Behold This Sacred Heart

Behold this Heart, which has loved men so much…

These are the words of Jesus spoken to St. Margaret Mary, a humble Visitation nun in France in the 1670’s. Here is where Christ chose to reveal this special form of devotion. Now, two things are always found together in the devotion to the Sacred Heart: Christ’s Heart of flesh and Christ’s love for us.

In the Office of Readings for this Solemnity, Saint Bonaventure writes:

The blood and water which poured out at that moment [when the soldier pierced his side] were the price of our salvation. Flowing from the secret abyss of our Lord’s heart as from a fountain, this stream gave the sacraments of the Church the power to confer the life of grace, while for those already living in Christ it became a spring of living water welling up to life everlasting.

The love of Christ was the driving force for all that he did and suffered: in Nazareth, on the cross, in giving himself in the Blessed Sacrament, in his teaching and healing, his praying and working. Even now, the Heart of Jesus never ceases to love and sanctify us in heaven through the Sacraments. For his Heart has already been pierced opened for us, we need only to dwell with him and let him nourish us within his Heart.

In the gospel account we will hear tomorrow from Matthew, we hear the well-known verse, "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for your selves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light." The easiness of the yoke and the lightness of the burden are based on the relationship we have with the meek and humble Jesus, which brings rest to us in the present. This relationship begins with realizing the love that God has for us. For God's very being is love, and we are called to remain in his love and to love one another as Christ has loved us (John 15).

I have recently read from Archbishop Fulton Sheen that there is no such thing as loving too much. You either love madly or you love too little. And mediocrity is the price for all those who refuse to add sacrifice to their love. I think we can say without a doubt that Christ was madly in love. So much so that he gave his life for us, for there is no greater love than this. So in order to reach the heights of love we must begin at the lowest level and be humble as he is humble.

And there is definite truth here. In the most seemingly lowly and humble souls there can be found the most sacrificial love. There was a graduation yesterday for the 12th graders. Talking to one of the graduates yesterday, he spoke of the thankfulness he had for even the chance to get an education, of his parent’s sacrifice so they could afford to send him to school, a thankfulness to God, and the hope to give back from what he has been blessed with. Truly blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God and his abounding love.

Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us, for we place all our trust in you…

-Dan
written 6/30/11

The Apostle of the Lepers

The plan is that I will go to Massatine, the leper colony, every Thursday. Today, however, they had to take a different car because the truck we usually take needed to be fixed in Monrovia. As a result, there was no room for me to go. So instead, to be with them in spirit I decided to do a little research into the namesake of the church built there, Father Damien of Molokai. Allow me to share a bit of his story.

Father Damien was born in Belgium in the year 1840. When he was eighteen he felt called by God to become a Catholic priest. In 1859 he joined his oldest brother as a member of the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary and took the religious name Damien. He then sailed to Hawaii in 1863 with two other priests to serve as a team of missionaries on the island. It was here that Fr. Damien encountered leprosy.

At that time no one know too much about the disease or how to treat it, most were just afraid of catching it. So the government set up a colony on the island of Molokai where they sent all those with leprosy to live, and ultimately die. When the Bishop asked for a volunteer to go and live with these people on Molokai and look after the settlers, Fr. Damien begged for the chance to go.

The state that he found the island in was a sad one. These people felt like outsiders to their own race and abandoned, for good reason. With no one to care for them, the people felt little hope left in life. Then Fr. Damien arrived.

Since he was the only help the people received, Fr. Damien had to act as doctor, nurse, teacher, carpenter, engineer, as well as priest. But he did all this with love, and filled each day with work and prayer. The most important thing he did for these people, however, was to give them back their self-respect. He showed them that there was someone who loved and cared for them. So on top of building huts, supplying water, educating the young, visiting the sick, and holding countless Masses and funerals, this new found hope in life was the real change.

Eventually, Fr. Damien finally caught leprosy. He died in the joy of Christ, however, writing to his brother that, “I am quite happy and contented. Although seriously ill, all I want is to do the will of God.” And as Fr. Damien began to slip away he received Holy Communion for the last time, and before he died, actually, all signs of leprosy left his face. He then met his end peacefully in 1889.

So there you have, in brief, the story of Fr. Damien of Molokai. It is a truly inspiring life, and I can’t wait to visit our own village of Massatine again next week. But it is an example to all of us of the sacrificial love that the Lord is calling us to. Underneath a large cross at his burial site are the words from Scripture:

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

-Dan
written 06/30/11

Bathed in Blue

The priest had been talking for about fifteen minutes, but I couldn’t tell you what he said.

This priest, an old friend of Fr. Francis, had invited us to his residence and I, the loyal shadow, tagged along. He is of the Order of Augustinian Recollects (O.A.R). I can’t tell you anything about the order because all of his books and magazines were in Spanish. Fr. Francis and I sat on a couch facing him. Behind his chair I immediately noticed a painting of Mary. More appropriately, it noticed me. Over the next fifteen minutes of conversation I struggled to pay attention (hearing only the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher), finding myself captivated by this portrait. There are many paintings of Mary that I find beautiful, but this one…was different.

I remember one spiritual direction session I had last summer. I recall telling the priest how I was frustrated about feeling this attraction for priesthood and yet still tangled up in doubt over if I could really be alright without a tangible woman to hold me accountable. He leaned forward and said quietly, “Bob, maybe you’ve already found the right woman.” I promptly shut up.

How do you have a relationship with Mary? Easier done than said. I think the first step is recognizing that Mary actually existed—she lived in a specific time and moment of history. She is often frozen into a prayer card or ivory statue, and we forget that she was (and is still) flesh and blood. She was a young woman, terrified of what God called her to do, but freely and openly laid down her life to a plan beyond her comprehension. She is the paradigm for all young people struggling with trust in discerning God’s will, and I believe she is the reason why I survived my second year in seminary. The African Catholics I have encountered all hold a special reverence for Mary; every morning they pray the rosary before Mass. Like a good mother, she’s always waiting to help us, but she respects our freedom and stubbornness-—we only need to pick up the spiritual phone.

But sometimes, like a mother should, she puts her foot down. Two years ago an icon of Guadeloupe I had hung over my bed fell from its hook and drew blood from my forehead. I hadn’t prayed the rosary in some time—I took it as a sign to stop neglecting Mary. Fulton Sheen said that, “If we are one in Christ, than Mary is our Mother! It is a terrible thing for a man not to know his heavenly Father; it is equally serious not to know his heavenly Mother. I believe the Lord when He said, ‘This is my Body,’ so I believe Him when He says, “This is your Mother.”

Here’s to all the moms out there (hi Mom!), on earth and in Heaven.

-Bob
Totus Tuus Maria
written 06/29/11

The Babysitter's Club

Tonight I was accosted. The perpetrator is still at large.

The night started innocently enough. I was reading in a chair, sitting down at the time. My feet were propped up. I believe I was facing due northeast. Then she walked in. I think she was about 2-3 feet tall. Green dress. Toothy grin. She hopped right into my lap with a magazine in tow. She told me to read. I refused. I told her, in the best Dad impression that I could muster, to “read the words—the words are your friends.” She did not take that well.

I did everything my self-defense class teacher told me to, with no avail. What followed was madness. I can still hear her laughing, laughing into my ear. Laughing when she grabbed my “funny” hair. Laughing when I threw her out the door and she came running back in through my legs.

I don’t remember much else. It was all fairly traumatic. I’m peering out my window now, fearful. I can still hear her. She's out there, somewhere...laughing.

The perpetrator is still at large.

-Bob
written in fear on 06/27/11

The Other Side of Silence

Hello silence, my old friend.

If there was one thing I was not expecting from Africa, it was copious amounts of silence. This parish is ironically in a very loud district of the city. The local marketplace is a flurry of noise, the roosters have no concept of time so they crow throughout the night, and an Islamic preacher feels the need to call the neighborhood to repentance every morning around 4:30am. The silence I refer to is that inner silence, that silence resulting when there are no TVs, computers, phones, or entertainment to distract us from, well…ourselves. And that is scary. Africa has been a testing ground in this desert of silence. A friend from home described to me once how she can’t stand the 30 seconds of silence of her daily elevator ride to the floor where she works—it’s the loneliest part of her day.

“Loneliness may just be God asking us to spend time with Him.” A brother seminarian told me that this past year, and it truly radicalized my perspective of loneliness and these moments of silence and solitude. Those periods of loneliness we all go through are actually opportunities to listen to that still, small voice. We Americans usually hate silence and instead numb ourselves with noise and immediate gratification, anything to keep us from reflecting upon ourselves and that pesky God question. I am speaking to myself as well here—I do love my iPod—and I have found Africa to be a precious school of silence as well as a school of poverty. That indifference to God, which we “First World” citizens are all daily exposed to, comes to screeching stop when silence rears its ugly face.

Bishop Biguzzi allowed me to spend an hour in his private chapel. He departs for Italy tomorrow and will not return until I myself leave the country. I remember meeting the Bishop on the first day I entered Makeni, thinking “Wow, I probably won’t see him again with his busy schedule.” I have seen the Bishop no less than three times a week over this past month, running into him around town, hanging around with his priests, being summoned to scan documents, and being invited to private pasta sessions. He has played an integral role in making me feel at home in this country. And now I was granted an hour in his chapel. I reflected during that hour of silence on all the blessings I’ve received since first landing in Africa, especially all the email support and prayers from good friends and family back home (he snapped a picture of me when I wasn’t looking).

There’s a U2 lyrical verse that speaks of “the roar that lies on the other side of silence.” Any of the many mystics of our rich faith tradition will affirm that our God awaits us on that other side of silence, open to all who have the courage to enter. This country, Serra Lyoa (Lion Mountains), was named so by a Portuguese man who witnessed lightning and thunder ripping the sky open across the precipitous shore, akin to a lion roaring across the mountain range. I have sat through many hours of silence here, but I have faith that I will hear His roar soon enough.

-Bob
written 06/27/11

On Poverty IV: Change

I recently read this passage from Benedict XVI’s book Jesus of Nazareth (I have a lot of time to read):

“The poor, in their humility, are the ones closest to God’s heart, whereas the opposite is true of the arrogant pride of the rich, who rely only on themselves” (p. 75).

I think we’re afraid to change sometimes because we fear we’ll lose what makes us special. Additionally, I fear losing control. This assignment has been a great challenge to me precisely because I have no control—I often feel like a baby, totally dependent on Fr. Francis, and ultimately God, for my day-to-day needs to be met. And that irks me. Africa has further exposed streaks of underlying arrogance and my longtime compulsion to rely on myself. I think I held on to this “self-made made” model more or less through these two years of seminary, but here in Africa no one makes themselves. That’s a grand myth. Everyone here is intertwined with everyone else. Companionship trumps competition. And for me, that requires personal change.

Another quote, to shift gears:
“The setting in which Luke frames the Sermon on the Mount clarifies to whom the Beatitudes are addressed: ‘He lifted up his eyes on his disciples.’ The individual Beatitudes are the fruit of this looking upon the disciples; they describe what might be called the actual condition of Jesus’ disciples: They are poor, hungry, weeping men; they are hated and persecuted” (p. 71).

The toilers, the indigent, and the vulnerable surround me here in Makeni. They are the same breed who Christ calls to Himself. I continually try to keep myself from falling into false guilt over the possessions that I do have. How do I use my possessions for the poor? Which possessions are truly roadblocks that I gloss over, not willing to be discomforted? I have been able to type up numerous documents for the priests and some parishioners because “I type so fast”—all thanks to Mom’s early urging to learn the keyboard and a program called Mario Teaches Typing. The youth here don’t grow up with computers. The adults who do learn type like my Dad: the ‘ol two-fingers pounding along, looking for the right letter. I could have thrown out the computer early in my trip to be in “solidarity” with the poor, but perhaps God has given me this skill for a reason and to bury that talent would be counter to His plan.

Change demands a humble, poor spirit. I’m still learning…let’s continue helping each other along this road.

-Bob
written 06/26/11

On Poverty III: Nothing or Everything

While hanging out at the local cantina with the parishioners after Mass, one young woman asked me, “Brudda Bob, why haven’t you bought me a beer yet?” I responded in humor , “I’m a seminarian—I’m poor!” Truthfully, I didn’t have my wallet on me and figured that answer would suffice. She threw her head back and laughed, then said matter-of-factly, “You eat three times a day. You have a roof to sleep under. You are not poor.”

Africa: 1 ----- Bob: 0

Aside from a Chick-Fil-A coupon, I also use a Starbucks gift card as a bookmark (heaven forbid I own a real bookmark). The irony of this dawned on me today. No one here knows what a Starbucks is. A piece of plastic with a $15 worth in one part of the globe has absolutely no value here. A spiral notebook is worth infinitely more here than this gift card coveted by caffeine addicts. Families especially, in dealing with fees, uniforms, books, stationary, the ‘right’ to sit for exams, and ‘taxes’ that are arbitrarily generated by teachers to generate additional income, feel the pinch of paying for what is necessary for their children to simply function in school. It has put a lot in perspective.

One teenager, one of the rare few who have left the country, asked me, “Why are Americans so sad when they have so much? We have very little here but we are happy!” I didn’t really know what to say. I think the answer was contained within the question…to have nothing but possess everything. There is a childlike faith here in Sierra Leone, illustrated by a profound trust in the Lord, old and young alike. If we Westerners could learn such skill and vulnerability in the faith…well, maybe then we really would be rich.

-Bob
written 06/24/11

It's Raining Cats...and More Cats!

Literally!

Ever since I got to Bomi I have heard noises above the ceiling in my room. And no, I’m not going crazy, this has been without a doubt some living animal above me while I sleep. I tried not to think about it and just chalk it up to Africa.

I didn’t hear any squeaks, cries, or yelps, just something stirring and moving about. It almost sounded like cats to me. But come on, cats in the ceiling? We do have two cats that live around the property on mice patrol, however, and I am currently in the process of befriending and training one.

As it turns out, this morning one of the guys went up into the ceiling and found a litter of kittens up there. There were four of them. So they were brought down and set up in a place where the mother can find them. Apparently this isn’t the first time she has given birth up there.

So I was right all along. It seems that another mystery has been solved. In retrospect, the whole course of events from the point of view of the cats was simple and direct, although to us, who had no means in the beginning of knowing the motives and actions and could only learn part of the facts, it all appeared exceedingly complex (I just finished reading Sherlock Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles).

Anyway, maybe now I can get a peaceful night’s sleep…

-Dan
written 06/27/11

Thus Saith the Lord

To continue on this note of personal reflection for a bit, I’ll fill you in on the Bible study that I am leading. I asked Sister Raphael when I first got here if there was anything in particular that I could do for the young men on the mission or if there was something that they needed that I could possibly fulfill. After talking for a while, and my mention of a starting a Bible study, she said that was actually something that they wanted to start up this summer for the men. So that settled it. After a talk with Fr. Garry I was off.

I had more or less free reign over what I wished to cover and how I would lead it. In prayer, the Book of Exodus kept coming to mind. I felt that this had many themes and topics that were relevant and would allow for some fruitful dialogue (besides the fact that I knew more about this book than others so I felt more comfortable leading a study on it).

So again, I find myself reading and studying in between our meetings. Luckily, Fr. Garry does have Biblical commentary on Exodus and Sister has a teaching manual for the Old Testament that I can pull from. And the men seem to be enjoying it. At first it took some time for them to start talking, but I think this is true for most.

I found that whatever much I thought I knew about Exodus, after more study and reflection I realized that I really didn’t know that much. Old Testament class did teach me a lot, however, especially later when we get to the ark, the dwelling place of the Lord.

It has also proven to be a good reflection for myself. Upon reading, I have found many parallels between Moses and myself. Now please don’t get me wrong, I’m not bragging that the Lord has chosen me to lead Africa out of poverty and tyranny or anything. While this may prove to be true, at this moment I am talking more about Moses’ hesitations and stubbornness (and also not his adoption, no matter what Bob may say).

A good prayer for me now before my classes, or reflections, or what have you, has been Moses’ cry to the Lord upon the commencement of his mission. In Exodus 4:10-13, Moses says to the Lord, “If you please, Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past, nor recently, nor now that you have spoken to your servant; but I am slow of speech and tongue.” But the Lord said to him, “Who gives one man speech and makes another deaf and dumb? Or who gives sight to one and makes another blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Go then! It is I who will assist you in speaking and will teach you what you are to say.”

As the saying goes, “God does not call the qualified, but qualifies the called.” Anyway, I had better do what the Lord has called me to do before He sends a plague of mosquitoes my way!

-Dan
written 06/27/11

Party in the CONTINENT Where the Heat is On

The seminary is an interesting place, to say the least. I can say without a doubt that this past year has been one of the best, but at the same time one of the most challenging years of my life. I can also say that I have not come to realize, therefore properly appreciate, exactly what I have received over this past year. It is only now that I have begun to see.

My reflection on the seminary had a rather unusual start. It started with food. I have been asked by several people how I’m adjusting to the local food here, which from my experience consists largely of rice, gravy (any number of particular sauces containing meat and vegetables), plantains, and fresh fruits, to name an average lunch. I was even asked if I had ever tasted or even heard of plantains before. I responded of course, and that Miami had actually prepared me pretty well for the local meals that I have come across (a special shout-out to my Cuban kin).

Another question I have received quite a lot has been how I’m handling the weather. Again I would say that Miami has grown me accustom to the heat, especially thinking back to evening prayer in our unair-conditioned chapel. After thinking about these more superficial ways that the seminary has enabled me, I started to think and pray about what other fruits this past year have brought.

It is true that you may never know your full potential until you really put yourself out there, and the short time that I have already been here has shown me that. It is hard to write, actually, because I feel that there are so many examples that I could name.

On the human level, the vast range of personalities and cultures at the seminary is very important. This really helps to form you and enable you to interact with anyone that you may meet in our pastoral duties. The “culture shock” that Miami gives has also helped in its own way. A common joke is that need a passport to get into Miami because of the huge Hispanic influence there. Well, I really do need my passport here in Africa, but the “culture shock” I received here may not be too far from that of Miami. And it’s funny, I find that if I really can’t understand or communicate with someone here then some Spanish words tend to slip out. I guess my brain thinks that maybe if I try another language it will help (but it never does).

The classes, of course, have proven to be invaluable. What I have learned, and even picked up without knowing, has really helped me in every pastoral assignment I have been given. Philosophy really helps you to understand why we think the way that we do today. And studying it at the seminary in particular has helped me to break down my own way of thought in order to help understand myself better. I even received some explanation and practice on how to give a homily in two of my classes. Even though I thought it might have been a bit premature since this was only my first year in the seminary, I can’t explain how grateful I am now that I will be giving many reflections to the local people in the weeks to come.

The spiritual aspect, as well, has been a great blessing. The importance of daily Mass, Liturgy of the Hours, and our own personal holy hour has really been instilled in me and has become truly revitalizing for me here. Looking at today’s readings, as St. Paul says, though many, we are one body in the participation in the Body of Christ. This has been a great consolation to know that I am still connected with you all every time that we receive the Eucharist at Mass.

As for my discernment, well I shall leave that for another post…

And of course, this does not exhaust all that the seminary has given me so far in my journey, and I still have a lot of reflection to do on this past year. But even for all of my complaining I may have done over this year (and now Fr. Garza will give me some nails when I get back), it has been, and will continue to be, a process of transformation for me into the man that God has created me to be. And for this I cannot praise the Lord enough.

-Dan
written 06/26/11

Ru-fi-oooo!

So I have had a rather strange, but nostalgic, stream of thoughts running through my head for some time now that I have finally given into. It has to do with the movie Hook. If you have not seen it then I highly suggest that you do, but for the sake of understanding I will briefly describe the plot: When Captain Hook kidnaps his children, an adult Peter Pan must return to Neverland and reclaim his youthful spirit in order to challenge his old enemy (I hope this was brief enough for you).

In the movie one of the tasks that Peter has to accomplish in order to become Peter Pan again and gain the respect and trust of the Lost Boys is to learn how to crow. Well, on the mission here we have an abundance of chickens and roosters roaming the grounds. And unbeknownst to me, it appears that roosters crow all day long, not just in the mornings. Besides that newfound knowledge, and newfound annoyance, their crows often reminded me of Hook, though I never gave it much thought besides that.

This morning, however, when I woke up the roosters were all gathered outside my window crowing away, and I had a vision from the movie. Toodles, an eccentric old man, going up to Peter in a crazed manner after his children were kidnapped saying:

“Have to fly, have to fight, have to crow, have to save Maggie, have to save Jack, Hook is back.”

I chuckled to myself, but then I began to think. I am going out again tonight with the catechists and I have to prepare another reflection, this time on Corpus Christi. I was praying last night about what I would say, and how they expect me to come up with reflections like these all summer long with my one year of philosophy and barely any resources. In prayer, however, I came up with, what I think, is a pretty powerful reflection for the people.

Then this morning when this quote came into my head I was inspired. Maybe this is my time to learn how to crow (hold your laughter please this is very serious). Maybe this is my time to embrace, maybe not a youthful spirit like Peter, but the Spirit of the Lord. To continue to let go and place all my trust in Him that He will lead my words and their hearts.

So I too will learn to crow for Christ! I just hope I don't lose my marbles…

-Dan
written 06/25/11

I Reject Your Reality and Substitute My Own

Bob commented awhile ago that he never thought that his first teaching experience would be in Africa. Well, I never really thought of having teaching experience period, let alone in Africa. But here I find myself teaching biology to a group of eager minds ready to be molded. Do I have the proper qualifications to teach? No. Do I posses the proper skills and mindset of a teacher? Probably not. Yet the Lord has placed me here and has put these young men in front of me who wish to learn what I have to offer them, so darn it all if I will fail them now!

If nothing else can be said, then at least I am tenacious. I have obtained a textbook from the school so I can study in between classes and prepare (because I haven’t even taken a biology class in over a year and a half). I have also realized how much we take for granted and don’t even think about back home. For example, since my students don’t have a textbook to follow along in, I have to draw any diagrams or pictures on the chalkboard that I think would benefit them (which is pretty much all of them). On Wednesday I went over an hour early to class in order to draw the appropriate diagrams on the board and not waste the student’s time drawing them during class. So at least by the end of this summer my art skills will have improved.

I teach three biology classes a week on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. My class ranges from men who have taken a few classes of biology to some who have never taken a class before. Needless to say I am starting from the basics. I have gone over basic cell structure and growth, DNA structure and replication, and now I will go into a basic introduction to genetics (this may not be the next step in a real intro class, but I know genetics pretty well so I feel I can teach this better than some other topics).

It seems that they understand what I am teaching. They don’t ask too many questions at least. Rachel told me, however, that when she started teaching at the school she was also amazed at how well behaved and attentive her students were. Then in a mid-semester evaluation the students commented that they couldn’t understand a word that she was saying. Hopefully this is not the case here, not entirely at least. But I figure that even if they manage to get the most basic concepts out of what I am teaching them I have done my job.

I am trying to think of ways to be creative though, maybe with some labs or field trips. Because what better place to study biology than in Africa! My dream is to make my class like the Mythbusters, but lack of supplies (and proper knowledge of physics on my part) has stifled this dream so far. But I promise you that we will make something explode by the end of the summer…if only I could get my hands on some Diet Coke and Mentos.

-Dan
written 06/24/11

African Adoration

“You may for a time have to suffer the distress of many trials; but this is so that your faith, which is more precious than the passing splendor of fire-tried gold, may by its genuineness lead to praise, glory, and honor when Jesus Christ appears”—1 Peter 1: 7

And the King has appeared.

-Bob
written 06/23/11

Mambo Italiano

Pasta! Fettuccini! Café! Super Mario!

Let me back up. One of the unexpected gifts of this international adventure has been the exposure to the greater international community, namely the Italians. Italian missionaries came to Sierra Leone during the 1950s, evangelizing to the locals here in the Makeni region and establishing numerous schools. Many campuses, including the university, have either pictures in the classrooms or painted portraits on the outside walls of the Italian priests and missionaries. The Diocese of Albano, Italy, has also contributed great funds to the local hospital.

I’ve also become friends with two young adults from Italy who are working with the Caritas organization. Enrico and Elisa will be staying in the country for one year, predominately working with children but also the Justice and Peace Commission, a local association dedicated to peace-keeping talks and evaluating the progress the country has made in recovering from the civil war. Their English is very good, but I have to talk slowly, again because of my silly accent. Elisa enjoys my flashy displays of Italian goodbyes, currently limited to arrivederci and ciao. Enrico rags on me because of the silly things America apparently does—I have given Enrico the affectionate nickname ‘Mussolini.’

Bishop Biguzzi recently had Fr. Francis and me over to work on some projects. I wasn’t expecting to stay for lunch, but it would just be rude to refuse the invitation, right? My jaw actually dropped when I pulled the lid from the pan and saw it—there, soaked in red sauce and covered with cheesy delight, was pasta. I resisted the urge to drop to my knees right there and thank the Almighty, but I couldn’t play the poker face once the Bishop asked if I wanted some Italian coffee. It’s been four weeks since I’ve had coffee. He saw the smile explode across my face.

Here is a picture of me after eating Italian pasta and drinking Italian coffee with an Italian bishop. I was just a little excited.

-Bobino
written 06/22/11

Dan vs. Wild

You find yourself in Africa with three locals in the deep forest. Your road is the one less traveled. Your truck is heading uphill on a sudden incline, the dirt road cracked all the way up. Without warning your truck starts to slide down. The driver frantically fights to keep the truck under control, but it’s not use. Now you and your truck are stuck at the bottom. No civilization in sight and you haven’t passed another car in what seems like ages. Adrenaline pounding and daylight fading. Would you know what to do to survive?

Well this is exactly the situation I found myself in yesterday my friends. And I just want to extend my official thanks to Bear Grylls for my British-Special-Service-quality survival training. As soon as we knew that the truck would be of no use to us my many years of watching the Discovery Channel and Man vs. Wild kicked in to possibly save my life.

Ok, so maybe I’m exaggerating a tad. But my mind did go instinctively into survival mode, even though the village we were heading to was a 10 minute walk from where the truck failed us (and by the time we were done at the village the truck was up there waiting for us). But I didn’t know that at the time. For all I knew this was the start of a very long battle for our survival.

In all seriousness though, it has been an incredible two days assisting the catechists in their pastoral works. The villages we travel to are hours into the forest and at times it does feel like we might not make it out easily. This is especially due to the most narrow, hand-crafted bridges you have ever seen. Some are literally logs thrown across a stream. And hearing these creak and crack as we drive over them is a pretty nerve-racking experience every time.

It has definitely been a highlight of my experience so far though. For most people here the distance and overall forested nature of these trips might just be a nuisance, but for me each trip has been an adventure of a lifetime. I guess it’s the years of the Discovery Channel coming out of me.

And the work we do at these outposts is very rewarding, as well. The first time I was with Fr. George, so he said Mass and asked me to give a small reflection. Today it was just the translator and I, and I gave my reflection again (a better quality one though). Both reflections were on the Trinity. So now I would like to extend another thanks to Fr. Santos and his Medieval Philosophy class for getting me through these reflections.

At the end of today’s service there was an announcement that a child died last night after months of sickness. They then asked me (as the guest/seminarian I guess) to say a prayer over the young couple mourning. It was again another humbling and powerful experience for me. Then they told me that this is my village now as well, and they hope that I come back. And even if I go back to America I can say that I am from this village.

Praise the Lord for the opportunity I have been given with these amazing people. But now I am afraid I must depart in order to get ready for my next adventure into the wild!

-Dan
written 06/22/11

Words are Cheap, Actions Costly

A good friend of mine gave me a book to read before I left entitled Happy Are You Poor. I was also warned by several people about this book because it would make me want to give away all of my possessions. Well, I’m not here to argue that point, but I wanted to share a little bit of my reflection on what I’ve read in light of my experiences in Africa so far.

This book talks about living a “sparing-sharing lifestyle.” Living our lives according to the Gospel’s principles, which is we-in-God centered, rather than the world’s principles, which is either explicitly or implicitly I-centered. And in reading the signs of the times we can see that most tend to live by the world’s principles.

It is not that people are not caring or loving towards those less fortunate than themselves, but this I-centered lifestyle is so ingrained in our society that it is “in our mother’s milk,” so to speak. So even the most well-intentioned of people are inclined to this way of living.

But we are called to be a pilgrim witness in our world. We need people to challenge the false ideologies that underscore our consumerist society. People who live the Gospel’s principles and show that we can live happy and fulfilled lives living this sparing-sharing lifestyle. For we hear in 1 Peter 2:11 that we are pilgrims, strangers, nomads on this earth.

To love others as ourselves is the Gospel message. So it is futile for me to cry out in concern for the poor, for example, if I go on living my same life of overindulgence and extensive pleasures. “My life belies my rhetoric.” For love is not mere talk, it is living and active (1 Jn 3:17-18).

Even more than material goods, however, man’s greatest need is love. Love of God and love of brother and sister. And this is what I have found here. Though the people don’t have much, their lives are lived for their families and communities. And what more, they are happy. Sure, there is plenty of suffering and desolation, don’t get me wrong, but if you live your life for a higher purpose than the things of this world don’t seem to matter as much. We are truly a pilgrim people in search of our heavenly homeland.

A few days ago I had an incredible and humbling experience that I will not soon forget. We were passing through a nearby village and Father went in to the church to speak to the people briefly. I stayed by the car and was waiting. I noticed a group of children playing across the street. I would wave to them and they would hide. As they grew bolder they would yell, “White man hey,” over and over. Finally one boy, jokingly or not, yelled, “White man, give me five dollars!” I just laughed. About a minute later, the small boys who yelled this walked over to me with twenty Liberian dollars in his hand (roughly 30 cents US). When he reached me he stuck out his hand and extended the money to me. I was simultaneous shocked and extremely humbled (and no, I didn’t take his money).

If we all lived our lives like this little boy than maybe the Gospel’s principle would be the world’s principle. Maybe we all would feel that our lives were happier and more fulfilled. Maybe the world would be set on fire for the Lord. I can’t promise that I am able to live my life in a perfectly sparing-sharing way, but I can say that this little boy has definitely made me take a deeper look at myself.

-Dan
written 06/22/11

Kings of Leone

Sierra Leone’s traditional rulers are known as chiefs, the traditional tribal kings of the country’s regions. The country has 149 chiefdoms, each with a paramount chief. They uphold the customs of their respective province, collect taxes, mitigate disputes, punish crimes, extract labor, and hold revelry for weddings and birthday feasts. Twelve paramount chiefs are even elected by elders to sit in the country’s parliament. Politics here in Sierra Leone is still in a bit of disarray, even a decade after their civil war, and enacting any new changes brings the legislative process closer to a crawl. The tiers of tribal rulers are finding themselves at odds with parallel councilors and wards at the local government level. Many find no reason for celebration at the circumspection of their powers, knowing well that they are not yet figureheads, but they are being nudged in such a direction.

Fr. Francis and I have been accompanying Bishop Biguzzi on his pastoral visits to the local village outposts; the Bishop said that he could use somebody to translate and also wanted a seminarian on call (for comedic relief). Today we headed back down south to a village named Manegre. We piled into Father’s pickup truck and began the bumpy journey through the marshes and swamp. I had a notion that I might run into one of these chiefs.

It was quite the sight to watch a bishop interacting with a village chief. It felt like I was straddling two different eras of the world’s history. You would never know by his somewhat common dress that he was a “paramount chief,” but I could tell from the reaction of the people that the chieftaincy still holds a distinct prominence in their eyes. After the dedication of their newly built chapel, we were treated to a banquet of rice and local fish. I counted 17 children who had the courage to shake my hand. The others stared at me like I had tentacles.

-Bob
written 06/21/11

* (I have hidden twelve Kings of Leon song titles within this post for the fans out there. See if you can find them all!)

Brudda Bob

Seminarian is a tough word. Way too many syllables, if you ask me. The people of the parish think so too, evidenced by their fondness of calling me “Brudda Bob.” I visited one of the local primary schools recently and they too picked up on this new moniker. The second grade class swarmed me in a cloud of laughter and handshakes when they realized I would not bite them. One girl compared her skin pigment to mine, another giggled at how strange my hair felt. A third girl inquisitively stared into my soul and asked, “Brudda Bob, will you come back to us when you are Fadda Bob?”

My heart sank. My time here so far has been both blessed and trying. My endurance of body, mind, and spirit is being pushed to its limits. There are some moments where all I can think of is leaving Africa to return to my homeland and its creature comforts. And yet this girl’s question challenged me—would I come back? Even more significant, would I come back as a priest? It scared me. I gave her the kindest “We’ll see what God wants” I could muster, and looked in earnest for another child to change the subject. I’m so slick.

You may be thinking, “Bob, you’re in seminary. Obviously you’re on the track for priesthood.” Yes, loyal reader. This I know. By the grace of God, I have even somehow been accepted to the St. Vincent de Paul Major Seminary for the upcoming fall semester. Doors have long been opening with a noticeable trajectory towards priesthood. The question often falls back to my courage (or lack thereof) to walk in faith. Abram tried compromising with God and Moses made many excuses before setting forth. Like Thomas, I tend to demand certainty from the Lord, and will likely ask for such certainty up until the moment a Bishop may rest his hands on my head.

To steal a sentence from a friend, no matter how my journey to the altar turns out, this summer is proving to be the greatest test of self I will likely ever have. I am digging out past memories and old demons, and realizing just how deep into my soul this seed of priesthood may be. Perhaps I hesitated in answering my 8-year old inquisitor because I truly don’t know the answer…God’s ways are not my ways. I have been welcomed with open arms by these Sierra Leoneans and they are indeed stealing a piece of my heart. Sunday Mass has become the highlight of my week because of its centrality in the life of the people and how I, a foreigner from a strange land, am allowed to partake in such celebration (and it is a celebration. You had better dance).

Can’t thank you all enough for the thoughts and prayers. Chik-fil-A is on me when I get home.

…I’m just joking. You can all meet me there, though.

-Brudda Bob
written 06/22/11

Breaking Point

There are moments in life when we are all faced with the decision to either remain a wallflower—stubbornly standing in our bubble of self-preservation, relentlessly wondering “what if”—or we dance.

I danced. Literally, I mean. This isn’t some metaphor for our participation in the great mystery of life. This is a white man dancing to the hottest radio jam of the summer here in Sierra Leone. Fr. Francis has video evidence that I will gladly post on Facebook whence I return. This past Sunday was the pastoral visit of Bishop Biguzzi to the parish, and we had a big party after the Mass that went well into the evening. I told God that if the DJ played this one overplayed (but darn it all, catchy) song, then I would get out and make a fool of myself. My friends: do not tempt the Lord.

The catalyst was a woman named Mrs. Koruma. She is an active parishioner, possessor of a considerate smile, and a mother of three. She asked me how I was doing. I told her fine. She looked at me, gently put her hand on my arm, and restated, “how are you really doing?” Don’t get me wrong—Fr. Francis, the Bishop, everyone here has been great so far. But I realized that she was the first person to ask me that simple question and desire the genuine answer, not the stock response, and she wouldn’t settle for anything less. I told her that it’s been challenging and a bit lonely, but then she proceeded to ask about my family, my brother, and life back in America. She really wanted to know me, not, Bob the seminarian or Bob the American. Long story short, she told me at the end of our conversation, “Listen, you have adjusted well and you have one month in Sierra Leone. This land is now your second home. So be at home—you are African now.” She had never stopped letting go of my arm. It wasn’t just lip service, she really meant it. And I believed it.

I realized that, after a month of muscling through the difficulties (and being thankful for the moments of joy), I was still trying to control the ride. I was still playing the role of American observer, a journalist with a two-month stint, not allowing my roots to really sink into the Africa soil. God has allowed me to stretch and tear here, perhaps indeed close to my breaking point, but with the intention of always molding me into something greater. I knew then that if I did not dance, the people wouldn’t think any less of me, but I would miss a great opportunity to show the parishioners that I was willing to dive into their culture. I would have to lay down my ego for the greater joy and laughter of all.

The cost of discipleship is high. And sometimes, for Christ, we must dance.

-Bob
written 06/20/11

Banana Sandwich Crazy

Life in Africa isn’t all struggle and strife. I am starting to get to know the young men better, thus I am able to mess with them and joke around more. They have a TV, which I have gathered is used mainly to watch soccer when the season is going on, but I saw them watching music videos the other day…the best of 2005. It brought me back. This sparked a discussion on music because I didn’t know how much they knew of the music that is all too accessible to use back home. And this eventually led me to introduce some of them to some music that I love (including, but not limited to, Sara Bareilles). They liked it, but one of them said that this kind of music makes him sleepy. Oh well, it’s a start.

I am also proud to say that I have attended my first soccer game in Africa. Many of the men here are part of The Knights of St. John (similar to our Knights of Columbus back home), and there was a tournament between the cadets from a number of different parishes. The final game was on Saturday, and I must say that it was the most intense soccer game that I have ever seen. Apart from the fact that they were playing on wet sand, which seemed impressive enough, these men are skilled. They were performing moves that I’ve only seen in highlights. And to top it off, the men from the deanery won 4-0 to bring home yet another trophy to add to their collection. Actually, I take that back. To top it off, during the game guess which song rang throughout the park? That’s right, Shakira’s Waka Waka (This Time for Africa), the song I alluded to in my first blog entry. Because let’s face it, what would a soccer game in Africa be without the official 2010 FIFA World Cup theme song? And of course, they scored a goal while the song was playing.

On a completely different note, it seems that Sunday night is game night for the three missionaries here: Rachel, Jackie, and Sister Raphael. So the past two Sundays I’ve had the pleasure of going over to their house (about a 30 second walk) to play some fierce games of Bananagrams. And let me tell you, these ladies play to win. I’ve only won one game myself so far. But it is a lot of fun and a nice taste of home for me. They also provide me with some much needed sustenance (but don’t worry mom, I don’t just mooch all the time, I made dinner for everyone last night).

So luckily I am starting to get into the groove of life here. It isn’t without its spouts of homesickness, but I am enjoying my time. This week will begin to pick up and get busier, but I always have Sunday nights and Bananagrams to look forward to now.

We have to remember the worlds of St. Thomas Aquinas: "...relaxation of the mind from work consists in playful words or deeds. Therefore it becomes a wise and virtuous man to have recourse to such things at times."

-Dan
written 06/20/11

Not Made for Comfort

There’s a quote by Pope Benedict XVI that has come to mind recently that I feel applies perfectly to the situation I now find myself in. I’m not sure if I have it down exact, but it goes something like this: “The world offers you comfort, but you were not made for comfort, you were made for greatness.”

I feel that this saying rings true in so many ways. I was lying in bed feeling rather homesick recently and wishing for the comforts of home. Not only for the comfort of air conditioning (though that’s a big one), but especially for the comfort of family and friends. Even more than these physical comforts that I find myself longing for, however, it is mental and spiritual comforts as well.

A big struggle I seem to have is confidence in what I know or the gifts that I have to share, and this has been revealed from my time at seminary as well. Rather than take the lead to teach and preach, more often than not I’d rather sit back and let someone else do it. I feel more comfortable observing than putting myself out there. I guess this comes from my more introverted side.

Well, whether I like it or not, I will be forced to abandon this comfort and put my trust in the Lord once again. My assignment is becoming clearer as time goes on, and it looks like it will be a busy summer here. I will be visiting the leper colony that I went to every Thursday to observe and assist. Also, starting this week I will be going out with the catechists several nights a week to their different outposts to perform primary evangelization. So basically we’re teaching the faith to those who have never heard of Christianity before. And they want me to prepare something to contribute as well (this week on the Trinity) so that the catechists will have a little bit of a break…oh yeah, and it’ll be in another language, Gola.

Also, once Fr. Garry got wind of the fact that I studied Biology before entering the seminary, he asked me to teach/tutor a Biology class for the young men within the deanery that I am staying in. And it wasn’t asking so much as telling me that I will be teaching a class for them. And on top of that I opened my own mouth and said that I wanted to lead a Bible study for the men as well. So I will be preaching and teaching after all. With limited resources (a biology textbook that I got from the school and one Biblical commentary from Father), my own knowledge, and overwhelming trust in the Lord, maybe I can pull this off, and learn a thing or two about myself in the process...

So I beg you all for your prayers at this time while I begin forming the minds and the hearts of the people of Africa (maybe not even so much for me but for them!). The Lord sure has a sense of humor, taking the weak to lead the strong. But I have faith. And I’m continuing to let go of the comforts of the world in order to reach the greatness that I was meant for, that we all were meant for.

-Dan
written 06/19/11

Sigh No More

“You look tired.” A priest in my summer assignment last year told me this one morning before Mass. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t sleep much,” I remember responding. “No. I mean your soul,” he explained. “Your soul looks tired.”

My soul is tired. I’m tired of being starred at, tired of being hungry throughout the day, tired of having no one to have a real conversation with, tired of not being able to get in touch with anyone. There is no chapel so I haven’t been able to have a real holy hour in weeks. I feel distant from God right now. The physical discomforts pale before the constant solitude and loneliness. I stay inside my head enough as it is-—it’s just taking a toll on me. I know that this is the experience of a lifetime and I recognize the tremendous amount of graces and growth being poured out on and pulled out of me. But my soul is tired.

I debated about whether or not to post this. I’ve learned the unfortunate lesson that I have to be careful with whom I am transparent with. And yet I feel a loyalty to you all to not sugarcoat this experience in its entirety. I know that there can be no salvation without a cross, no Christ without nails, and a dear friend reminded me through an email that if “this weren’t a challenge I wouldn’t enjoy it.” He’s unfortunately right. Smooth seas never made a strong sailor. But we all need to vent sometimes.

Tonight we’re having Mass in the evening because it was storming through the morning hours and no one could come. I plan on having it out with God and I will finish this article later tonight.

* * *

Eight hours later.
We are all given the situations of life we’re in—my uncle used to say, “It is what it is.” Cardinal Van Thuan was imprisoned by the Vietnamese government for thirteen years, nine of which were in solitary confinement. He would celebrate Mass every day with three drops of wine and a drop of water in the palm of his hand. His body became the only tabernacle he had access to. I sat in Mass today realizing that without a chapel to sit in or monstrance to reverence, I would have to become the house for the Eucharist. My holy hour had to be with myself, with Christ as physically meshed with my DNA as He could be.

And it was good. “Your grief will be turned to joy…I will see you again” (John 16:20). God’s extreme love impels us to live suffering like Him and in Him. But He is there with us in such tears. Sometimes we have to cry. Sometimes we have to simply let go.

“Love it will not betray, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free / Be more like the man you were made to be. There is a design, an alignment to cry of my heart to see / the beauty of love as it was made to be”—Mumford and Sons.

-Bob
written 06/17/11

A Monkey's Uncle

Top three things that I least suspect to interrupt my lunch: a monkey, a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and Abraham Lincoln. I can now cross off the first item of my list—I forgot that I’m in Africa. Fr. Francis had taken me to one of his favorite restaurants on the quieter side of town. Hardly any soul ventures in during the lunch hours, so it provides an excellent opportunity to get lost in your own thoughts.

While we waited for our food, I was off in some nebulous corner of my brain, peering out the window to my right when a hairy face suddenly appeared, screeched at me, and climbed right through. I thought my imagination was acting up again but no, there was definitely a monkey now sitting on my table. He had a rope tied to his waist, anchored to whatever the hostess had attached him to outside the window. He was a possessed tether ball, bouncing from table to table, struggling to free himself while trying to get a better look at us.

Fr. Francis didn’t bat an eye. Apparently these monkeys are common patrons to the local restaurant scene. He later told me that he even had a pet baboon as a child. I sat there flabbergasted—it’s a monkey! Up until today, the animals I’ve been exposed to here in Sierra Leone have been fish, goats, chickens, dogs, deer, and mosquitoes aplenty. Now I was suddenly in a Busch Gardens with no fences, a Lowry Park Zoo with no restrictions on feeding the animals. I would be happy to tell you what kind of monkey it was if I had any access to Google or my trusty Zoo Books. But I will say that he was very polite—after we fed him, he sat quietly on the edge of the table and seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, seemingly mimicking my own posture when he first barged in. I took his imitation as a compliment. I named him "Jack."

-Bob
written 06/15/11

On Poverty II: Once You Know

“If you know these things, you are blessed to do them” (John 13:17).

Some of my friends in the medical field refer to a condition they call the “burden of knowledge”—the more practitioners know, the more responsibility they bear. I remember in lifeguard training being cautioned that upon certification we could be held negligent if a person keeled over in the mall and we walked the other way. The world isn’t the same after you leave the cave (or the Matrix). Once our eyes are open to certain realities, we cannot go back.

Our planet has shrunk with the spread of global communication and the interconnectedness of peoples across the globe only further illustrates the point that the future of one country cannot be isolated from all others. My eyes have been open to a radical poverty that truly exists beyond television infomercials and UNICEF donation boxes. Fr. Francis and I spent time today at the local Missionaries of Charity post. I saw the glaucoma-glazed eyes, I smelt the urine stained trousers, and heard the cry of babies in the throes of hunger pains.

We are not all called to be missionaries, nor are we called to become Franciscans and totally empty ourselves of our material goods. The Gospel does not condemn earthly goods and riches in themselves—Christ condemns the attachment to money and goods, as if “one’s life depended on them” (Luke 12:15). Sometimes feelings of guilt over our possessions or comforts, while good-intentioned, may be arising from the spirits not truly of God, those false spirits tempting us towards the wrong mission or the wrong timing or the wrong degree of involvement. The question could be asked, who is lacking a relationship with Christ, the destitute African or the affluent American? Who is truly more impoverished? Where do my talents and the needs of the world meet? There are plenty of people in our work and neighborhood settings in need of compassion and human warmth—not everyone can or should ship off to Africa.

But those deep movements of peace and courage can also lead us take right action for our global brothers and sisters in need. Again, I am daily face the question of what will I do for this country once I return home. What can I do? Here I shall attempt to relinquish an active role and give God space to move me towards His desired end. There is a time for everything, but now is apparently the time for me to go play soccer. The kids are telling me so.

-Bob
written 06/15/11

On Poverty: Our Daily Bread

Any personal indifference towards the poor will be eradicated upon entering Sierra Leone. You will notice the poor. You cannot roll up your window, you cannot change the channel. You cannot rationalize away that they will spend money on booze when you see mothers holding children with bloated bellies. When taken from the perspective of how God must see all this, you want to weep. We could debate for hours about whether the efforts of Western countries are truly helping or only hurting developing nations, but economics is not my focus here.

While material destitution must be combated for its dehumanizing nature, there is a positive element to material poverty. Material poverty points us towards the higher truth that this world is passing—it keeps our egos in check. The rich young man in Mark’s Gospel was too attached to his wealth to receive the love that Jesus offered him. Money can hold us hostage. St. Thomas Aquinas affirmed that Christ “endured material poverty in order to give us spiritual riches.” He came poor so that we would wake up. Other riches exist.

From the perspective of a seminarian with a meager income (but whose basic living needs are met in abundance), I believe that, more than I could ever do for the poor, I am here in Africa primarily to be poor. Rather than fall into despair that I cannot help this family or that beggar, I am here to be poor materially and spiritually. The dependence upon God here is so very evident by the everyday faith of the people. We pray for “our daily bread,” and that is the reality here. Because there is no electricity during the daytime hours (and only for a few hours at night if the generators work), refrigerators are used for storage. It’s so hot here that refrigerators actually work backwards and tend to keep their contents super-warm, spoiling fruit within a day.

The point here is that you cannot store food for any length over a day—you cannot store up or bury your riches here. There are no pantries packed with snacks or cold storage space to keep food fresh for a week or two. The people here literally live day-to-day with such dependence on their God and their wits to be fed. We Christians do not ask for our “weekly bread” or “bread for the next 2 years,” but what we need for this day. It is a challenge and is quite radical for me. I have gone to bed hungry more than a few times since I arrived, but I offer it up as best as I can, trusting in a Father who has brought me this far and will provide me with what I need for the next day.

Other riches exist.

-Bob
written 06/15/11

It's in the Water

The first time I was handed a plastic bag full of water I peered into the liquid, trying to find the elusive goldfish I had apparently won. Or perhaps my Catholic Relief Services driver and I were about to begin a spontaneous water balloon fight. I could only hope. “You bite the corner,” my driver told me, “and you drink it.” Yes, of course. I composed myself as if this were the obvious course of action, bit the smallest hole ever known to man, and squeezed the living daylights out of that bag. Refreshing, indeed.

For bathing and hand-washing purposes, the water here in Sierra Leone is fine. Any water that should go into the body (drinking, tooth-brushing, etc.) needs to be filtered. The filtered options then are bottled water or bagged water, most of which are treated locally. They sell iodine and chlorine tablets in the market, but those means are less effective. Boiled water is safe, and I usually fill up a plastic bottle after breakfast to drink later in the day. I haven’t seen an ice cube in three weeks. And no, I don’t mean the rapper.

I’ve grown accustomed to the lack of running water. It strikes me strange now if I encounter water flowing from a faucet (what are these “pipes” you speak of?). The water pump worked here in the priest’s house for the first weekend, but the machine aptly broke soon thereafter. Now the shower-head just laughs at me. The Lord giveth, and Lord taketh away. At least He eased me into these conditions. But I will affirm that there is something—manly—about a bucket shower. I make no positive claims of its efficiency or enjoyability (not a real word), but there is an inherently primal dimension to simply sloshing water on yourself. I feel like I am tapping into how my forefathers and ancestors survived before pipes and positive pressure and shower heads with 15 different settings.

The word sobriety in the New Testament often means vigilance, the capacity to moderate our desires, to use things wisely without becoming enslaved to them. I’ve had to sober up quite a bit here in Africa, particularly towards my lack of appreciation for the clean water systems I’ve enjoyed all my life. I will no doubt see the world in quite a bizarre way when I arrive home, like Tom Hanks at the end of Cast Away as he contemplates the ice cubes in his drink. And in case you’re wondering: no, I haven’t started having a monologue with a volleyball to stay sane.

Yet.

-Bob
written 06/14/11

Leper or Leopard?

No, you heard correct. Today I had the opportunity to visit a leper colony. We took off early this morning and traveled about two hours away, most of that time traveling by dirt roads deep into the forest. It was a beautifully scenic ride, but I didn’t really know what to expect at the end of our travel. I have seen examples of these “colonies” in movies or on TV, but how accurate were these really?

Well, it ended up being nothing like I expected. As we drove in it seemed like a normal town. A normal town located about an hour plus into the forest that is, but normal none-the-less. I got a tour and it turns out that there are more than a hundred homes there, a church, a school, and plenty of farm land. Most of the people in the community are just normal villagers and there are about forty lepers there. And the few that I had the honor to meet were just as pleasant and hospitable to me as anyone I’ve met yet.

Every Thursday the physician’s assistant from the clinic here and a few others go into this community to treat patients and make sure that everyone is up on their medicine. Also, Fr. George goes up there every Thursday and stays through Sunday. This is his central hub for the weekend. So from there he goes to about sixteen established outposts in order to evangelize to the people, have Mass for them, and just be there for whatever they may need.

The school in this community is open to other towns in the area, and this is good because it helps to break down any taboos that people might have about entering a leper colony. It was a great experience for me to see that this was just like any other community that I have come across here in Africa.

Fr. George said Mass while we were there and it was attended mostly by children of the community. As I was sitting after Mass, I looked outside to see a backdrop of nothing but forest around us. I thought about how amazing it is that we were there now, but especially that Father is there with these people every week, let alone the sixteen other outposts that he visits. Otherwise they are so secluded that no one may even know that they are there. But because of this mission there is someone to bring the Lord to these people, in Word and in the Eucharist. What an honor it is…

-Dan
written 06/16/11

Tubmanburg, Bomi County

It has now been about four days since I have reached my permanent place of residence in Liberia. I am now out of the capital and into Tubmanburg, Bomi County. It is a lot smaller and less developed compared to Monrovia. Given my situation, however, I believe that I have very nice living conditions. I am at a mission here called the Bomi Deanery.

On the property there is a small church, a school (K-12th grade), a clinic, a pastoral center, and several housing buildings. There are three priests assigned to the mission: Fr. Garry, Fr. Henry, and Fr. George. Fr. Garry is of English descent but has been in Liberia for 38 years. He came before the wars, was actually captured and taken to Guinea, but returned and has been here ever since. Fr. Henry and Fr. George are both Liberian born and raised, and they travel around to local towns and outposts most of the time. Then there are two Indian brothers who run the school. Three other missionaries are assigned to the deanery as well, and they are on a two year program (1 ½ years in already!). And these three women are right from our own backyard, America. And one IS actually from my own backyard, the Diocese of St. Petersburg! It is a small world after all. Rachel (from Florida) teaches at the school on property, Jackie works at a local hospital in town, and Sister Raphael just causes trouble…just kidding, she does a lot of work at the pastoral center and is a breath of fresh air.

On top of all of us, there is a group of young men who live in the deanery and go to school here. These men average from grades 9-12th, and are from various parts of the area and various tribes. Those who are able go home for the summer, but those who are not stay here. Some are not able to go home because their families live in the forested area, and the rainy season makes the roads too flooded for them to return. As many of you know I’m sure, working with high school age guys isn’t the easiest task, let alone in an entirely different continent, but this is a great group of men. Even with what little time I’ve been here, I’ve been able to see that they’re filled with great joy. I hope that over the course of my stay here we will all benefit and learn a lot from each other.

I am starting to get used to living in Africa. I do have running water as long as the tank stays full, otherwise I just make due. And of course, using bottled water to brush my teeth (I use a little bottle I got on the airplane still, if only I had some other little plastic bottles…oh well). And the biggest thing, which probably doesn’t even have to be mentioned, is the heat. Especially sleeping in it. But we all sweat here, we all smell, so there’s really no problem. We’re all in the same boat as I see it. And I think we’re all getting used to each other’s accents as well.

I’m still in the process of exploring the town, but it seems rather safe and peaceful to me. One of the guys took me on a tour last weekend, and I just ventured up nearby Mount Bomi earlier today. That was a three hour roundtrip trek, but well worth the heat and incline. We got a beautiful view of Tubmanburg, and apparently we’re in a valley…

I am getting busier as I get settled in with assignments from Father (and a few others I’m putting together on the side with the collaboration and conspiring of Sister) and getting to know the men better. There are also plenty of adventures already planned for the days ahead. So please keep praying for me and I’ll pray for you, and may we meet each day in our prayers!

-Dan
written 06/15/11

Eat Mor Chikin

We do not usually enjoy food that stares back at us in America, but I have had to overcome this squeamish tendency to meet my daily caloric requirements here in Africa. Aside the rice, rice, and more rice that I have consumed, there are also the options of goat, pork, occasionally chicken, and fish aplenty. While I am no longer surprised when my teeth crunch down on an unexpected rib cage, it all has made me a bit nostalgic for American food, notably a restaurant chain that is dear to my heart—Chick-fil-A.

My own attachment to this restaurant began in the year 2000, and I have been faithful to her since my first day of work at the tender age of fifteen. The flexible hours, joyful abundance of waffle fries, and remarkably friendly co-workers all contributed to an excellent first job experience. I started at $5.25 an hour. Now I feel old.

For me, Chik-fil-A, has become a certain metaphor for home. There was no franchise near the seminary in Miami, and I am certainly now as far from the chain as I possibly could be. Now, whenever I taste those delicious, brown waters of sweet tea, or see that strangely huggable cow waving at me, I feel home. This journey of priestly formation has led me to many unfamiliar places and experiences that require me to struggle and grow. I’ve had to let go of people I love, places that I’m comfortable, and food that my body craves.

I have a coupon for one of their free chicken biscuits that I use as a bookmark. Some days it taunts me, laughing at me as if I will never be able to redeem it, as I try to convince my stomach that just maybe the white rice will have a different consistency today. More often, though, this coupon lifts my spirits. I remember the kind “mint lady” who would always coax me into having “just one more” mint. I remember all the heart-to-heart conversations I’ve had with good friends and mentors in those blue booths. I remember home.

And I will get that biscuit.

-Bob
written 06/13/11

Flame On

We held a candlelight procession from the local primary school to the parish last night for the Pentecost vigil. None of the pictures came out clear, but I attempted a ‘snap’ of one of the sisters in the procession and I like the way it turned out.

Since this parish is named in honor of the Holy Spirit, they went all out for their feast day. While the vigil Mass was pretty simple, this morning’s celebration clocked in at 2.5 hours. While the Mass structure is identical to ours in the States (and the world), they really amp up the music here in Africa. The ‘Gloria’ and the ‘Our Father’ are both sung for close to 10 minutes; the offertory—where each section of pews physically gets up and proceeds to the front of the altar to make a donation—can be from 10-15 minutes, accompanied by the liveliest songs and drum beats. You’re an oddball if you’re not swaying or dancing. The announcements at the end of Mass (which dare not exceed 5 minutes lest I lose all patience) can add on another 20-30 minutes. One last detail: you must be prepared to break out into spontaneous song at the command of the homilist.

The people here truly come to worship God and all the blessings He pours out on them. Sometimes the teens come up to me and ask about all our technology and gadgets readily available in America, but whereas they may only see their lack of appliances, I perceive a great richness of Spirit in this country. While our comforts and scientific advances are good and certainly commendable, we risk spiritual asphyxia living in a world of constant clutter and deafening news flooding in every second of every day. These Sierra Leoneans have a balance in their exteriority and interiority, an equilibrium of the work that must be done and the attention that must be paid to our souls. As St. Augustine cautioned, we often go “outside” to find that which will satisfy our souls—we must “go back inside yourself, for Truth dwells in the inner man.”

May we all move back to our real centers, that Spirit that moves our spirits. May well all find that inner truth that is only met in the person of Jesus Christ.

-Bob
written 06/12/11

ONE SHADE OF GREEN!!!

When I first started driving, the interstate freaked me out. I avoided it whenever I could. I got over that quickly, especially when I went off to Orlando where I proceeded to drive I-4 all the time. Mastering Orlando traffic I moved on to Miami. Surly, I thought, it couldn’t get any worse than this. I was wrong…

Think of Liberia as Miami, just without traffic lights, without stop signs, without speed limits, and without the police to scare people into following the law. It is truly a free-for-all, and I have already received my fair share of it.

The drive to the Episcopal ordination was three hours, and the drive from the ordination to my new residence ended up taking six hours. Going to the ordination wasn’t as bad, it was all paved roads but there were many spots that were covered in potholes. So we constantly had to slow down in order to strategically drive around them and avoiding the oncoming traffic.

On the way back was a similar story, but it got much worse. Luckily enough I found myself in a car with four priests, so I figured I was safe, the Lord would be watching over us for sure. It was all going pretty smoothly until we passed through this one little town. There ended up being a traffic jam that cost us about forty-five extra minutes. There was one point in particular where there were at least fifty cars, facing every direction imaginable, trying to squeeze by each other. All the while there were motorcycles (or motorbikes as they call them here) cutting in and out whenever they could.

We made it out of the frying pan just to find ourselves heading into the fire…or water to be more exact. For the last two hours of our drive we were in true African rainfall. All we had were our headlights, our windshield-wipers, and our wits about us! There were points where I couldn’t see anything, but Fr. Henry seemed to know the way. The lightning lit up the sky, blinding at times, only to reveal the grass and trees around us. All we needed was a cow to fly by or possible a T-rex to step out in front of our car in order to make it perfect.

Even throughout this initial adventure into driving in Liberia, however, I failed to see one single accident. The people seem to know what they are doing, even if I don’t. And it is amazing to see everyone navigate around the country with no (or minimal) road signs. It’s like animals migrating, it seems almost innate.

So I continue to find myself in places or situations where I have to stop and remind myself, “I really am in Africa.” I feel so blessed to have this experience, but it’s not without its challenges. So I want to thank you all again for your continued prayers, they are definitely keeping me going.
Drive safe everyone!

-Dan
written 6/13/11