There's an old saying: "Joy is an ineffable sign of God's presence." I shared in one of the previous blogs that I had attended a going away party. It's for a sister who is leaving Botswana to return home to Lesotho. Her name is Sister Mahali (pronounced Muh-ha-dee). We always wound up sitting together at Mass and chatting, and I always thought she was a woman of great faith. But for the first 2 weeks I was here, I never knew she was a sister...imagine my embarrassment when I arrived at the going away party to find out it was for her...and that she was a sister! When I told her, she laughed and laughed and said, "I knew you didn't know I was a sister! I knew it."
I thought of that quote about joy because she is one of the most joyful people I have ever met. If the Batswana are always laughing, she laughs more...and louder! But more than being a joyful person, she brings that joy to others. She is truly a Christian woman. I've talked a lot about how much joy the people here exude. Joy and laughter seem to be part of their being. But more than having joy is the fact that they (and Sr. Mahali) spread it. Their joy is not in being joyful, but in making others joyful. Isn't that the sign of a Christian? Not only in lifting up others, but in being joyful ourselves. She reminded me that if we believe that Christ is present in our lives and that we we experience him day after day, then why are we so dour or filled with worry about things that, in the end, are not really important? Something for all of us to think about...
Thank you, Sr. Mahali, for showing me what it means to be a truly joyful servant of God. You've reminded me that our vocation is to share joy with others...and in sharing that joy, to help them find the God present in their lives who rejoices in having made them the beautiful people they are.
Peace.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Reflection #1: The Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist
Taken from Luke 1:57-66, 80. For the 8:00 AM English Mass at Our Lady of the Desert
There are many things that happen in our lives that test our faith. It can be the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, a failed class or bad grade, financial problems, and so on. We can come here everyday, receive Jesus in the Word and in the Eucharist, feel his very presence in our lives, and then one day something bad happens to us, and it's as if we never had any faith at all.
Today we heard about poor old Zechariah. A priest in the temple, he questioned the words of the angel Gabriel, who had foretold the miraculous birth of his son, who then punished Zechariah by making him mute. But even though he doubted, he did not lose faith, and in the end his speech was restored and he proclaimed, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful prayers of praise in Scripture: the Canticle of Zechariah.
It is too easy for us to forget God's promises. The Old Testament is filled with the stories of the people of Israel time after time forgetting what the Lord had done for them. The Gospels show us that the very closest of those among Jesus who lived in his presence, who saw him, touched him, smelled him, still questioned and doubted, and at his death, abandoned him. St. Augustine said that our hearts "yearn to rest in you, Lord" and I believe that is true. I believe we all seek relationship with the divine and that we all yearn to be in God's presence. But there is distance, there are questions. We forget, we question, we doubt, but I think that's ok. We're human; we're not perfect. Our hearts are tempted and swayed by many things. But no matter what comes our way, no matter what happens to us, there is nothing greater or more powerful than God's love. And no matter how many times we question or doubt or sin, God will never abandon us to the power of death.
When Zechariah's speech was restored, he praised God for he understood that God's promise of salvation had come. For so long, the people had waited for salvation, and at long last it had arrived. We live every single day with God's promise, and so Zechariah's song is our prayer too:
There are many things that happen in our lives that test our faith. It can be the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, a failed class or bad grade, financial problems, and so on. We can come here everyday, receive Jesus in the Word and in the Eucharist, feel his very presence in our lives, and then one day something bad happens to us, and it's as if we never had any faith at all.
Today we heard about poor old Zechariah. A priest in the temple, he questioned the words of the angel Gabriel, who had foretold the miraculous birth of his son, who then punished Zechariah by making him mute. But even though he doubted, he did not lose faith, and in the end his speech was restored and he proclaimed, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful prayers of praise in Scripture: the Canticle of Zechariah.
It is too easy for us to forget God's promises. The Old Testament is filled with the stories of the people of Israel time after time forgetting what the Lord had done for them. The Gospels show us that the very closest of those among Jesus who lived in his presence, who saw him, touched him, smelled him, still questioned and doubted, and at his death, abandoned him. St. Augustine said that our hearts "yearn to rest in you, Lord" and I believe that is true. I believe we all seek relationship with the divine and that we all yearn to be in God's presence. But there is distance, there are questions. We forget, we question, we doubt, but I think that's ok. We're human; we're not perfect. Our hearts are tempted and swayed by many things. But no matter what comes our way, no matter what happens to us, there is nothing greater or more powerful than God's love. And no matter how many times we question or doubt or sin, God will never abandon us to the power of death.
When Zechariah's speech was restored, he praised God for he understood that God's promise of salvation had come. For so long, the people had waited for salvation, and at long last it had arrived. We live every single day with God's promise, and so Zechariah's song is our prayer too:
Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel. He has come to his people and set them free.
He has raised up for us a mighty savior. Born of the house of his servant David.
Through his holy prophets he promised of old.
That he would save us from our enemies, from the hands of all who hate us.
He promised to show mercy to our fathers
and to remember his holy covenant.
This was the oath he swore to our father, Abraham, to set us free from the hands of our enemies
free to worship him without fear, holy and righteous in his sight, all the days of our life.
You my child shall be called the prophet of the most high,
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way.
To give his people knowledge of salvation, by the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us
to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
Just as John was born to prepare the way of the Lord, we are born to prepare his way and we too must preach to the whole world, and ourselves, that God has saved us. God will always save us. AMEN.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Isn't being a missionary fun?!
The Youth Group meeting on Saturday went pretty well. Only 5 came, but as I always say, that's more than Zero. We talked about the Trinity and it's significance for our faith and then did scripture reflection and faith sharing. They were all very responsive and participated. I also had them write their names on a piece of paper and exchange with someone else. That person then agrees to pray for the other each day during the week. Next week they'll exchange with someone else. Hopefully praying for each other gets them bonding and growing as a community. Many youth said to me after Mass yesterday that they were sorry for missing and that they would be there next week. We'll see what happens :-)
Yesterday was the longest day I've had yet. I overslept, and woke up at 7:15 with just enough time to shower and get a piece of toast in me before I ran to the 8 AM English Mass. Mass ended at 9:30, which gave me 30 minutes to meet and greet before the 10 AM seTswana Mass. I decided to give in and just let my spirit go. I danced and clapped and let myself pray. It was wonderful! The altar servers were all giggling at me lol. They later said to one of adults, "The legkowa was dancing!" So after 2 Masses (equaling 4 hours), a group of us literally jumped into the bed of the truck and took off for one of the outstations, what we would call a mission. There were 6 or 7 of us crammed in the back going down the highway at 110 kilometers/hr (which is about 68 mph). That's when I thought to myself "Isn't it fun to be a missionary?" Just flying down the highway, in my alb, in the bed of a truck, to celebrate the Mass. This experience reminded me of what matters. My hair was a mess, I could feel the layer of car exhaust and dirt on my skin, I was a little sweaty and probably musky, and I didn't care. What mattered was to be there to pray with the people. To celebrate with them the joy of God's presence.
We got home around 9:30 PM (after also attending a going away party, which I want to talk about later) and I went to bed last night sore and exhausted, but smiling to myself. This is my life...and I love it.
"Go out to the whole world; proclaim the Good News to all Creation." Mark 16:15
Peace.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Church and State
As an American, I am not used to religion having as public face as it does here in Botswana. Religion is a private affair. Imagine my surprise Friday morning when Fr. Sylvester and I visited a government school (what we would call a public school). Father asked me to wear my alb (actually, he asked me to wear a cassock...but I don't own one lol). There was no missing me as I walked around in my white robe, and of course I'm probably one of the first Americans they've ever seen in person. I could hear them all whispering "lekgowa" as I walked by (which means white man haha...and is pronounced lay-koa). They assembled outside and after singing a song, Father introduced me. He asked me to present to them on the 8th Commandment, "You Shall Not Bear False Witness Against Your Neighbor." So I talked to them about lying and gossiping and making fun of people and how hurtful it can be. I decided to throw in some incluturation and tell them the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf. I only talked for about 10 minutes, then Father closed with the Lord's Prayer and blessed them all. This was all in a public school. Can you imagine what would happen if a priest went into a public school assembly and even just said "May Almighty God Bless all of you"?? There would be lawsuits galore! I couldn't believe when Father told me that it wasn't a Catholic school, and more, that he had been invited by the principal to do this. It gave me pause for thought.
That night, we visited the local hospital to take communion to some parishioners. You only have 30 minutes to visit, so we had to move fast. The rooms have up to 6 beds...I'm fairly certain I would be miserable. After giving communion to the patient, Father then said aloud "Let Us Pray." All of the patients and visitors stopped talking and bowed their heads as Father said a prayer and blessed them all. When he made the sign of the cross, some crossed themselves and many others didn't. I was astonished. This is a government hospital after all. Even the non-Catholics were respectful of the prayer and thanked us for taking the time to bless them. Father told me he needed to go to another ward, and asked me to do as he had in the other rooms that he was not able to pray in. Needless to say, I felt SO self-conscious. Imagine you were asked to walk into a stranger's hospital room, without invitation, and just announce, "Let us pray" and then lead everyone there in prayer. Lol, yeah, that pang of discomfort you just felt? That's how I felt hahaha. I wasn't very courageous, so I didn't pray quite as loudly as Father did, nor did I try to stop the conversations. I stood in the middle of the room and prayed quietly. Those who heard me acknowledged the prayer, and others didn't. Maybe next time I'll feel more brave and I'll try to do it the way Father did. Maybe lol.
In addition to all of this, EVERYONE here calls me "Father" or "rara." They bow when they meet me or when I walk by. One elderly woman I visited even called me "My Worship." (How do you respond to THAT?! Lol.) The first week here, I tried correcting the people and told them I'm a seminarian, not a priest, so they don't have to call me Father. But to no avail. I've given up now; if they call me Father, they call me Father lol. The Sister told me it's simply a reminder of how I'm seen. The people trust me enough to call me their Father and want to honor me. Yikes.
All of this has just given me pause about the public role of priesthood. People pay attention to us. They care about what we say and how we act toward them. There's no 9-5, and then I'm not a seminarian or priest anymore. I walked down to the store the other day, and people recognized me. I heard, "Hello, Father! Hello, Father!" and it took me a minute to realize they were talking to me. This is a precious gift, not something to be abused. People take great comfort in us and have placed great trust in us. Let us pray that our clerics, whatever religion they may be, may be worthy of that trust and may not abuse and mislead the people who are given into our care; who we are called to serve.
Peace.
That night, we visited the local hospital to take communion to some parishioners. You only have 30 minutes to visit, so we had to move fast. The rooms have up to 6 beds...I'm fairly certain I would be miserable. After giving communion to the patient, Father then said aloud "Let Us Pray." All of the patients and visitors stopped talking and bowed their heads as Father said a prayer and blessed them all. When he made the sign of the cross, some crossed themselves and many others didn't. I was astonished. This is a government hospital after all. Even the non-Catholics were respectful of the prayer and thanked us for taking the time to bless them. Father told me he needed to go to another ward, and asked me to do as he had in the other rooms that he was not able to pray in. Needless to say, I felt SO self-conscious. Imagine you were asked to walk into a stranger's hospital room, without invitation, and just announce, "Let us pray" and then lead everyone there in prayer. Lol, yeah, that pang of discomfort you just felt? That's how I felt hahaha. I wasn't very courageous, so I didn't pray quite as loudly as Father did, nor did I try to stop the conversations. I stood in the middle of the room and prayed quietly. Those who heard me acknowledged the prayer, and others didn't. Maybe next time I'll feel more brave and I'll try to do it the way Father did. Maybe lol.
In addition to all of this, EVERYONE here calls me "Father" or "rara." They bow when they meet me or when I walk by. One elderly woman I visited even called me "My Worship." (How do you respond to THAT?! Lol.) The first week here, I tried correcting the people and told them I'm a seminarian, not a priest, so they don't have to call me Father. But to no avail. I've given up now; if they call me Father, they call me Father lol. The Sister told me it's simply a reminder of how I'm seen. The people trust me enough to call me their Father and want to honor me. Yikes.
All of this has just given me pause about the public role of priesthood. People pay attention to us. They care about what we say and how we act toward them. There's no 9-5, and then I'm not a seminarian or priest anymore. I walked down to the store the other day, and people recognized me. I heard, "Hello, Father! Hello, Father!" and it took me a minute to realize they were talking to me. This is a precious gift, not something to be abused. People take great comfort in us and have placed great trust in us. Let us pray that our clerics, whatever religion they may be, may be worthy of that trust and may not abuse and mislead the people who are given into our care; who we are called to serve.
Peace.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
FOOD! Glorious food...
So a few people have asked me what the food is like...it isn't what I expected. One of my favorite places to eat in Reno (although I haven't been there in a while) is Zagol's. It's an Ethiopian restaurant on 4th street. The food is very exotic (for the American palette) and has a lot of spices and flavor. I guess I was expecting something similar. Most of us, I think, tend to view Africa as just one huge country (and yes I know it's a continent haha), where everyone is divided into different states, but everyone is essentially the same. Everyone here is very conscious of the different African cultures. I was talking to the chairman of the parish council and he mentioned that there are a lot of foreigners in the parish. When I asked him where they were from, I was expecting him to say Germany or India or Costa Rica...you know, other places far away. Instead he said, "We have them from all over! Zimbabwe, Zambia, Tanzania, Ghana, South Africa" and so on. I laughed at myself...another stereotype I had fallen into. Anyhoo, back to the food. The food here is very, VERY simple. Nothing too spicy or exotic. The two staples of every meal are sorghum and corn meal. They are usually prepared as a kind of porridge. If either are taken at breakfast, you can add sugar or honey and milk to it. If taken at lunch time, they are eaten plain or topped with a salty gravy. Meat is also very much a part of the diet here (while in other African countries, meat is a luxury...and so fish is more common). Beef is a big export, so we've had quite a bit of beef. We also have a lot of chicken. Usually these are served with some kind of vegetable, which is usually pretty simple also: just boiled greens or carrots or potatoes. Nothing too fancy. The other day, the cook made mashed sweet potatoes. Oh man, they were DELICIOUS! I've enjoyed the food here and it hasn't caused me any problems, thank God.
As most of you probably know, I am a tea fanatic. I have several cups of tea every day. Here I have discovered a new tea, which is native to South Africa. I've seen the name in the US, but I had never had it until I got here. It's called Rooibos tea (which they call Bush Tea). It's very different from what I'm used to. I can't really describe the flavor, but the color is beautiful. It is deep, dark red. The Batswana usually add milk and sugar, but I've been drinking it plain (which they find weird lol). I've also been drinking something called Ricoffy. It's a blend of chicory and coffee beans. It's really good! I drink it black with a bit of honey to take off the bitter edge. Maybe I'll bring some of both back with me to the States. :-) I did manage to find a box of English Black Tea in the pantry, so I'm still getting my fix, but it's also fun tasting new things. I'll post some pictures of the food when I'm able.
Peace.
As most of you probably know, I am a tea fanatic. I have several cups of tea every day. Here I have discovered a new tea, which is native to South Africa. I've seen the name in the US, but I had never had it until I got here. It's called Rooibos tea (which they call Bush Tea). It's very different from what I'm used to. I can't really describe the flavor, but the color is beautiful. It is deep, dark red. The Batswana usually add milk and sugar, but I've been drinking it plain (which they find weird lol). I've also been drinking something called Ricoffy. It's a blend of chicory and coffee beans. It's really good! I drink it black with a bit of honey to take off the bitter edge. Maybe I'll bring some of both back with me to the States. :-) I did manage to find a box of English Black Tea in the pantry, so I'm still getting my fix, but it's also fun tasting new things. I'll post some pictures of the food when I'm able.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
7 days...
Well beautiful people, I've been in Botswana now for almost 7 days (it'll be 7 days in...about 4 hours). I officially received my assignment over the weekend and began almost immediately. The main thing they would like me to focus on is getting the youth group going again. Oy. I've never been that great at youth ministry. The priest asked me to meet with the youth after Mass to ask them what they would like in terms of ministry. So...I asked them. Dead silence. Then I threw out some ideas...would they like scripture, prayer, church teaching? One girl finally raised her hand, and said "All!" Lol! So, I'm trying to decide what I should do. I have a few ideas swirling in my head, but it is for sure that these young people are very much hungry to learn about their faith, so I'll do my best :-)
Sunday night, I went with Fr. Sylvester to a town about 2 hours away called Phikwe (I think that's how it's spelled). It was an interesting drive. Let's just say that Fr. Sylvester puts the jet in Jetta if you get my drift. It is a nice little village that is built around a copper mine. The billowing smoke (which I'm sure is not healthy) from the smelters filled the entire sky. We went for what is called a Deliverance (which I'll talk about later) and on Monday, I made some home visits (Fr. Sylvester was once assigned here, and so knows EVERYONE). We returned to Francistown, and I was exhausted. After all, we had been going non-stop for almost 12 hours. Just when I was walking up the stairs, thinking of a cup of tea and watching Downton Abbey (yes - my addiction came with me to Botswana) I heard Father call me back down. He had his vestments in one arm and the Mass kit in another and told me that we were visiting one of the small Christian communities (which I'll talk about later also). When we finally got home, I was ready for bed. I honestly don't know how this man does it...he runs from place to place, and even literally town to town, and doesn't seem to get tired. He's almost twice my age, but has twice my energy. Lol.
Today was the best day so far. First of all, I LOVE showers. It is not unusual for me to take up to 30 minutes. Since arriving here, I've only been able to take 5 minute showers. The water pressure is so low, that the water comes out as a kind of mist, and I resorted to filling a cup from the shower head and kind of bathing myself. Two months of this shower was going to be my penance...or so I thought. It turns out the shower head was rusted, and so some of the holes were blocked. I changed it and OMG, I nearly cried when a full stream of water came out. I only showered for about 10 minutes, but it was a glorious 10 minutes hahaha. However, more important than that, I visited the sick and home bound with the Sister and brought them communion. It was so wonderful! Fr. Frank Hoffmann in Reno once gave me a piece of advice that I've never forgotten: care for the sick. There is something truly holy and sacred in helping people who feel at their worst and are so vulnerable. Every single person that I visited for those 3.5 hours smiled wide when we entered the house. Some were embarrassed that they couldn't properly greet "the white man" (that's what they call me lol) or that there wasn't a nice chair for me to sit on, but all of them, no matter how they felt, could not stop thanking us for coming. One elderly lady clutched my hand and wouldn't let me go...I almost had to pry her fingers off lol. Being there to pray with them and for them, to cheer them up, and maybe even give them some hope lifted my heart in ways I can't truly express. I understand better what St. Teresa meant when she said that Christ has no body, hands, or feet now but ours. It wasn't about praying that Christ comes to them...it was about bringing Christ to them ourselves, through our hugs and kisses and prayers and well wishes. It was truly an extraordinary experience for me today and I can't wait to visit these people again next Tuesday.
Now that I've rambled on, I want to share two experiences that happened yesterday. Every night, before I go to bed, I do a simple Examen. I decide what is one thing that happened that day for which I am thankful and what is one thing that happened that day for which I am not. Last night, I was thankful for my experience with the Small Christian Community. The Cathedral parish has divided its members into these small communities, who gather to pray, celebrate Mass, reflect on Scripture, and share food and fellowship. Last night we visited the St. Monica Community (this was after returning from Phikwe). We arrived at this found over 20 people crammed into this small apartment. I was surprised. We celebrated Mass, and the people shared their reflections on the Gospel. These people are truly devout. They weren't shy or hesitant and no one was judged for what they said (which I have found to be a common trait among the people - they are astoundingly accepting), and as always, the celebration in this lady's living room was filled with song and joy. After the Mass, food and drink was shared with everyone, and the people laughed and laughed and laughed. It was so marvellous to see. I've always felt that there is a disconnect in the Church in the US between the church building and the home. Too many people seem to live their faith only for about an hour on Sunday and never take it anywhere else. For the people here, the domestic church is just as important as the church building. It was truly inspiring to see :-)
That for which I was not so thankful was my experience of the Deliverance. I can't find any other way to describe it than to say it was just short of being an exorcism. I don't want to break the confidence of the people involved or judge the African culture, but it was disturbing to me. A young person felt that they were under attack from ancestral spirits. This person described many things to the priest, who concluded that this person was indeed being attacked and possessed by spirits. The priest performed the Deliverance, and it was really unsettling. The person being delivered expressed pain and discomfort, but the priest said it was the spirits saying that, not the person, and so he wouldn't stop. In the end, the person was confused, physically hurt, and disturbed by the experience (as was I). The priest assured this person that there would be no more trouble from these spirits. I really don't know what to think of this experience.
I've always been really dubious when it comes to the idea of demonic possession and exorcism. After all, I've always thought that if we are made in the image and likeness of God and if the Spirit of God dwells within us, how can a demon overcome that? I once went to a talk from an exorcist and he explained that most people who think they are possessed are not. They are experiencing sicknesses and other issues. Possession doesn't just happen (he said) it comes as a result of something destructive in that person's life that opens them up to allow evil in. That made me feel a little better, but I still don't know how to feel about things like this...Any thoughts? I'd love to hear what you have to say on this matter....
Well, I think that's enough for now...sorry it was so long. As you can see, a lot is happening in a small amount of time. Peace.
PS - I should say that I definitely believe in the existence of spirits, both malicious and benign, and I have a deep appreciation for the African culture's belief in their ancestral spirits and I respect them for it...just wanted to throw that out there :-)
Sunday night, I went with Fr. Sylvester to a town about 2 hours away called Phikwe (I think that's how it's spelled). It was an interesting drive. Let's just say that Fr. Sylvester puts the jet in Jetta if you get my drift. It is a nice little village that is built around a copper mine. The billowing smoke (which I'm sure is not healthy) from the smelters filled the entire sky. We went for what is called a Deliverance (which I'll talk about later) and on Monday, I made some home visits (Fr. Sylvester was once assigned here, and so knows EVERYONE). We returned to Francistown, and I was exhausted. After all, we had been going non-stop for almost 12 hours. Just when I was walking up the stairs, thinking of a cup of tea and watching Downton Abbey (yes - my addiction came with me to Botswana) I heard Father call me back down. He had his vestments in one arm and the Mass kit in another and told me that we were visiting one of the small Christian communities (which I'll talk about later also). When we finally got home, I was ready for bed. I honestly don't know how this man does it...he runs from place to place, and even literally town to town, and doesn't seem to get tired. He's almost twice my age, but has twice my energy. Lol.
Today was the best day so far. First of all, I LOVE showers. It is not unusual for me to take up to 30 minutes. Since arriving here, I've only been able to take 5 minute showers. The water pressure is so low, that the water comes out as a kind of mist, and I resorted to filling a cup from the shower head and kind of bathing myself. Two months of this shower was going to be my penance...or so I thought. It turns out the shower head was rusted, and so some of the holes were blocked. I changed it and OMG, I nearly cried when a full stream of water came out. I only showered for about 10 minutes, but it was a glorious 10 minutes hahaha. However, more important than that, I visited the sick and home bound with the Sister and brought them communion. It was so wonderful! Fr. Frank Hoffmann in Reno once gave me a piece of advice that I've never forgotten: care for the sick. There is something truly holy and sacred in helping people who feel at their worst and are so vulnerable. Every single person that I visited for those 3.5 hours smiled wide when we entered the house. Some were embarrassed that they couldn't properly greet "the white man" (that's what they call me lol) or that there wasn't a nice chair for me to sit on, but all of them, no matter how they felt, could not stop thanking us for coming. One elderly lady clutched my hand and wouldn't let me go...I almost had to pry her fingers off lol. Being there to pray with them and for them, to cheer them up, and maybe even give them some hope lifted my heart in ways I can't truly express. I understand better what St. Teresa meant when she said that Christ has no body, hands, or feet now but ours. It wasn't about praying that Christ comes to them...it was about bringing Christ to them ourselves, through our hugs and kisses and prayers and well wishes. It was truly an extraordinary experience for me today and I can't wait to visit these people again next Tuesday.
Now that I've rambled on, I want to share two experiences that happened yesterday. Every night, before I go to bed, I do a simple Examen. I decide what is one thing that happened that day for which I am thankful and what is one thing that happened that day for which I am not. Last night, I was thankful for my experience with the Small Christian Community. The Cathedral parish has divided its members into these small communities, who gather to pray, celebrate Mass, reflect on Scripture, and share food and fellowship. Last night we visited the St. Monica Community (this was after returning from Phikwe). We arrived at this found over 20 people crammed into this small apartment. I was surprised. We celebrated Mass, and the people shared their reflections on the Gospel. These people are truly devout. They weren't shy or hesitant and no one was judged for what they said (which I have found to be a common trait among the people - they are astoundingly accepting), and as always, the celebration in this lady's living room was filled with song and joy. After the Mass, food and drink was shared with everyone, and the people laughed and laughed and laughed. It was so marvellous to see. I've always felt that there is a disconnect in the Church in the US between the church building and the home. Too many people seem to live their faith only for about an hour on Sunday and never take it anywhere else. For the people here, the domestic church is just as important as the church building. It was truly inspiring to see :-)
That for which I was not so thankful was my experience of the Deliverance. I can't find any other way to describe it than to say it was just short of being an exorcism. I don't want to break the confidence of the people involved or judge the African culture, but it was disturbing to me. A young person felt that they were under attack from ancestral spirits. This person described many things to the priest, who concluded that this person was indeed being attacked and possessed by spirits. The priest performed the Deliverance, and it was really unsettling. The person being delivered expressed pain and discomfort, but the priest said it was the spirits saying that, not the person, and so he wouldn't stop. In the end, the person was confused, physically hurt, and disturbed by the experience (as was I). The priest assured this person that there would be no more trouble from these spirits. I really don't know what to think of this experience.
I've always been really dubious when it comes to the idea of demonic possession and exorcism. After all, I've always thought that if we are made in the image and likeness of God and if the Spirit of God dwells within us, how can a demon overcome that? I once went to a talk from an exorcist and he explained that most people who think they are possessed are not. They are experiencing sicknesses and other issues. Possession doesn't just happen (he said) it comes as a result of something destructive in that person's life that opens them up to allow evil in. That made me feel a little better, but I still don't know how to feel about things like this...Any thoughts? I'd love to hear what you have to say on this matter....
Well, I think that's enough for now...sorry it was so long. As you can see, a lot is happening in a small amount of time. Peace.
PS - I should say that I definitely believe in the existence of spirits, both malicious and benign, and I have a deep appreciation for the African culture's belief in their ancestral spirits and I respect them for it...just wanted to throw that out there :-)
Saturday, June 16, 2012
LAUGHTER
If I had to pick one word to describe the people of Botswana, it would be laughter. From the moment I stepped off the plane (which I can't wait to post a picture of...it was a prop plane LOL) all I have heard is laughter. Everyone is always laughing and smiling. It is really quite amazing to me. I was talking to a young Batswana (that is how you call the people of Botswana in plural) named Chris, hehe, and he asked me what my impression of Botswana was so far. I told him that I think Americans tend to have this perception that everyone else in the world is miserable because they are not us. They don't have our freedoms or our comforts, and so how could they be happy? I have been to a few poorer places now. From the Philippines to Chiapas in Mexico, and now here in Francistown, I have seen nothing but genuine love and caring and hospitality and most of all...happiness.
I noticed over the last 3 days that I have seen no people on the streets begging for money or for food, nor have I seen anyone sleeping on the street. Today, I asked Fr. Sylvester (the priest I am staying with) what Francistown's homeless population was like. He looked at me and said, "What's that?" He didn't know what a homeless person was. I honestly didn't know how to respond. When I explained that a homeless person was someone who didn't have a home and so had to live on the street, he asked me why they wouldn't have homes. He couldn't believe that people in America would be homeless. I'm still dumb-struck by that moment in the car.
Yesterday was the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus; it was a big celebration at Mass. When the time to sing the Gloria came (which by the way, not only does EVERYONE sing, but they all sing completely acapella and loudly, no matter what their voices sound like) they all started dancing and clapping and waving their arms in the air. Of course, I danced and clapped along. After the Mass, one of the youth of the parish (who told me he wants to be a priest) asked me if they dance like that in America. I told him no; we don't like dancing in our liturgy. His mouth literally dropped open. He asked me if I was serious, and when I said yes, he said, "Not even during the Gloria? You don't dance for the Gloria?!" I told him no. He could not conceive of not singing and dancing during Mass. "God is with us. It is a time of joy! Why wouldn't you want to dance?" another youth asked me. What could I answer?
I don't want to give the impression I'm looking down on America, because I'm not. I love my home and I do love my country. But perhaps it's time for us to stop thinking there is no room for us to grow. Maybe we need to start seeing what we can learn from others, even something as simple as laughter and joy.
Peace.
I noticed over the last 3 days that I have seen no people on the streets begging for money or for food, nor have I seen anyone sleeping on the street. Today, I asked Fr. Sylvester (the priest I am staying with) what Francistown's homeless population was like. He looked at me and said, "What's that?" He didn't know what a homeless person was. I honestly didn't know how to respond. When I explained that a homeless person was someone who didn't have a home and so had to live on the street, he asked me why they wouldn't have homes. He couldn't believe that people in America would be homeless. I'm still dumb-struck by that moment in the car.
Yesterday was the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus; it was a big celebration at Mass. When the time to sing the Gloria came (which by the way, not only does EVERYONE sing, but they all sing completely acapella and loudly, no matter what their voices sound like) they all started dancing and clapping and waving their arms in the air. Of course, I danced and clapped along. After the Mass, one of the youth of the parish (who told me he wants to be a priest) asked me if they dance like that in America. I told him no; we don't like dancing in our liturgy. His mouth literally dropped open. He asked me if I was serious, and when I said yes, he said, "Not even during the Gloria? You don't dance for the Gloria?!" I told him no. He could not conceive of not singing and dancing during Mass. "God is with us. It is a time of joy! Why wouldn't you want to dance?" another youth asked me. What could I answer?
I don't want to give the impression I'm looking down on America, because I'm not. I love my home and I do love my country. But perhaps it's time for us to stop thinking there is no room for us to grow. Maybe we need to start seeing what we can learn from others, even something as simple as laughter and joy.
Peace.
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| Our Lady of the Desert Cathedral - my home parish for the summer. |
Friday, June 15, 2012
In the beginning...
It all started in the summer of 2011...I was assigned to the parish of Our Lady of the Snows in Reno, NV for the summer. One day I was told that an African bishop would be coming to stay for a few days. I was even asked if I would mind driving him around here and there. Little did I know this would be the start of a big adventure :-)
My first impression of Bishop Frank Nubuasah of Francistown, Botswana, was of course that he wasn't like most bishops I had ever met. First of all, he introduced himself to me as "Frank." I had never met a bishop who did that. (I have since met exactly one other bishop who introduced himself to me by his first name and without the "bishop" title, but Bishop Frank was first.) As I got to know him, I found him to not only be so approachable and personable, but truly humble and gracious. He had no airs about him about being a bishop. In fact, he one day did my laundry. Imagine a bishop doing a seminarian's laundry! I had left some clothes in the washer. I came home and found them neatly folded and stacked in front of my door. I was so embarrassed! I asked Bishop Frank why he did my laundry. He told me that he needed to use the washer. When I told him that he should have just thrown my wet clothes in the basket wet, he responded "Why would I do that? We are brothers." That's the kind of man he is: a true servant-leader.
But what struck me most of all about this man were his stories about Francistown and his work as Bishop. He expressed to me his worry about his priests, who are so isolated. "I often worry how they are dealing with being alone," he told me. Bishop told me about the farm he started and was caring for to help teach the people how to take care of animals and crops. He told me about the schools and clinics he was trying to build. And he told me about all the people dying from AIDS that the Church must care for. "Do you know how much it costs to save one human life from AIDS?" he asked. "Fifty dollars. That's it. Fifty dollars pays for a month's worth of AIDS medication which gives a mother her son for another month, or a husband his wife for another month, or children their father for another month. Fifty dollars. That's it." Of course, I was reduced to tears. How often does fifty dollars pass through my hands? And not even for essential things? For weeks after, I found myself measuring my spending habits in terms of lives (perhaps something I need to do again...). I was very deeply touched by everything this man said and represented.
Then came the moment that started this journey. We were talking about simplicity of life and I jokingly said that perhaps I should come visit Francistown, as it might be good for me. The Bishop looked at me and said with all seriousness, "It would be wonderful if you could come for a summer. You should ask if your diocese would be willing to send you for a pastoral experience." Now I think it is important to understand that I have never had a calling to be a missionary. I admire people who do it and seem to love it, but it is just not me (which is why I suppose I'm a diocesan seminarian). But this stuck in my heart. I couldn't get the thought of coming to Francistown out of my mind. I prayed about it and talked to Frs. Chuck and Paul (Spiritual and Vocation Directors) and both were extremely encouraging. So I wrote a proposal to Bishop Calvo and our Seminarian Board asking if I could go. I have to be honest, I didn't expect them to say yes, or to do so quickly. Literally, they met on a Tuesday and Wednesday I received a text saying, "Chris. Looks like you're going to Africa" from one of the board members. That was in early November 2011. Seven months and 2 immunization shots later, here I am in Botswana. It is still surreal in many ways. Just last night, I laid down in bed and looked out my window at a different set of stars and constellations and told myself, "I'm really here." It's only been a few days, but already things are afoot (which I'll blog about later). Now you know how it is I got here. I'm on mini-vacation right now until Bishop Frank returns and I get my formal assignment, but for now I am enjoying the hospitality and faith of the people of Francistown and Our Lady of the Desert Cathedral. More to come!
Peace.
My first impression of Bishop Frank Nubuasah of Francistown, Botswana, was of course that he wasn't like most bishops I had ever met. First of all, he introduced himself to me as "Frank." I had never met a bishop who did that. (I have since met exactly one other bishop who introduced himself to me by his first name and without the "bishop" title, but Bishop Frank was first.) As I got to know him, I found him to not only be so approachable and personable, but truly humble and gracious. He had no airs about him about being a bishop. In fact, he one day did my laundry. Imagine a bishop doing a seminarian's laundry! I had left some clothes in the washer. I came home and found them neatly folded and stacked in front of my door. I was so embarrassed! I asked Bishop Frank why he did my laundry. He told me that he needed to use the washer. When I told him that he should have just thrown my wet clothes in the basket wet, he responded "Why would I do that? We are brothers." That's the kind of man he is: a true servant-leader.But what struck me most of all about this man were his stories about Francistown and his work as Bishop. He expressed to me his worry about his priests, who are so isolated. "I often worry how they are dealing with being alone," he told me. Bishop told me about the farm he started and was caring for to help teach the people how to take care of animals and crops. He told me about the schools and clinics he was trying to build. And he told me about all the people dying from AIDS that the Church must care for. "Do you know how much it costs to save one human life from AIDS?" he asked. "Fifty dollars. That's it. Fifty dollars pays for a month's worth of AIDS medication which gives a mother her son for another month, or a husband his wife for another month, or children their father for another month. Fifty dollars. That's it." Of course, I was reduced to tears. How often does fifty dollars pass through my hands? And not even for essential things? For weeks after, I found myself measuring my spending habits in terms of lives (perhaps something I need to do again...). I was very deeply touched by everything this man said and represented.
Then came the moment that started this journey. We were talking about simplicity of life and I jokingly said that perhaps I should come visit Francistown, as it might be good for me. The Bishop looked at me and said with all seriousness, "It would be wonderful if you could come for a summer. You should ask if your diocese would be willing to send you for a pastoral experience." Now I think it is important to understand that I have never had a calling to be a missionary. I admire people who do it and seem to love it, but it is just not me (which is why I suppose I'm a diocesan seminarian). But this stuck in my heart. I couldn't get the thought of coming to Francistown out of my mind. I prayed about it and talked to Frs. Chuck and Paul (Spiritual and Vocation Directors) and both were extremely encouraging. So I wrote a proposal to Bishop Calvo and our Seminarian Board asking if I could go. I have to be honest, I didn't expect them to say yes, or to do so quickly. Literally, they met on a Tuesday and Wednesday I received a text saying, "Chris. Looks like you're going to Africa" from one of the board members. That was in early November 2011. Seven months and 2 immunization shots later, here I am in Botswana. It is still surreal in many ways. Just last night, I laid down in bed and looked out my window at a different set of stars and constellations and told myself, "I'm really here." It's only been a few days, but already things are afoot (which I'll blog about later). Now you know how it is I got here. I'm on mini-vacation right now until Bishop Frank returns and I get my formal assignment, but for now I am enjoying the hospitality and faith of the people of Francistown and Our Lady of the Desert Cathedral. More to come!
Peace.
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