaned. The oldest is 18. The youngest is about 6.

At the funeral, I asked the surviving children to raise their hands and identify themselves. Then I asked all the relatives to raise their hands. Then the neighbors. Then the Catholics. Then those who believe and follow Christ. At that point, my homily slipped away, and I was carried by the Holy Spirit. It doesn't happen often, but I knew these were not my words any more.

"You who have been baptized, you have received eternal life. Those who have died depend on Christ to fulfill that promise he gave them on the day they became sons and daughters of the One True God. On that same day, you made a promise to follow the way of the Lord. Just as you expect God to fulfill His promise, so God expects you to fulfill your promise. I am calling you to do what you promised to do. Our faith is not just words repeated in desperation. It is living, active, and dynamic. These children have lost their sister and both parents, but they are not abandoned. God sends you to them. You can never be their dad or their mom, but you can be the hand of the Holy One providing them with food, protection, guidance, comfort, counsel, and most of all, love. Who will provide for them the food they need?" I waited for a response. Nothing. "I am not here to entertain you. I am here as God's representative demanding that you live your faith! Who will provide for these children?!"

An uncle yelled out, "I will!"

I responded, "And I will too. Whatever you need to fulfill this promise, I will gladly contribute." Then I turned to the rest of the crowd. "And who else will provide these children with love, protection, guidance, and counsel?!" No one spoke up. "I am calling you to answer. Answer to God. Is your answer nothing?! Is your answer NO!? Will you say the words of a believer only to prove to be a hypocrite? Or will you vow your support to these children!?" I could see on a few face that they looked like they were about to shout out their support, but most tried not to make eye-contact.

"I am not talking about 'if the occasion comes up, I would help.' The occasion is upon us. This is the moment. You are staring at the face of the wounded Jesus and he is reaching his hand out to you, pleading for help. Will you pass by and do nothing?! Remember, just as easily, tomorrow you may have an accident and it may be your children orphaned. You will be standing before the Throne of God, and He will ask you, 'When I called you to be my hands in the world, did you obey? Were you truly a disciple? Do I recognize your faith by the way you lived your life?' And you will know, without a doubt, that God is talking about this day! Not some general pretty thought, but the commitment God calls you to on this very afternoon!"

I let them sit in silence for a time while I stared at the crowd with sadness. I turned to the children, "I will help." I turned to the uncle, "I know you will help, but you need support too. I will help." Then I turned to the crowd and I said, "Are we alone?" Someone shouted, "No, Father. I will help!" I continued, "And who else?" "I will help!" "I will help!" Not everyone responded, but enough.

I spoke sternly, "Don't you dare say the words if you are not sincere. If you promise, make good on that promise, like Christ makes good on his promise. I am trusting you to be there when they need you, and they need you today."

I turned to the children, especially the eldest and said, "You are not abandoned. Do you here their voices, the voices of those who vow their support? Your mom and dad are looking down from heaven and will always be there for you. Make them proud. We can never replace them, but what we can do, we will do, in fulfillment of our baptismal promises and the command of our Lord. I know you are scared, but know that you are not alone. We are here with you." I turned to the crowd and said, "AMEN!?" And they shouted, "AMEN!"

Where did that come from!!?? It had to be the Holy Spirit.

Critters not welcome

2009-12-31T07:25:00.000-08:00

The winds are picking up. They call them the Nortes. They also tell me that this is the time when the critters decide to come into the homes. Great...

We have a dog, Oso. Oso is getting up there in age. He's partial blind and mostly deaf. I have a running joke around here that Oso must be angry with me. He never listens to me, and he never speaks to me.

I used to think of dogs as being more cute pets. Our dog is a hunter. It finds scorpions, mice, even crickets. He cleans the house and keeps us safe.

Fr. Mark knew there was a cricket in the house. If we say, "Raton," which really means "mouse," Oso will go on high alert.

"Oso, Raton!." Nothing. Just that bored look on his face. A little louder perhaps. "RATON!" Nothing. Fr. Mark gets down on his hands and knees and leans over our deaf dog and shouts in his ear, "RAATOOON!" Oso rolled over as if all he heard was little-sweet-nothings in his ear. I'm sure he was thinking as he waited for someone to rub his belly, "I love you, too." Then, as if he had time to think about it, he jumps to his feet. "Wait, did someone say 'Raton'?" Off he goes on another successful hunt.

Fr. Mark got me a fake snake for Christmas (among other things). It is a big hit with the kids. It always shocks me that their first reaction is flinch, like any of us who think we see a snake. Their second reaction is a bit different then mine. The locals go into attack mode and attempt to kill the snake. I would be running if one of the poisonous snakes from around here came near me, but even the little girls try to step on its head.

There are some strange animals living over my ceiling tiles in my bedroom. They squeak. Sr. Maribel asked, "Does it sound something like this...?" She proceeded to squeak exactly like the noises I hear. So of course I accused her of hiding in my ceiling. "Seriously, Sister, you have to stop hiding there. Go home. I can't sleep with all your squeaking." Unfortunately, I don't think it was a holy nun up there. I think they are bats or lizards. Neither one makes me feel any better.

Best Christmas Present Ever

2009-12-24T14:42:00.000-08:00

I knew that my mom was going to have her last chemo therapy treatment on December 24th. I arranged to have yellow roses sent to her the day before. I was hiking back from Mass in San Pedro, a community without electricity, when I got a call on my cell phone telling me she received the flowers. She was nervous because they were going to do some tests to see how things are progressing. If it wasn't going well, they would have to do radiation treatments as well. She tried to convince the doctor that a tanning booth is virtually the same thing, but no go.

She called me as soon as she got home from the doctor. She was given the good news that she will not need to do radiation treatments. As far as they can tell, she is cancer-free. Thank you God!

I'm about to give a Christmas homily. I can't tell you how relieved and happy I am about my mom. I'm not really sure how to contain myself so that we can get through the Mass. Maybe I'll just let it out. Why not? Isn't Christmas about the great present of life; the newborn life of Jesus and the eternal life He won for us?

Just a side note. San Pedro usually only has about a dozen people come to Mass. Because we have Mass in the morning during the week, there are usually no children there. They are all on Christmas break so yesterday there were 25 kids there. I asked them about Christmas, but they didn't seem to know anything. I preached a dramatic interpretation of Isaiah, the Angel Gabriel, Joseph, Mary, No room in the Inn, and shepherds and kings. After Mass, I read from the Children's Bible. They were flocked around me. As I walked to the house of Rosa, the sick girl to whom I bring Communion, about eight kids went with me, holding my hand, singing the Gloria song, telling me all kinds of things, inviting me to their houses to play. It was like out of a movie. It really felt like a missionary reaching out to the hearts of a generation who is so eager and excited to learn. It was awesome. Not quite as awesome as "cancer-free," but still pretty good.

Cinderella

2009-12-16T13:21:00.001-08:00

I was in Santa Lucia for their feast day. The road to Santa Lucia changes as you go. It starts as pavement. Then it becomes cobblestone. Then it becomes gravel. Then it becomes a dirt road. Then it becomes an incredibly bumpy road. I renamed my truck "Lucero," which is like calling your horse "Lightning."

Since it was their feast day, they wanted to also have their First Communions. There were only four of them, but they were dressed up, just like First Communion in the U.S.

I arrived early. I found my usual spot behind the church so I could hear confessions. Usually I have a line of people, but because of the feast day preparations, there was no one waiting. As often happens, the children seek me out. When I was newly ordained, I learned that I had a gift to draw children, like the piper draws the mice. Here in El Salvador, it is the same.

I turned my chair around and saw four shy girls staring at me. I'd have to shew them away if there were confessions but, given the current circumstances, why don't I tell them a story. "Have any of you ever heard of Cinderella?" They looked at each other and shook their heads "no." I began to tell the story the best that I could. I kept coming across words that I had to creatively adapt due to my lack of vocabulary, but the basic message was there.

When I got to the part of the fairy godmother, I turned to my side and in a tree next to me there must have been at least eight children; hanging from every branch and on every word I said. Behind me there was at least a dozen more, all gathered around the priest to find out if this story has a happy ending.

As Cinderella's foot slides into the slipper, everyone starts laughing, as if they just knew it was going to work out. It truly was a magical moment.

"I have many many more stories to tell. I have a Children's Bible with pictures. You thought Cinderella was cool? You ain't seen nothing yet! Wait till I tell you about Moses, Goliath, Jonah, Bethlehem, and the empty tomb!"

Lot's of work ahead of me, but it's all good.

Flaming Bulls

2009-12-10T14:47:00.000-08:00

Remember last time you celebrated the Immaculate Conception. Actually, you probably don't. Americans seem to treat this holy day of obligation as just one more thing I forgot about and have to confess. Well, this year was different.

Fireworks starting at 4:00 AM... every day for nine days leading up to the feast. And I mean the big ones that splash the sky with colors. Processions with men struggling to carry a huge stand on which sits a statue of the Virgin. Decorations galore. How about a cow? Let's raffle off a cow and see if we can't make a little money to repair the cracked floor. She might moo a few times during the Mass, and the gringo priests might laugh every time, but it is pretty normal around here.

One more thing, what if you could combine the cow with the fireworks? Now that would be a sight to see, and I have seen it. They made a stick figure of a cow, like those dragons on Chinese New Year, and someone wears it like a costume. Connected to the figure are all kinds of fire works, hissing and shooting into the crowd. He runs around chasing any brave souls who wanders into the night, while everybody ducks for cover as the fireworks let loose and explode with a big bang. Talk about culture shock! I asked the person next to me if the fire department was on hand. They said, "Don't be silly, Father. We don't have a fire department. We don't even have pressurized water." We laughed, but inside I was crying.

There is no homily I could have mustered that could compete with all the distractions. So we mostly just yelled out "Que viva la Virgen!... Que viva!" It was a blast (literally). I have never seen Fr. Mark having so much fun as when he was running from the flaming bull. He's a lot quicker than he looks.

It also happened to be Fr. Mark Riley's birthday. They serenaded him at 5:00 AM and the youth group surprised him by acting out a play for him. Cake all three meals. What a day!

Well, I'm sure your Immaculate Conception was just as delightful. If not, at least you were safe. There's always next year.

Advent is for waiting

2009-11-30T08:38:00.000-08:00

I returned to Cleveland for a couple of weeks to visit my family at Thanksgiving time, as well as my dear friends at St. Raphael. They were all so supportive and loving. I miss them very much. It was great to see them. Little James Soltis ran over to me and yelled out, "I missed you sooo much!" He was so sincere. "I miss you too."

As I went to the airport, it started to snow. Besides the usual worries about flight delays, I was a little sad. What will Christmas be this year in Central America? Every day is around 90 degrees. The heat doesn't usually bother me, but it can be exhausting and a constant reminder that I'm not in Cleveland anymore. I never thought I would ever miss Cleveland weather.

On the other hand, the churches have advent wreaths. Some people have Christmas lights (usually just one strand hanging of a humble home). I hear we are going to have a manger scene. I have no idea about a Christmas tree. Fr. Mark told me that the Franciscan Sisters will come over and we will make the best of it. They are really a lot of fun.

My mom will have her last chemo therapy treatment on the 24th of December. That makes for a rough Christmas, but a very happy New Year. It was great to see her these last couple of weeks. She looks surprisingly well. I, of course, got a head cold stepping off the airplane in Cleveland which never stopped me from accomplishing my mission, but it did limit the time I could be with my mom. She's a strong, prayerful woman. I suppose this is just one more victory for her life. What a witness to faith!

There is a ton of work to be done, as usual, in El Salvador. There is never a boring day, so it's back to doing what I was sent to do. God bless you all.

Calming the Storm

2009-11-14T16:09:00.000-08:00

Hurricane Ida past through the Caribbean last week. El Salvador was not directly hit, but the mountains here caught the stormclouds. As a result, it rained for an extended period of time. Some of the river banks began to overflow and mudslides were everywhere. The death toll rose to over 160 with about 30 still missing.

Running out of a meeting, I was handed a cell phone. They told me it was the national radio station and they wanted to put me on the air. "Here we have Padre Miguel from Chiltiupan. Tell us, Padre, what is the status of your parishioners?" Wow! Talk about being put on the spot.

"Thanks be to God, the parishioners of Chiltiupan, Teotepeque, and Mizata have not reported any death or injury due to the rains. The roads have been cleared of the mudslides. At the same time, there was a tremendous amount of damage done to the crops, especially the beans. It may not seem like an emergency, but that is only because it is not an immediate concern. We still have reserves from the last corn season. I know that there will be a great deal of concern for the victims of the rains who suffer the immediate effects, but the long-term damage will probably mean we will be dealing with hunger throughout my parish; not today, not next week, but in about a month. My parishioners live off the land. When the land doesn't produce, they do not have the luxury of getting food from any store. I hope and pray that, as help appropriately arrives for those who are currently in dire need, those who will suffer from the long-term consequences will not be forgotten in the months ahead."

We are organizing my parishioners through our Obras de Caridad (St. Vincent de Paul Society). I cannot tell you how much it means to my parishioners that we understand their concern and that we are preparing for their needs. We are not sure from where the food and resource will come, but, as they come, we will be ready to get them to whomever needs them most.

On the flip side, I was utterly impressed with the selflessness of my dear, poor parishioners. We've loaded up probably five or six trucks full of rice, corn and beans, harvested early, just to take to the city where most of the victims had lost their lives and homes. My parishioners wanted to help. "You need food?! We grow food?!" And they gave and they gave, without counting the cost. I am truly humbled! What homily could I possibly have to offer that would compare with their living testimony?! I am a sinner preaching to saints.

Communion Calls

2009-11-06T05:47:00.000-08:00

I try as best as I can to be attentive to the elderly, especially the home bound. Sometimes someone will ask for the priest to come out and anoint their grandfather. They live about an hour and a half away in a place with no roads and it is raining heavily. It breaks my heart when we simply cannot go there. It is too dangerous. We have to wait for the roads to dry up.

Other times they are not so far away. Yesterday I went to the homes of about five communion calls. Some people have children who live in the United States and send money home to their little gray-haired mother. Their homes are very nice and usually have someone to look after them. Other homes are more humble, but the elderly person lives with a daughter or a son. Living with an extended family is not uncommon here. It is a poor home, but it is lively. There are chicks chirping and ducklings waddling. A dog lays next to the door and won't move until the little old lady grabs the broom to swat at him. Children galore are crawling all over and everyone is helping their grandma or grandpa.

Unfortunately, it is not uncommon for me to find an elderly man or woman who has been abandoned. They have children, sometimes even living in the States, but they have shunned the responsibility to care for their dad or their mom. The older person often weeps bitterly with me as they tell me about their children who haven't come to visit them for years. They live with a dirt floor, sticks for a wall, mud in the gaps. They eat hardly nothing since they are too weak to walk. One man lives under a bag supported by what looks to me like firewood. Their cloths are filthy. Their faces are dirty. They are not like little cute children that everyone wants to pick up. Yet, for us Catholics, they are just as precious.

Some might say, "Father, why don't you help that poor man?!" He is only one of hundreds in my parish. I honestly love them. We are organizing and looking for solutions. Sometimes we contact their family. Our youth group built a humble home for one man. Imagine your youth group being asked to build a home for someone. It was a great improvement. The poor souls we have recently found are now being brought food when the parish brings them Holy Communion. What we really need is a nursing home.

I think about my Grandma Cook. She lived with my uncle and aunt Fergus. Every time I visited, she was always so clean. Her clothing was adorable. Her earrings were always sparkly. Her hair was always done up so nicely. I can picture her in their living room in this big comfy chair next to a fireplace with a 20-foot high ceiling. Her grandchildren were always fussing over her, getting her something to drink, giving her kisses, finding her another blanket. She was surround by all the entertainment systems and gadgets you could imagine, but she was perfectly content thumbing her rosary, praying for us. Happy as could be, she died a peaceful, well-loved woman. A million times over, we should thank my aunt and uncle for all they did for her. May God bless all of you who care for an elderly person. They are not a burden. They ARE the blessing.

Nothing like an Education

2009-10-30T13:43:00.000-07:00

I believe it was St. Francis Xavier who reflected on the fact that, the more he tried to live as poor as the ordinary people of his parish, the more glaring it became of the depths of their poverty. Francis Xavier was an educated man with faith. Take away every last earthly possession, and he would still be the wealthiest man in the village.

I haven't thanked my dad enough for all that he sacrificed so that all his children would have a college degree. My dad was extremely prayerful when he paid for our education. Every tuition bill was met with my dad yelling out, "JESUS CHRIST!" Ah... nothing like prayer in the home. But, honestly, he was very spiritual about it. It was his philosophy (or theology) that dad provided for his children like God provided for humanity. Thus the title father, which mirrors The Father. There was more to it than that. My dad really believed in us and knew that, if we were given the tools, we would succeed. That means a lot for a son or daughter to know that someone believes in your potential. An education is the key unlocking that potential.

When you don't have an education, you can look like a fool at times. One rough and tough man here in El Salvador, had on a pink, sparkly shirt that read in English, "Daddy's little Princess." I wasn't going to say anything to a strong guy like that.

A respectable elder of one of the communities stood and preached to the crowd with authority... and with a shirt with an arrow pointing to the side that read, "I'm with stupid". You have to be understanding. It is in English and no one knows what it says. Still, I made sure I remained on his other side.

The vast majority of my parishioners will never learn how to drive. I tell them, "That's O.K. I don't know how to ride a horse."

A very large percentage do not know how to read. That's not O.K.

One of the leaders of the community of Chiquileca began doing the announcements at the end of Mass. It turned into a sermon, and it was GOOD! He was such a powerful speaker with examples and expressions and humor. I wanted to be a better Catholic! Then he started reading the monthly parish bulletin. He really struggled with the words, sounding out each syllable. At one moment, he was a giant swaying the hearts of a generation. The next moment, he was a humble farmer in a village on some unmarked mountain ridge.

He spoke up at the end of the announcements, addressing his comments specifically to the youth. "You look at me as a man with great potential to lead. I am your leader, and I will lead you to God and to your hearts deepest desire. But, do not make the mistake I made. Do not take for granted your chance to learn how to read. I cannot tell you how many doors have been closed in my face simply because I was rebellious as a youth and did not value my education. I regret it. It is the one regret of my life. My daughter has taught me the little I have learned. She is here today, and I thank you. It means more to my dignity than I can every explain to you. I will learn how to read. But it is harder when you are older. You, the young in school, don't you dare take it for granted. There is a world waiting to share ideas with you. But they will never hear your brilliant ideas if you don't learn how to access the most basic literacy. I am your leader, and I promise you that, if you don't take advantage of the chance you have now, to learn how to read and write, numbers and history, science and geography, you will regret it for the rest or your lives."

Then he opened his Bible and flipped a few pages. With tears in his eyes, and looking at his daughter, he slowly and deliberately said, "I will learn how to read."

The Honeymoon is Over

2009-10-22T16:10:00.000-07:00

We had a specialist speak to our mission team about "transitions." Apparently change is a reality of life, but transition is the way we internalize it. You start out thinking everything is so new and exciting. That's the honeymoon stage. It is a bit euphoric with all the potential future ahead of you. Then, routine kicks in. What goes up must come down. Ouch!

Mom went for her first chemo treatment today. I've been thinking about her all week. It's hard being far away. So I try to think, if it was me who needed the treatments, what would mom do for me? She'd offer up all her woes as a prayer for my benefit. Every little inconvenience would become a prayer. Well, I've be storming heaven with prayers this week.

My "honeymoon stage" officially ended on Sunday. I became violently ill. Apparently when people tell you that you cannot eat the same food as the locals, they weren't kidding! Dr. Ferguson hooked me up with some medication and, though I'm a bit groggy, we're back to work as usual. Yet, usual isn't always that easy.

I've had my truck stuck in the mud twice, hiked an hour down the wrong path, scaled up the mountain in the rain, covered in mud. Twice I had dogs chase me. (The trick is to act like you are picking up a rock and the dogs run away. A little something one of the locals taught me.) I had a little space-air conditioner in my bedroom. A little comfort after a hard day. Well, the electric storm fried it. Oh well. A little more Franciscan this week.

Still, with all the woes offered up for mom, it is a wonderful place to work. I was driving back from the feast of St. Ursula (don't ask) in Jicalapa. The back of my pickup was filled with parishioners. As we drove back to Teotepeque, we went around the curve and there was no lights anywhere. No homes or street lights. If it wasn't for my headlights, I bet you couldn't even see your hand in front of your face. That would be kind of scary, wouldn't it. So, of course, I turned of my headlights... And they all screamed in the back of my truck! The young mother in the passenger seat was laughing so hard, I thought she'd hyperventilate. A few more times I flipped off the lights. It was especially great when the men started yelling, "Here comes the cemetary, Padre! Quita la luz!" And all the girls yelled, "NOOOOO!" As we came in to the village, I can only imagine the neighbors saying, "Here come those rowdy Catholics again. Always yelling and laughing, making noise." Yup. That's us.

So mom, I'm praying for you with my woes, but don't be too worried about me. I'm just fine with my peeps in the back of the truck. I love you.

The Conversion of the Youth

2009-10-10T06:50:00.000-07:00

There is a parish ministry here called Evangelization. It is very well organized. There is a retreat/ training day for those who become evangelizers. They pair up with anyone who wants to go with them. Then they go to a different village one day a month. At the village, we pair up again with guides who know the area and which homes could benefit from a visit. We visit Catholics, fall-away Catholics, and Protestants. It gives us a chance to pray with them, invite them to the Sacraments, and just share a bit of our own faith.

In September there were sixty of us visiting Mizata. Each little group went to three or four homes in the morning, which adds up to about 50 or so homes, maybe 250 people visited. I noticed that, of the sixty evangelizers, about forty of them were under the age of twenty.

In my group was a 13 year old boy. He had been to the workshop and was very well prepared. We went to a home and we read Sacred Scripture. The family we visited was happy to welcome us. They were Catholics, but only practiced on the feast days.

The 13 year old boy told his life witness. "I am just a boy, but when I was even younger, maybe five years old, I was very bad behaved. I joined a group a the church called Children Missionaries. Now I'm a good boy. I know the Bible. I love Jesus. And I respect others." It was adorable to hear his witness. I commented to the woman that even our youth are on fire with the faith. Imagine what God would like to offer your family. "You are all invited to the parish and the mystery of deeper conversion."

The 13 year-old boy is much more mature than his age. He is raised by his grandma since his mom died. He doesn't know his dad. I told him I was proud of him and that he has a gift. I told him he had to wait until he is 18 before he can go to the seminary. Be patient.

The boy had asked permission to skip school to do this evangelization. Could you imagine a teacher giving and American student permission? He asked if he could go the next morning with me to Mass at a near by village. I felt like Bing Crosby (or maybe Gandolf) as I place my hand on his shoulder and smiled. "You will serve God better if you go to school. You have so much to offer, but you must unlock your potential. Study hard and we will have many more adventures to come."

Yesterday I was eating lunch and someone was outside our window walking on his hands. It was the young boy trying to catch my attention. He said he came to town after school to sell some goods, as instructed by his grandma, but there were some "bad guys" out there in the street. He felt safer on the church property. I told he to stay as long as he likes.

The Witness of a Farmer

2009-10-09T17:25:00.000-07:00

One gentlemen joined us for Mass. I had some time before the opening hymn would begin and we were chatting. He mentioned to me a conversation he had with his brother that morning. He said, "Father, when I hear the bells ring, I go to Mass. I put down my cuna (machete) and told my brother I was going up to the church. He was working with me that morning, but he understood why I needed to go. He noded his head in approval.

"You see, Father, my son was very ill for three years when he was just a boy. My friends told me not to take any pictures of my boy. They said, if he dies, you won't want to remember him as being sick. His skin was very bad, Father, but I took the picture anyway. I told them that I knew God would heal him and that, one day, I would look at that picture to remind me of what God did for my son. I went on a holy retreat. When I came home, he was cured. He's nine now. He's handsome, like his dad. When you come out to my community in the valley, I'll show you his picture and you can see what God did for him. So that is why, when I hear the bells, no matter what I am doing, I'm going to Mass, and my brother understands."

So many times in my youth I went to Mass because it was an obligation. If I had anything else I could be doing that Sunday morning, I usually gave myself the excuse to skip Mass. This man reminds me that Mass is a thanksgiving. We have so much to be grateful for and every reason in the world to come to the Mass. God's healing touch is upon my mother. My vocation is solid. The mountain view is magnificent, and I have my dear friends reading this blog with a sincere care for my parishioners. That is why, when I hear the bell, I'm going to Mass.

Coolest Kid Ever

2009-10-03T14:08:00.000-07:00

We had a party in the youth center. Lots of kids came. Things are a little less controlled here. Lots of people just show up, regardless if they are invited or even members of the parish. But, we try to be welcoming. While one activity is going on, there are always lots of side events where people gather to talk.

I noticed one side group of young boys and girls huddled around some sort of activity. As I approached, I realized there were about four boys break dancing. The youngest is Adan. He's nine or ten. As a came up to the circle, everyone got quiet and the dancing stopped. They looked like they were just caught stealing. I said, "Show me what you got." All the kids cheered as if I had just given permission to start summer vacation or something.

All the boys were impressive, but Adan really caught my attention. Flipping over backward on one and spinning on his head, the crowd was amazed. We talked, "Where did you learn that!" I asked.

"My brother. He's really good at dancing and he taught me a few things."

One of the boys asked me, "Is break dancing a sin?" He was so sincere. All the eyes turned to me and you could hear a pin drop. Now, to fill you in on a little culture shock, people are very strange about sin here. I suppose we would seem strange to them too. For some reason, they think that dancing, smoking, and playing soccer are the most serious public sins. I suppose I could understand smoking, but the other two categories are a stretch. You see, they associate dancing with dirty dancing. But, instead for realizing the problem is with the overly sexual expression, they think the problem is the dancing. Often the guys play soccer on Sunday instead of going to Mass, but, they think the problem is that they are playing soccer, not that they are missing Mass.

Anyway, I had the great opportunity to teach them about the day the break dancer came to show Pope John Paul II their moves. I actually found it on the internet and showed a few of the kids as the professionals threw their legs around and impressed the Pope. He is quoted as having said, "You have a wonderful gift and have developed your talents well. How more excellent it is that you offer this gift to God as a tribute to His glory!"

Adan was all excited that his gift could be used for God and the Church. He doesn't have a telephone so his friend Gabby gave me her number. She's maybe 11. She says she'll be his agent. "For now, come to Mass. You never know when I might need to call upon you and your skills."

I see Adan and his buddies at Mass all the time. I've had them dance for the kids a few times. It's good to know someone appreciates your work.

I don't know my birthday

2009-09-27T06:06:00.000-07:00

Franklyn is a little seven-year-old who comes by from time to time. At least he thinks he is seven. I asked him when is birthday is and he said, "I don't know."
"Well then, how do you know that you are seven? Did your mom tell you?"
"No. She lives far away. Over there. I don't see her." I later found out that his mom was a prostitute and a drug addict. Lot's of people were angry with her for messing with their marriages. I never met her. She has two children. No one I talked to knew where the daughter was. When Franklyn said she was far away, she was only a few villages away, but emotionally very distant.
"Did your dad tell you that you are seven?"
"No. I don't know him. I think he is a superhero living in the United States, but I don't know what he looks like."
"Well then, who says you are seven?"
"I say so. It's my age. Can't I just say I'm seven?"
"O.K. So you are seven. Who takes care of you?"
"Grandma."
Franklyn ran over to the parish house and soon returned with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a gift from Fr. Mark. He was so happy to share his gift. He handed one to his grandma and explained where it came from. She tossed it on the table as if upset with him. She never said a word. She just stared him down until he walked away brokenhearted. Perhaps she was embarrassed that he went begging. Perhaps she was just tired and maybe a little resentful that things worked out the way they did. Whatever the reason, I wanted to cry when Franklyn slowly slinked away from his grandma carrying his sandwich. He was so sad.
"Franklyn, what do you got there?" I tried to act excited.
"Fr. Mark gave me a sandwich."
"WOW! You are so luck. You are a good boy. You are always polite and you listen and you are good at soccer and you never hit anybody."
He was so excited at the compliments, he jumped up from the bench and said, "And look what else I can do!" With that he proceed to do somersaults. I acted amazed.
He really is a good boy. As I was driving to one of the villages, I passed his house and he was out front. I slowed down and waved enthusiastically to him as if I was so surprised to see him. He was absolutely star-struck. I can picture his wide-eyes stare with is mouth open, amazed that the Padre would slow down just to greet him.
Franklyn is only one of many who seem to slip through the cracks of broken families. I invited him to come to the Infancia Misionera, which is like Bible School with activities. He asked me if the other kids would let him in to their club. I said, "Tell them you're my friend and I send you." He smiled.

A cloudy view

2009-09-16T16:59:00.000-07:00

The roof of my rectory is perfect for saying my morning prayers. Every morning is a different view. I wake up between 5:00 and 6:00 AM. The sunrise causes the dew to glisten across the valley. The two mountain ranges lead all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Every day, the clouds and fog is different. On a clear day, I can see the waves. At night I can see the lighting strike the surface as a storm rolls in from a distance. There are all kinds of animal and bird sounds. The roosters are the loudest. You think I wake up at 5:00 AM by my own free will?!

As I stare at the green forest, I can't help but remember, tucked under all those branches, there are hundreds of homes. Places with no road access, dirt floors, some with no electricity. I see the children all the time as they walk to school. They just look like all children in their uniforms. You'd never guess just how poor they are. But, I guess "poor" is a relative term. When none of the kids watched TV last night, you don't really feel left out.

I marvel at those magnificent generations who had gone before us. They learned how to build a better home, how to land on the moon, how to microwave your dinner. They have given my generation a great freedom to choose in what way we want to live out our lives.

On the one hand, the Salvadorans depend much more on God and each other for their daily living. On the other hand, how many of these intelligent, hard-working men and women could be doctors, scientists, and authors if only they knew their potential; if only they could get the education and the models that you and I can see every day?

There is great dignity in spending a hot, 10-hour day in the corn field. But, there is also dignity in learning how to read, how to build an engine, how to run a factory, how to predict global markets. Wealth is not having more money, but having more options to develop your skills and contribute to the well being of your family and society. I see a great deal of poverty. So many are not working, not by choice, but by circumstance. So many are stealing from each other because they are hungry. So many dream of having some outlet to show the world that they have something great to offer.

I was sent here to teach about Jesus Christ, administer the Sacraments, and uphold the human soul. I believe that Jesus teaches us a better way to live, the Church teaches us how to apply such teachings, and the Sacraments empower us to live out those principles. All of this so that we can live up to our original design: to reflect the image of God in a way that no other creature can do. I believe it takes sacrifice, like the sacrifice of the cross, in order for us to contribute meaningfully to the world, allowing others to see God's design, understand their potentials, and lift up the soul toward its ultimate goal. I believe that, in teaching about God, I will help these good people focus and learn the meaning of their sacrifice and pave the way for the next generation to be even more free in their ability to choose their careers, and reflect the image of God through that work. I think that is part of the beauty of our faith: It allows us to see how we are interwoven as a people and how, both our virtues and our vices, effects every other person.

I also believe that I have lived in a generation that did not need to sacrifice very much. As a result, we often feel we have less to offer. But, it is not too late. Let us dig deep and choose careers that reflect the cross and contribute to the greater human family and a deepen our experience of what it means to live for others. I'm not talking random sacrifices, but meaningful ones. And the missions are teaching me what that means. I have a front row seat to a great deal of daily sacrifices. I also pray that, from this view on my roof top, I will see the fruits of our labors and witness the Son rise over my people in the valley.

Some Man at the Bus Stop

2009-09-09T18:51:00.000-07:00

Last week Fr. Mark and I were heading over to the Capital. At the intersection of the road that leads to our village and the main road I noticed the police. One of the officers was asking people questions. We pulled over. It was only when we stopped that I realized there was a body laying in a most unnatural way over the bench of the bus stop. The body was dusty and grey and actually blended into the background. It was as if he was disappearing into the surroundings.

We asked the officer what happened. He said, "Oh, nothing. He's just a drunk." For a second, I thought maybe he was just passed out from drinking. As sad as that might be, it would be far better than the alternative. I asked the officer to clarify. "He's dead. But he's just a drunk. He drank himself to death."

Fr. Mark asked if he was a parishioner. "What is his name?"

"He's just a drunk." Repeated the police officer.

We drove away very somber. We prayed for the nameless man. "May God have mercy on his soul. May God wash him clean from the dirt of this world. May we respect him, even if he was a sinner."

It bothered me that the police dismissed him as just a drunk. He had no name. There was no tragedy of his death, only of his life. This is not what we are about. We, as people of God, never dismiss anyone. Every life, from the womb to the tomb, is sacred. Isn't that what we profess?! And yet we all just let this poor soul disappear into the backdrop of a bus stop.

I don't think we could have saved him. I never even met the man. Maybe I had seen him before, but I never took any notice. At very least, I wish I would have introduced myself, just to find out his name. "My name is Fr. Michael. What's your name?" What a simple gesture of being nothing more than polite. But that name matters. It reminds us that you are a somebody. And he is a somebody. Somebody precious in the eyes of God. Maybe if he believed that a little more, I would have had my chance to meet him.

When he was a little boy, like all little boys, I'm sure he dreamed of being a somebody. And maybe he dreamed of all the people who would call him by name and wave to him and pat him on the back and tell him their proud of him. How many times his life must have disappointed him? How often must he have felt like a disappointment? No one wants to die. Much less to die like this. May his next life be free from disgrace and regret. May the Father rush out to greet him, throw a cloak around his shoulders and put a ring on his finger. May there be rejoicing in the heavens, "For this son of mine was lost, and has been found; he was dead, and now lives!" And may God have mercy on us who missed our chance to pray for him by name.

Church Bells

2009-09-04T15:53:00.000-07:00

There are a large number of villages under the pastoral care of Fr. Mark Riley and myself. 34 of the villages (called cantons) have chapels where we say Mass. Some places receive Mass frequently. Most receive Mass once a month. Many receive Mass every other month.

When the priest arrives, the leader of the community rings the bell. It will be rung three times in the next half hour letting people know, first, that the priest is ready for confessions, secondly, it is almost time for Mass, and finally, we are beginning Mass.

Today, the leader took a metal stick and began smacking another piece of metal that was dangling from a tree. Apparently, that constituted a bell for them. One of the teenage girls said to the leader with such sincerity, "Ring it louder. Let everyone know it's time to come in from their work." She watched the road, looking for her friends and calling out the names of those that were approaching. Here comes her uncle. Her comes the girls from school. I can picture them putting down their tools from the morning toils and washing up a little in a basin of water. Put on your best shirt and let's go to Mass.

They walk incredible distances for the Eucharist. And yet, they are genuinely sad about the many who don't bother to make an effort to come to Mass. It doesn't appear to me that they are judging them for being absent. That just isn't their culture. But they are sad, simply because they miss their family, their friends, and the neighbors. It's just not the same without you. Ring that bell a little louder.

We don't always appreciate the great gift of the Mass. So many seats remain empty. So many people under appreciate the invitation and the joy. And they think, "I don't get anything out of it." Or at least that is the excuse they tell themselves as they think back to their attention-deficit teenage years and remember a boring morning in a hot church. But, is that it? Is that what the Mass is? Don't you remember mom and dad, the kids from school; the stories of the Saints; the old man with the genuine smile?

Many men and women, much more accomplished than you and I will ever be, thought the Eucharist was worth dying for. So, maybe it is worthy of our giving a little more thought and energy toward understanding what, or rather, who it is. Maybe there is much more to the Eucharist than meets the eye. And maybe part of the experience is the community that it forms. Maybe this week, you are suppose to give a little to the Mass: a little bit of you.

You see, the Mass just isn't the same without you. Maybe some beautiful, energetic, hopeful teenage girl is watching and waiting for you to come around the bend. Or, maybe you are the one who is supposed to be there, waiting to greet a tired worker who wants nothing more than to see your welcoming smile and to know he belongs here. Your community misses you, because we love you. You matter to us.

Maybe heaven is like that. We picture it as a place where there are no more tears. But, I think the holy people who have gone before us, I think they miss us. It just isn't the same without you. And they truly desire that we accept the invitation to come closer to the Lord, because, when we are closer to God, we are closer to them.

The bell is ringing in my heart. How beautiful the sound. The sound that we are invited and someone eagerly awaits our arrival. Put down your toils, get washed up, and I'll see you at Mass.

It's time to stop and eat the flowers

2009-08-30T17:43:00.000-07:00

We got some bad news. A twenty year old woman named Ruth was struck by lighting yesterday. She was at a soccer game. The storms come and go so quickly. She was beautiful. She was just received into the Catholic Church last Easter. So sad.

Mark and I decided the weather prevented us from going that night to her family's home for prayers. They live far away and the dirt road is treacherous. Instead, we announced at the Sunday Mass that we were going and if anyone wanted a ride, we would take them. Very few parishioners have vehicles. Maybe a hand full.

We loaded up the pick up with good people who just wanted to be there for the others. That is something I really appreciate. When someone dies, everyone shows up. They just are there, sitting outside, all around the road. They keep vigil. Sometimes they sing or pray the rosary. Or sometimes they are just silently mourning together. When you feel that sad, it is good to know others care, even if they can't fix it.

Even though we were heading to a funeral, the packed truck was joyful and laughter could be heard all through the valley. I drove. What a road! It feels like a serious workout with all the bouncing and sliding. You never heard such sincere prayers as a truck full of slap-happy Salvadorans sliding toward a cliff in the priest-mobile.

The standard for a good road in El Salvador is if you are able to move forward. This was not a good road. We had to walk part of the distance. We cut through the forest and over a corn field. The view was fantastic. Three waterfalls could be seen in the distance.

Along the way, the woman kept plucking flowers and eating them. All kinds of strange things are apparently edible if you are bold enough to chew on it. I'm not quite there yet.

The little chapel in Paraiso, which was built in memory of my grandmother, was packed. The immediate family came and hugged Fr. Mark and I. A little girl was crying as she hugged her dad. I remember when I was in the second grade, my classmate drowned. I know how scary and world-shaking it is for her. I sat and told her that a priest speaks God's words. "God made a promise to Ruth. Ruth is God's loved one so, even if she dies, he will rescue her from the grave and she will live with him in heaven. Her body is here, but her soul has gone to a place where there are no tears and they are having a great party. We are sad, because we miss her. But, she's not sad. Not with Jesus. She is so happy, there are no words to describe it."

Her crying and breathing slowed. She followed every word I was saying while leaning against her dad. If I'd look at her, she'd hide her face. So I told the story as if I could see the heavens up in the sky. And she looked for it too. And that calmed her.

Don't we all need to look for heaven to find a little peace? We just don't know when lighting will take our lives. But we do know that Jesus will be there to give us a new life. And that just makes me want to stop, take a deep breath, and eat the flowers.

Wandering Souls

2009-08-27T16:03:00.000-07:00

I've heard a million times how Jesus would reach out to the outcasts of society. Who are the outcasts? I used to think that was the boy in the class that no one was speaking to or the girl who was waiting for someone to ask her to dance. As I reflect on my younger days, I remember feeling like the outcast when no one came to rescue me from isolation or just let me wallow in my awkwardness. I took very seriously that challenge of our Lord. Even now, when I walk into a room, my antenna zeros in on that person who feels all alone. I am drawn to them, as if the others are doing just fine, but this one needs my attention.

But I'm not a schoolboy anymore. And the outcasts are much more extreme. Who are the outcasts? They are the drunks, the addicts, the crazy, the criminal, the sick, the needy.

There is a man named Bonifacio. He often sleeps in front of my rectory. A nice older gentlemen who is always courteous and grateful. He has a drinking problem. It has robbed him of his home, his job, his health, his status in society. We give him some food, and a mattress to sleep on. It's not so bad in a tropical environment. Well, it's not so bad physically, but spiritually, oh how he suffers.

"How long has it been since your last drink, Bonifacio?" Two weeks, Padre. "I'm proud of you. Now, let's work on today." I bow my head and place my hand on his shoulder, "Today we give no invitation to that demon of alcoholism. Today we dedicate to God. I believe in you Bonifacio. One day, you and I will walk the streets together, pulling other lost souls out of the gutters and into a life of true happiness. And they will look up at you and they will not recognize you at first. And then, perhaps when they see your eyes, they will say, 'Boni? Is that you my friend? What happened? You look so...healthy.' And you will say, 'God gave me another chance at life. And I am here to invite you to your second chance. Come, follow me, and I will show you a better way."

Bonifacio loves that pep talk. Last time, he asked me to remind him again. I cast out the temptation from his heart and gave him the vision of the Kingdom awaiting him. I sincerely pray for him.

A young man, 18 or 19, was very drunk or high or both. He was at our corn festival. I got him something to eat and then played the tough guy. "What are you doing here? You're not planning any trouble, are you?" He asked for some money for shoes. "Where do you live?" He responded, "I don't have a home."

Now, to clue you all in, this is the worst case scenario. A young man has very little sense of consequences. A man without a home has no one that could be embarassed by is poor choices or to whom they have to answer if they misbehave. And a strong, drunk, young, homeless man fearlessly approaching the parish festival is probably in a gang. Trouble!

I played it cool. "My mom has surgery coming up. She has cancer. Could you pray for her?" Even in a drunken condition, he looked confused. He said, "Sure. So, about that money." I interupted, "Can we pray for her now?" He softened a little. "You pray. I'll listen." I said a quick, but sincere prayer about how much I love my mom and how I ask God's blessing on her. I asked that God help me to make her proud. Amen.

"Where's your mom?" I asked. "She lives far away. In Sosonate." I could tell he was picturing her. I continued, "How is she?" He started to cry. "I don't know." "When was that last time you saw her?" "A year ago."

Then I got tough again. "Well, you certainly can't see her now! You look terrible. Drunk and everything. What would you say, 'Hi mom. Can you give me some shoes?"? What a shame that would be." He started crying. So I continued, "Well, crying isn't going to help. You know what would?" He looked up at me so serioiusly, so desperately. "Quit this addiction. It is robbing you. It is a demon stealing your dignity, stealing your chance to see your mom. Stealing your chance to become someone." He shakes his head in agreement. "It's not too late. Quit this life and pick up a new life for Jesus. Each day dedicate yourself to God, and miracles will happen. And next year, at this time, you will be knocking at your mother's door. And when she answers she will be the one crying, not with shame, but with pride. Her son, with a new shirt! A clean face! And, not only a pair of shoes on his feet, but a new pair of shoes for his mother! Oh what a day that will be. And standing next to you, pleasing your mom beyond words, will be your friend, Fr. Michael. Can you imagine? Friends with a priest! But not like this. Not drunk. Not living so selfishly. It's time to rid yourself of this burdnen of addiction once and for all."

I gave him a picture of Mother Mary with the child Jesus. And he dried his tears and said thank you. He walked away witout a dime, but that doesn't mean I didn't give him anything. I don't have much hope that he will listen, but, that isn't my role. My role is to care enough to say something. It it is God's role to give me the words. This young man, a boy really, is my parishioner. And he calls me "Father." And I have a hard time pretending he doesn't exist. That's just not my nature. And, somewhere, his mom is worrying about him too, praying someone will set him straight on the road back to her.

Status among the poor

2009-08-20T16:07:00.000-07:00

In San Pedro, the poorest, most remote area of our parish, there is a young woman named Rosa. Rosa had a stroke as a result of medical complications. She cannot walk. She has tremendous difficulty speaking. She seems as if she is mentally handicap. But God has not taken everything from her. She has a million dollar smile.

After she went to confession, I took a few minutes to talk to her. "Rosa, I know you have a hard time speaking clearly, but I wondered, do you feel slower in your thinking, or are you just as quick as you used to be?" She responded very slowly, "No one believes that I am still smart. But my brain isn't slow. My mouth is." I said, "Behind your beautiful smile, you are still in there, aren't you? Don't forget that, and know that at least one person can see you, the real you." She started to cry a little and her smile seemed even brighter than usual. I said, "Keep sharing that God given smile. It changes the whole valley. You make more of a difference than you could imagine."

After the Mass, the community had to make a decision about where the next Mass would be said. They are a very simple, quite community. It took a while for someone to speak up. The elder spoke. Then a farmer. Then a wife. Then, to my surprise, Rosa spoke up. She struggled to speak but had a good point to make. Then, I was even more surprised at how everyone nodded their heads in agreement. Rosa was right and cast the deciding vote! Amazing!

I think if I had such a limitation, I would be afraid to speak up. And I don't think many people listen to those with speech problems. But, in this community, Rosa still had a voice, even an authority. Here I was thinking I was the only one who still saw her as a healthy woman, and now I am beginning to think I was the only one who saw her as a sick girl. I was proud of my Catholic brothers and sisters who never for a moment diminished Rosa's place in their community.

At yet another sight, the leader had a sever speech impediment. But that didn't stop her from doing the announcements, and even scolded the community a little for not singing with all their hearts. I was in awe as I saw how all the people responded with respect and appreciation for their leader.

When we have lots of food, we only eat the parts we like. Maybe the mash potatoes. But we throw out the rest, like the peas. But if you only have little food, you savor and appreciate everything on your plate.

Maybe in the U.S. we think we have so many talented people that we figure only the perfect can speak up, have an opinion worth listening to, or guide our community. In a little village, every talent of every person is appreciated. A woman with severely crippled legs can be the lead singer. A man with a scar on his face can be the lector. A person who never went to school can become an evangelizer. A boy with no shoes can break dance for the crowd.

Remember how Jesus called forth the blind, the lame, and the mute. Maybe he was calling forth the talented, but their talents were never appreciated because they were only seen as blind, lame, or mute. But Jesus saw the big picture, the whole person.

You might think this is about giving the poor guy a chance. I'm talking about you. You have a talent that you are not using because of some unrelated excuse. Will you just share it all ready. You can't imagine how much it means to us all.

Infrastructure

2009-08-14T06:45:00.000-07:00

I totally take for granted the infrastructure in the United States. Imagine if the electricity went out almost every night and sometimes didn't come back on for days. Imagine if your water supply depended on rain. Imagine if there were only two police officers on duty in a dangerous part of town... and they didn't even have a car. Imagine if the local ambulance didn't have enough funds to pay for gas. Imagine if the nearest hospital was an hour and a half away. Imagine if a tree fell down in the road and no one is coming to clean it up. Time to pull out your machete and get hacking.

These are just some of the things that constitutes a "developing nation." And, believe me, things have come a long way in the last ten years that I have been visiting El Salvador. But still, there is a huge amount still lacking.

I take care of 34 villages, each with a varying population anywhere from 25 parishioners at Mass to 650 at Mass. Most places get Mass only once a month. Many of the places have unpaved roads and it is very bumpy. Cedar Point has nothing over Salvadoran back roads. There are a few areas you cannot get to by car. When it rains, we have to call the community leader (thank God for cell phones) and ask if the road is passable. If not, then we'll see you next month. It makes me think of those crazy parishioners who come to Mass during a Cleveland blizzard. God bless you.

But not everything is so harsh. On Monday, Fr. Mark and I worked hard to get all our work done in the capital so that we could have Tuesday free. Tuesday morning we had Mass and then...to the beach. Many of the wealthy city-folk have beach homes that are cared for by my parishioners. With permission from the owners, sometimes we get a chance to enjoy a quite day. Sitting in hammocks, listening to the ocean, watching for the bigger and bigger waves. No cell phones, no people, no work. Beautiful day. Makes you want to become a missionary, doesn't it.

Victor, the parishioner who watches over the house, has a smaller, much more humble home on the property where his family lives. He basically keeps guard and cleans up and locks it up in the stormy season. Not a bad gig. Out of kindness, they brought us watermelon and some sort of Salvadoran food. Good thing too. We dropped most of the burgers in the grill. He's a good man.

There is an incredible amount of generosity here. How can you have so little and offer so much? I've got some soul searching to do. Maybe we all do.

Distant Lands

2009-08-07T15:42:00.000-07:00

I went to a place called "Siberia." It isn't cold at all. In fact, I was sweating so bad that, if I had jumped in the river, it would have dried me off.

When I made it to the chapel, it was surprisingly big and beautiful. There was no electricity in any of the area. It was the feast day of Salvador del Mundo-Savior of the World. Being in El Salvador, you can imagine that the whole country is celebrating their feast day. It was great to celebrate with a Mass. There was a great turn out...Maybe 200 or so.

It is their custom to baptize their children at the Mass of the parish feast day. There were two little girls who were brought into the Church on this occasion. I noticed that the mother of one of the girls was very young and there was no father at her side.

When the Mass was over, I went and sat next to the young mom. There was still a lot of people around, but, I have such a limited amount of time in each community, I don't have the luxury of waiting for a more private occasion. I asked her how old she was. She said, "19." I asked her where the father was. She said he had died. Apparently he had an ulcer that, because they live in such a remote area, there was not enough medical attention. I expressed my sympathies.

Then I got real serious with her. Some sort of parental protectiveness came over me as I looked at this girl holding a baby of her own. She seemed to me like a lamb among wolves. I said, "You need to be mom and dad for this little girl. She needs you and you need support. Be very careful with your decisions. Choose virtue, not sin. Turn to your family and your friends to guide you. But, when it comes to your friends, look to the girls, not the boys. The boys may be very kind, but you are very vulnerable. Even the nicest man may be too weak to resist the temptation of a single mother in need. Please walk slowly, walk carefully, and do not walk alone on this journey. And the Church is here for you, praying for you, giving you guidance, and supporting you in any way we can. I am your spiritual father, and I am also your little girl's spiritual father. I baptized her this day. So you need to listen to my words for the sake of your family. Contact me if I can help and I would gladly do so, if it be in my power."

She was smiling ear to ear. I imagine she is scared and still mourning the death of her daughter's father, and feeling pressures from all sides. But most of all, she feels isolated, like people don't want to take on one more problem. It isn't a problem, it is a baby... A beautiful, Catholic baby girl named Madelyn.

To break the seriousness of the moment, I asked the dozen or so children around me if they would like a blessing. They agreed, sheepishly, as if they didn't really know what that meant. I grabbed a handful of the baptismal water and doused them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The place erupted with kids running up to me and wanting to be blessed. It felt good on a hot day. I love my job.

A Troubled People

2009-07-30T12:20:00.000-07:00

The mayor's office called a meeting with the Church leaders, the small business owners, the doctor of the clinic, and the police to talk about the troubles of the people. It was fascinating, a little scary, and encouraging.

The doctor explained to us that there has been two deaths of pregnant women in the last month. They hadn't had a pregnant woman die in fifteen years. One was older. The other was only 17. He shared with us that the mortality rate of Latin American pregnant girls is scandalously high. They have poor nutrition, rarely visit a doctor, often are abandoned, and forced out of work and school. "We need to do something!" he said. He recounted that he has had girls 13, 14, 15 years old come in to his office pregnant. There are laws against such child abuse, but who's coming forward to press charges? No one. He met one teenage boy who said he had been with three different women that week. As can be expected, diseases are finding their way into the younger population. Several girls have dropped out of the high school because of pregnancy. Mind you, the highest education you can get in Teotepeque is a high school diploma, and there is only a hand full who graduate each year. They are a precious resource.

Dr. Ferguson is very aware of the Catholic teachings about contraception and abortion. In fact, he publicly admitted that he agrees with their teachings. He does not believe the answer is more pills. He says we need more honest dialogue with the youth, the consequences of their actions, a sense of self-respect, and a reason to be chaste. Assuming that the parents are teaching good sexual morality, either by word or example, is naive. Assuming preaching from the pulpit (which rarely happens) is going to reach the ears of those most at risk or cause an attitudinal shift is also ridiculous. We need to get practical, creative, and serious. People are literally dying.

I'm all over this one! This is absolutely the case in the United States, but no one wants to talk about it. Everyone thinks medicine will make this problem go away. Instead, we are fueling the fire that is consuming the sense of self-worth and dignity in our youth, their bodies, sex, and marriage. We are spiraling toward a dark, dark place where there are no answers. And I know just the person to call: John Paul II.

Our dear pope spoke and wrote extensively about Christian sexuality and the human person. It is called Theology of the Body, and it is the greatest gift to our culture that anyone could offer. If you haven't heard of it, get reading! It is changing the world. You won't want to miss this.

Systematically sifting through the Bible and Tradition, the Holy Father brings to light the hidden treasure of the human person as body and soul. With the creativity of modern theologians like Christopher West, this profound teaching is proclaimed in the language of our youth. What interests the youth more than sex? And God is speaking to them through the gift of sexuality. It isn't about saying NO. It is about saying YES... to God. YES to a better plan, a better world, a better you.

Even before my meeting with the mayor's office, I had already begun teaching Theology of the Body to my youth group in Chiltiupan. We will spend two months on it and then start again in Teotepeque with their youth group. The plan is to more fully develop the program, with the help of the youth themselves. We will take it to the high schools, to the little villages, and to the internet. My Spanish is good, but not great, and I will need all the skill I can muster to do justice to this teaching.

This great message about the sanctity of Man and Woman and reproductivity will be theirs to charish, ponder, and develop long after I have left the missions. Pray for us and, if you have any suggestions or willingness to help, let me know.

St. Hilary's Visit

2009-07-23T18:58:00.000-07:00

A group came down from St. Hilary's in Akron. Their specific mission was to build five homes for people who were living in very humble, insufficient abodes made from sticks, mud and a sheet metal roof. Now, for the first time in their lives, they have a brick home with cement floors. What a practical way to make a difference in the life of a family and to connect with the poor of El Salvador.

I was there when Fr. Joe Warner (my classmate) and Fr. Christopher Trenta (newly ordained) blessed the new homes. The families cried and hugged the American missionaries. Children were all hanging on everyone's arms, letting them know they are loved and appreciated. One family wrote a beautiful thank you letter to God for send them these generous American Catholics. "Somos una familia en Cristo." "We are one family in Christ." It was truly inspiring.

It got me thinking. When people donate to the missions, either by making a mission trip or by sending funds and materials, it really isn't about the stuff. It is about the people. And it is more than just that. It's about our love for God and God's love for us. You see, humanitarian efforts are wonderful, but they lack an answer to the most basic of questions: Why do we care? Do we care because of those sympathy pains we endure when we see childeren in poverty? Do we care because we are trying to rid ourselves of the guilty feelings of having so much and not appreciating it? Or is their something deeper? Without an anwser, these humanitarian efforts never seem to last. It all fades into a nice thing I did so that I can tell myself I'm a good person. But, is that it?

I think, on our own, humans don't really add up to a hill of beans. We are like a truck full of dolls that have no real value in and of themselves. We live. We die. We very easily could be forgoten, even before we have breathed our last. But, what makes a doll so special? Isn't it because someone considers it special? Some little boy who cries all night because he lost his stuffed animal? But it isn't some little boy. It isn't even a really famous movie star or a political leader or even an emperor who cries for us. It is God, Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth. It is the God who imbued His own likeness on our souls and thus invoked a profound meaning on our lives. He breathed into us life! HIS LIFE! We are so loved that he was willing to do more than just cry for us when we were lost. He died for us so that we could be found!

And, being made in His image, following the example given us, recognizing the value of my life, at least the value God considers me to have, we see the value in all other human life. With our human and divine insight, we peer deeply in to the soul of every person, old and young, rich and poor, and we see God's love. And we become God's love. And we sense that we are loved, as if God was looking at us in that way.

And so, in an effort to elevate and give glory to that great gift of human life, we improve people's standard of living; we build them homes and give them hugs. We pray with them and cry with them. We give them crosses and they give us thank yous. We give them a little of what we have: a little of ourselves. And that is no small gift. Apparently, that is the greatest gift God ever made. For we are God's beloved, and that love has invoked a profound value on every breath I take, and every beat of your heart, and every tear rolling down the cheek of a grateful family in their new home.

Back to San Pedro

2009-07-16T09:32:00.000-07:00

San Pedro is the most remote of our villages. You cannot get there by truck, and, since a helicopter is outside of our budget, I have to walk there. It takes about an hour and 15 minutes to walk down into the valley. Coming back is a real struggle!

When you are down in these remote areas, you feel a little like you're in a movie or have gone back in time. If I saw a dinosaur, I wouldn't be surprised. I'd run my tail off!, but I wouldn't be surprised.

The people are so grateful for our presence, but they have such little knowledge of the Bible and our rich Tradition. It reminds me of a story another priest told me in Cleveland. He said a young woman came into his office and wanted to become a Catholic. "Very good," he said, "I'll sign you up for RCIA classes. To get started, do you have any general questions for me?" She looked up at the crucifix on the wall behind the priest and said, "Yeah. Who's that and what happened to him?" The priest straightened up and smiled as he said, "I have the privilege of sharing with you the greatest story in the history of the universe!"

That's how I feel. Imagine a world where there are very few books. No TV. No intenet. Only corn and beans, cows and pigs, rivers and rainforests, and of course family. I have this great privelege of sharing with these good, holy, simple people the greatest story in the history of the universe! So far, I have only shared the Mass with them, which is a great gift in itself. But, in order to fully appreciate what it means, I will have to teach them the basics of our faith and the stories of the Bible and the Saints.

If you know me, you know I am dreaming up a systematic plan and mustering up all my dramatic skill so as to do my best for them. I can almost hear Jesus saying, "Do you love me?" "Yes Lord, you know that I love you." "Feed my lambs." "I'm all over it Lord!" [Don't try to find that last part in the Bible. A little poetic licensing].

The leader of this community is a marvelous man with an amazing story. Nine years ago a group of men came down into the remote valley and attacked the home of his brothers. In an effort to save them, the leader came over and tried to speak to them about peace, love, Jesus and the life of the Church. They killed his brothers and shot him six times, including in the head. He was left for dead. Some neighbors called the Catholic priest who hurried as fast as he could down into the valley. He took the man to the hospital many hours away and saved his life.

Today, he gives praise to God for his life and his strength. He explained that his strength was not in his ability to survive, but in his ability to stay loyal unto death. Even at the moment that he would certainly die, his words were of God's love. He told me that, when he was faced with such danger, he remembered the words of a priest who had visited San Pedro, "a priest like you," he said. The priest told him, "When you die, die well in the eyes of the Lord. Do not let your last thoughts, words, and deeds be an insult to the God who gave you life." And he succeeded, with flying colors. He speaks as if he actually died that day and is now in a second life. Perhaps he is. Perhaps I was conversing with a man who has already begun to bridge the gap between heaven and earth. He bears witness to the miracle of faith, and I bear witness to the miracle of his life.

My Sister's Wedding

2009-07-14T07:37:00.000-07:00

I was in Cleveland for my sister's wedding this past week, so the rumors are true: there has been a Fr. Michael sighting. The wedding couldn't have been better. God bless Julie and Tommy.

As I came back to El Salvador, I actually felt as if I was coming home. And then we moved Fr. Mark's printer and there was some sort of cocoon. My sister Linda would have loved to experiment on this thing. I took it outside and discovered some strange kind of worm inside this hairy, tough outer protection. This just happened ten minutes ago and I'm still feel shivers up my spine. We are not in Cleveland anymore.

There is a group coming down this week from St. Hilary Church in Akron. They intend to build some homes for people who otherwise would not have adequate shelter. My classmate, Fr. Joe Warner, will be among the visitors on this Mission Trip. I look forward to spending the day with them.

You know what I miss most about the U.S.? It isn't the food or the modern conveniences or the paved roads. It's you, the good people who have supported and prayed with me all these years. And yet, we are still so close every time we bow our heads and remember who we are: we are the children of God who keeps us all in the palm of His hand. God bless you.

Rookie Mistakes

2009-07-02T15:32:00.000-07:00

It is amazing how we are creatures of habit. Most of the daily routine we accomplish without much thought. Brush our teeth, put on our shoes, drive the car. When we are taken out of our comfort zone, it seems we are humbled in more ways than I imagined. Without a sense of humor, I'm sure I would have died of embarrassment by now.

My first trip out with the truck, I left the lights on and had to call Fr. Reidy to come and rescue me because the battery was dead. Great first impression.

I think every day since I've been here, Fr. Mark has noticed something on my shirt: food, mud, a dead bug. I'm a real class act!

I inherited one of the missionaries trucks and parked it outside of the sister's convent in Chiltiupan. I forgot to park it in the garage before I went to bed, so, at about 11:00 at night, I went out and open the garage. Then I opened the car door and the car alarm started blaring! The poor nuns who wake up every morning at 4:30 AM to do their morning prayers could not have possibly slept through all the commotion. I pushed the button and the alarm went off. Two seconds later, it started again! A third time it began beeping! I looked up to the darkened night sky and said out loud, "This isn't funny, Lord. Would you cut it out already?!" I just left it outside that night.

I went to anoint a very poor man, my first anointing of the sick in El Salvador. As I was saying the prayers, I didn't realize I was pouring the holy oils all over my lap. I told the man, "Well, me and my holy pants will be going now." He couldn't contain his laughter. At least I made him feel better.

People are always hitch hiking. They ride in the back of the pickup standing like a surfer, holding on to the metal railings that are custom fit for just such a purpose. Following the lead of the other missionaries, I picked up an older woman and a young girl. Here I am, an authentic Salvadoran missionary cruising up the road to Chiltiupan, feeling good. I see a sign ahead: "Tumulo." What does that mean? Suddenly, I realize there is a huge speed bump in the road! I hit the breaks and my passangers smack into the cabin window. We bounce a foot into the air and my head hits the ceiling. OOOOHHH "Tumulo!" "Is everybody O.K. back there?" I giggling voice from behind yells out, "Don't be embarassed, Father. You're just learning how to drive. We're O.K." Uhggg!

Sometimes there are phrases I don't know how to say in Spanish that I really wish I knew, like, "There is an ant burrowing into my back and it really hurts. Can somebody squash it, please!" But in a panic, all language skills disappear.

The local dogs mostly leave you alone. If you coax one in to playing frisbee, it never brings it back.

Other than a few incidents, things are going just fine. I hope you had a good laugh at my expense. I aim to please. God has a sense of humor too, or so I've been told.

May God be kinder to you all.

Fr. Michael Stalla

A Heroic Pastor

2009-06-27T13:21:00.000-07:00

My pastor is Fr. Mark Riley. He is a native of Cleveland and has been in the missions for six years now. He has been incredibly patient with me thus far. Most of you never had the displeasure of having to work and live with me. I tend to "talk shop" all day long. But, no matter how many questions I have, Fr. Mark is always ready to help me adjust.

On my second day on the job, one of the three homeless men, who have been living in the security of our gated front yard, became very ill. He is an elderly gentlemen with very poor mobility. As happens in nursing homes, he had a moment of incontinence. But, of course, there is no nursing home in Teotepeque. This poor, elderly man is yet another statistic slipping through the societal cracks. I had no idea what to do. He still seemed pretty sick and now was quite embarrassed.

I watched and try to help as Fr. Mark took the man to the bathroom. He closed the door for the sake of the man's dignity. He removed the man's clothing and had them washed. Then he bathed him. Because the man was too weak to stand, Fr. Mark just let him sit in a chair in the shower while he took care of him. He even gave him a shampoo and a shave. The whole time, Fr. Mark was speaking so gently and positively to him, as if he was caring for his own father.

The elderly man now looked much younger with his fresh clothing and clean skin. His dignity now restored, Fr. Mark gave him an aspirin and put him in the parish ambulance and had him taken to the hospital.

Since the man has no family near by and no money, he was released from the hospital in very little time. He rebound for a little bit, but then his health started to slip again. We have him the spare bed room behind the church and the doctor from our clinic has been instructing us how to best serve him under these meager conditions. We contacted the man's sister and she is traveling a far distance to come to his aid.

This morning, the man slipped into a coma. Fr. Mark and I prayed over him and anointed him with the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. Fr. Mark prayed a rosary over him and the catechists, who were here this morning for training, they too prayed for him.

Fr. Mark is an excellent pastor and a holy man. I couldn't help but think of the parable of the Good Samaritan. We are strangers here, but this man is our brother, our father, our son. When I am dying, many years from now, I would consider myself truly blessed if someone would care for me as much as Fr. Mark cares for Don Jose Antonio. I am blessed to learn by the living, self-less example of such a grace-filled pastor as Fr. Mark. May God bless him.

Traveling by foot

2009-06-21T16:16:00.000-07:00

Fr. Mark, my pastor, sent me to my first church for Mass: Paraiso (Paradise). This church was built in memory of my grandmother, Edith Cook. They have a picture of her and a plaque on the wall. The only problem is that the road to Paradise is almost impassible, and I don't know how to drive stick shift. Fr. Mark asked me, "Didn't you practice stick shift when you were still at St. Raphael's?" Well yeah, and I am grateful to Chris for the lessons, but we don't have roads like this for me to practice on. It was like a GM comercial. So, no problem, one of the maintainence men drove me there. We got stuck at least three times and I was so grateful that I was not too proud to say, "I don't know how."

Just a few days later, Fr. Mark sent me to San Pedro (St. Peter) church. This is the poorest of the communities and absolutely precious in its simplicity. It is located down in a valley and there is no road access at all. It is a hour long walk down the cow path (and that is down hill). Four young adults went with me to guide me along. I felt like John Paul II as we talked about Theology of the Body, Marriage, and the life of the Church to these young newly weds who generously gave up half their day to walk with me.

On the way back, it was a difficult journey. At one point we noticed that a calf had slipped off the side of a cliff and was now stuck in the vines of an indigineous bush. There he was, suspended five feet off the ground and exausted from trying, in vain, to escape. I had no idea what to do! But my guides quickly came up with a solution. The crawled down the cliff down to the dry river bed below. One branch at a time, they freed the calf, but slowly so he would slide down bit by bit and safely to the ground. He had some injuries and was too tired to climb up the steep cliff, so they carried him up. He was pretty heavy. Then they guided him over to a fenced in field where the other cows were. He didn't want to go in. He wanted to stay with his saviors, but we had more to do. I told them that the farmer may never know what they did for his calf, but the Father, who sees in secret, will reward them for their kindness.

That's all for now. Talk to you next week. Thanks for the prayers and support.

Fr. Michael

A Warm Welcome

2009-06-12T13:49:00.000-07:00

Well, I arrived yesterday. Let me describe it to you.

Fr. Paul Schindler, Fr. Mark Riley, and Sr. Rose Elizabeth met me at the airport. We had a little lunch and the Fr. Mark drove me to Teotepeque.

As we approached the village, I noticed a huge crowd of people. It was the high school marching band and representatives from all 25 villages that will be under my care. There was singing and banners and music and fireworks and a huge procession all the way to the packed Church. Mind you, I hadn't even seen my room, let alone unpacked.

We had a beautiful Mass together with two Franciscan nuns and one local priest, Fr. Rene. When they brought forward the gifts, they announced which group they represented and brought forward a symbolic gift: Children's PSR, youth group, marriage encounter group, choir, etc...

After Mass they had something like the T.V. show American Idol, but it was Teotepeque Idol. They had songs and dances and special dresses and dramatizations and even a roast. We shared hot chocolate and sandwiches. The whole event lasted six hours. What an awesome reception.

I am very blessed to be here and ask for your prayers. I have a lot of work ahead of me and I feel so limited by my underdeveloped missionary skills. But God will provide, He always does. Until next week... God bless you. -Fr. Michael Stalla (Padre Miguel)

2009-06-04T05:50:00.001-07:00

This is my last week at St. Raphael parish in Bay Village. I am dearly going to miss the parishioners here. They have been so supportive of me. I pray that God will protect them and that they will continue to share generously the spiritual gifts that they are so blessed to have.

Next week I will be traveling to my new parish in Teotepeque, El Salvador. I will be a member of the Cleveland Latin American Mission group (CLAM). I am excited, but a little nervous to be honest. Pray for me and know that I am praying for you.

It is my hope that each week I can update this blog and let people know what is going on and how they can get involved. Stay tuned. God bless you.

Fr. Michael Stalla