Little Lion Man

Allow me to reflect a moment on the wonders of the animal kingdom alongside the mysteries of our faith. In particular, the king of the African plains, the lion. Seeing this animal up close, but luckily not too personally, was definitely one of the highlights of my trip to Kenya. But seeing one particular pride several times throughout the week and observing some of their behaviors got me thinking about our own lives.

Watching our two cats at home, we often comment that “they have the life.” They sleep most of the day, have their food laid out for them at the same time every day, and receive constant attention (whether they want it or not). Well, it appears that our house cat’s larger cousins aren’t too far off. Granted, while they do have to hunt for their own food (or stalk is more like it), they seem to sleep most of the day as well, and the cubs definitely receive constant attention, and if not they seek it out themselves.

But there is another feature to their lives on the Serengeti that I found most interesting. They seem not to have fear of anything. But of course, why should they? What animal would dare cross a lion? We saw one male lion in particular sleeping in the middle of the plain, with no bushes or cover of any kind, totally vulnerable.

We all know the classic Wizard of Oz, with the Scarecrow asking for a brain, the Tinman for a heart, and the Lion for courage. These characters were chosen because the objects that they wished for were obvious assets to their person. What is a lion without courage? Merely a scaredy cat (pun most definitely intended).

On seeing this first hand and reflecting on our own call as children of God, this is an attribute that we all need to share. Just as the lion can rest on the plains of Africa with no fear of attack, so too should we be able to rest in the Truth our Lord, not that we won’t be attacked, but with courage that the Lord will provide for those who are doing His will, no matter the challenges we may face.

There is a song by the band Mumford & Sons entitled Little Lion Man. I began pondering the meaning, trying to find a way to tie this all together nicely, and I came up with nothing. Further reflection on the title, however, led me to the apparent paradox that exists in the title, between the man in the song to the actual nature of a lion. The song describes a man who is not as brave as at the start, needing to take all the courage he has left to face yet another mistake he made with another’s heart.

I think this song speaks to many of us, though (pardon the expletive if you go and listen to it now). About the mistakes of our past and the courage it takes to face up to these and move forward, learning from them. And not just about mistakes, but about the courage it takes just to live out the faith in our day-and-age. To face persecution and hardships, to live outside the norm, to put all of our faith in someone that is unseen. It took courage for Jesus to pick up his cross and march up to Calvary, and we are asked nothing less.

Jesus calls to us all just as he called to his disciples on the water, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” Fear is the biggest obstacle to those trying to carry out God’s will. And even if God calls us to something that is truly frightening, we can chose to act boldly. To allow the spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord be our delight, so that the day will come when the calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them.

-Dan
written 07/29/11

Jambo!

Swahili for "Hello"

I am now back in Liberia after an amazing week in Kenya. It was great to be reunited with Bob and Chris and to share our experiences in our respected countries here in West Africa. Not to mention, of course, finally seeing the great creatures that roam the Serengeti on safari!

And thankfully, everyone made it back home safely. But it is a somewhat strange feeling for me to now be “alone” on this continent. Of course I am not alone (I even still have someone from our own diocese here with me) but you know what I mean. I am in good spirits, however, knowing that God still has great plans for my few remaining weeks at this mission. And I was welcomed back with sincere and warming greetings, glad to see the familiar faces of my Liberian friends.

If there is anything I have learned so far, and I know is a major lesson of this whole summer (that I’m sure I’ve already mentioned before), is total surrender to the Lord. And this lesson seems to keep forcing itself upon me. I guess the Lord knows my stubbornness by now. To give the most recent example, I seem not to have the best luck with flights (those who flew with me to Mexico years back can attest), but I decided this time not to worry but just trust that the Lord will see me through.

And who’da thought, but it worked! No matter if it was the five hour delay out of Liberia or not getting picked up at the airport in Kenya, trusting that the Lord would take care of me gave me the peace to take it all in stride. And it all worked itself out fairly easily too.

Not only the logistics of the travel worked out, but the travel companions I made helped get me through as well. On the way to Kenya I met two nuns that were on their way to Ghana (one of whom teaches at the seminary there), and they definitely made the five hour delay move a lot faster. And on the way back I met a Catholic woman who was born and raised in Ghana, but is now a student at the University of Florida in Gainesville. I feel confident now that by the end of my stay here I will find all of the Floridians in West Africa.

My time spent back has already been challenging for me spiritually, though. Not only the longing for home now that Bob is back and my end is in sight, but in a positive way too. I feel that these last three weeks will really test me and allow me the opportunity to look back on my past and forward to my future given the present I now find myself in.

I recently read a quote from Mother Theresa after she had been asked to pray for someone’s clarity. She replied by saying, “I’ve never had clarity and certitude. I only have trust. I’ll pray that you trust.” I stopped after reading this, realizing that clarity is exactly what I had been praying for. I then took this quote to prayer and began to discover the true extent that we are asked to trust. God never promised us certainty, but we are asked to keep our gaze focused on the Lord and to trust, or else we are bound to sink as Peter did attempting to walk on the water.

So for my remaining weeks I will keep my eyes focused, and I will pray not for clarity and certitude, but for greater faith and trust. And I ask for your continued prayer as I continue praying for you all. Also, I hope you all have the opportunity to harass Bob about his experiences while he is home…I know he would love that!

-Dan
written 07/29/11

There and Back Again

I’m home.

Kenya was beyond any words that could attempt to do it justice. John of the Cross said that God “leaves some trace of Who He is” in nature and I witnessed such holy fingerprints in the Serengeti. The greatest joy was reuniting with my brother. I remember telling an inquiring Sierra Leonean that, for brothers, Dan and I “get along better than we should.” He is the Luigi to my Mario, the Robin to my Batman, the Michelangelo to my Leonardo (Ninja Turtles, not Renaissance painters). It was a joy to spend the time with him on that holy landscape.


Thank you to Bishop Lynch, Catholic Relief Services, and the people of the Diocese of St. Petersburg for making this trip possible. Thank you to Bishop Biguzzi, Fr. Francis, and all the people who pierced my heart in Africa—in God’s time, I just may be back. Thank you to the second season of House for getting me through many dreary afternoons. Thanks especially to YOU, the readers, for your support in prayer and encouraging emails. You all helped me to hold on. Special thanks of course to my family, especially to Mom for bearing with the emotional trauma of seeing her two sons leave for Africa—she’ll be seeking restitution. Dan: two weeks to go; you’re in charge of the blog now—hang in there, Samwise. And of course, all glory to the Trinity and Mama Mary.


I will miss Fr. Francis and Bishop Biguzzi, as well as all the parishioners and people I got to know during my stay. I suppose I will also miss the solitude. It was refreshing to get away from cell phones, Facebook, and 24-hour news stations; it forced me to listen better to God and give him the attention He deserves. It's something I have to prioritize now that I am back in the States. But it’s so good to be home.


Well, I’ll be signing off now. I hope to catch my breath and pass back into some kind of anonymity, until at least God calls me out again.


See you next time.

-Bob
written 07/28/11

I Bless the Rains Down in Africa!

I know that I must do what’s right,
as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti.

And it would not be right to blog a whole summer in Africa and not mention this song at least once. And seeing that tomorrow I am leaving for Kenya, I felt that now was the right time (not to mention I’ve been waiting to use this since before I left. Sad, maybe…).

Bob, Chris, and I are all meeting up in Kenya to explore more of the beautiful continent of Africa and more of our universal Church. Not to mention finally seeing some stereotypical African animals.

After this Bob and Chris will head home to America while I will remain here to hold down the fort, so to speak. I will go back to the mission in Liberia for another three weeks since I started my assignment later than the other two. So, you know what that means...I will plow on with this blog after the 28th without the additions of my brother. For better or worse, you will continue to get updates until I return home August 18th.

I’m not sure of our internet access for this next week in Kenya, so I apologize if there is a short hiatus. But get excited, and prepare yourselves for some sweet pictures when we continue!

It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you.
There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do.
I bless the rains down in Africa!

-Dan
written 07/19/11

Madonna of the World II: Song of Lowliness

There are times when we feel like there is no hope. We look around us and see the world in turmoil and desolation and feel so small beside it. And we know that no matter how good our intentions are or how hard we may try, nothing we can do will even begin to make a dent.

Being in Africa, you can get this feeling quite often. Looking around you see endless poverty, corruption in the schools, and isolation of entire communities from the Word of God. This is the crucial point, though. At this point we can either pack our bags and go home because of the sheer magnitude of the situation, or we can turn to God in our lowliness.

Our Blessed Mother is again our model of humble courage in the face of a world gone wrong. It was at the Visitation to Elizabeth when the song of the Magnificat sprang from the lips of Mary. Here she praises the Lord, her Son, for looking upon her lowliness. While most of us do our best to hide our weakness and prove our own strength to the world, our Mother magnifies not herself but her Son. And this is a lesson we all need to heed. For only a soul that does not magnify itself can magnify the Lord.

And this is meant to give us hope. It is precisely in our weakness that God makes us strong. But for this we must first recognize our lowliness before Him. And for me, at least, this is a heavy burden lifted off my shoulders. Or, I guess it would be more accurate to say that it is an exchange of my own yoke for the yoke that Jesus has offered us, one that is easy and light. Because rather than giving up in the face of the world, we realize that we ourselves are not able to do anything, but it is the Spirit moving inside us that will set the world on fire.

God looked upon Mary in what she believed was her nothingness, so God once more created a world out of nothing. And if Mary saw herself as nothing, who are we to think we can transform the world without the help of our Lord?

But I pray that the Lord continues to grant His strength and humility upon us all so that we may never lose hope. For me as I continue in my journey here in Africa, and for Bob and Chris, that as they will soon travel home they will continue to allow themselves to be emptied only to be filled by the Lord and not any other distractions that they will soon encounter.

It is times when we are overcome with great emotion that a song springs forth from our mouths. Putting all musicals aside, you can see this throughout the Bible, as in Miriam’s song after the crossing of the Red Sea. So may we always be overcome by the love and fidelity of our God, and may the Magnificat of Mary always be on our lips as she prayer:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior
for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed:
the Almighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his Name... (Luke 1:46-49)

-Dan
written 07/19/11

Uncharted

“We often meet our destiny on the road to avoid it”—Kung Fu Panda

I read an article recently on the lengths that men and women go to in order to sabotage their own vocations. The author called it the “Jonah Complex”--we glimpse the possibility of our own greatness, and then run from it. We fear change, the unknown, failure, losing control, greater responsibility, and ultimately, our own greatness. We resort to endlessly waiting for the “perfect moment” to act (which will never come) or distracting ourselves with projects, noise, or over-thinking the vocation question to the point of paralysis. Fear is the great beast that keeps us in between who we are and who we could be. No wonder John Paul II’s consistent message to the youth was “Be not afraid.”

I could write the book on how to avoid God. I could also write a book on how unsatisfactory that road is in the end. I prefer to stay behind-the-scenes, but I am continually being pulled out by Christ into a greatness I never would have dreamed for myself (or that I necessarily desired). All He seems to want is my “yes.” I never would have imagined myself doing ministry in Africa. But eight weeks later, here I am. If I never would have left home for Sierra Leone I don’t know who I would be today. I wouldn’t have lost 18 pounds (I was 190 when I left) or read over 14 books (including the Notebook...yes, Fr. Francis has a copy of the Notebook ; it was fantastic). I wouldn’t have faced my own poverty and allowed my prayer life to deepen to the depth Christ called for. I feel as if I have grown up a few years in only two months.

My last Sunday Mass was yesterday. That lost colony of American students I encounterd were passing by on their way to Freetown and they all stayed for the celebration. I sat on the altar looking out at my American companions, my Italian friends, and my African family. My imagination suddenly conjured up the image of a bowl. Stay with me, now: We are a bowl, and God, Who wants to continually pour more and more love into our hearts, can only do so if He makes it deeper. The bottom must be carved out. I have gone through two months of purging and detaching from comforts. I have ached for friends and family and realized that in God alone can loneliness be transformed. You better believe that the transformation hurts, but pain is not simply for the sake of pain. We have an end goal, a divine destination. During that Mass, the entire summer flashed through my mind and I realized there was no way to receive the magnitude of love present in that Mass if I didn't pass through the spiritual dark nights. They applauded for me, told me that I would be missed, and requested that the whole parish be invited to my ordination. That would be quite the airfare.


Thank you all for keeping up with the adventures of me and my brother. I wasn’t expecting to write as much as I have, but it turned out to be a worthy coping mechanism and outlet for my restless energy. Thank you even more for the thoughts, prayers, and email support. You all pushed me through the “wall” of my marathon and have helped in ways that still remain to be seen.

This week I leave to reunite with my brother in Kenya. I will formally conclude my share of the blog when I get home on the 28th. “Home”--what a lovely word. Feel free to insert your favorite Phil Collins/P. Diddy/Daughtry/Marc Broussard song referencing “home” at this point. After that, well...I start the major seminary in August. But the bigger story of my life is still unwritten, and I trust in God to bring this story to His desired conclusion and His desired greatness. That future is uncharted, and that’s fine with me.

See you soon.

-Bob
written 07/18/11

Your Turn

Several people have contacted me asking what they could do for the people here in Sierra Leone. This will be my first (and last) post regarding any talk of donations or financial giving. Even though I only have a European news station to watch over here, I nightly witness the global hysteria over the economy and now the American concerns over the debt ceiling, recession woes, etc. BUT, I would be remiss as a Christian if I did not offer this message for those able and willing to give.

I know that many people want to donate something other than money. The problem is that the current regulations and powers that run the port in Freetown are a tad corrupt. Many well-intentioned givers have donated toiletries, food, school and medical supplies, but these all get caught up in the red tape of the port. There are shipping containers that have been sitting in Freetown for months, spoiling the food and voiding the medical rations. I’ve overheard several phone conversations of the priests (and Bishop Biguzzi) arguing with port officials. The safest and most efficient option is to donate money. The organizations I have been blessed to work with all concern themselves with subsidiarity (getting the people to be self-sufficient) rather than simply providing hand-outs. Here are the websites I can point you towards:

Catholic Relief Services: http://crs.org/ The overwhelming majority of CRS’ expenses go to on-the-ground services for the people. About 50% of their 2010 expenditures were for education; they also offer life-saving malaria programs, nutrition for children, and legal services for vulnerable persons.

The Diocese of Makeni: http://www.dioceseofmakeni.com/iniziale.htm The greatest expense of the diocese is mobility, that is, fuel and the purchasing/maintenance of the vehicular fleet for the priests to be able to travel across the God-awful road conditions to minister to the village outposts.

Caritas: http://www.caritas.org/worldmap/africa/sierraleone.html A sister organization of CRS, Caritas offers numerous services to the people of Sierra Leone, including assistance for farmers, programs for the youth, and medical outreach for the poor.

I also have the information for anyone feeling called to donate directly to Fr. Francis’ account for the parish. I can relay this to anyone who privately contacts me. His biggest expenses are fuel for his truck and funds for the poor who continually knock on our door. My email is bobangel.ttm@gmail.com

Pray about it—the people here need our prayers, but they also need our hearts and willingness to give. One of our dollars is worth about four times that amount in their currency, and most live under a dollar a day. So even a one-time donation of ten dollars equals about forty dollars for the people here, and that can provide food for a family for weeks. Thanks for reading this far, if you have. Don’t give out of obligation—give for the sake of love. “At the end of our lives, we will be judged by our love”—St. John of the Cross.

-Bob
written 07/16/11

How Deep Does the Rabbit-Hole Go?

How deep are these so called “fairy tales” embedded into our culture? They are far more than the Disney movies we remember from our youth. Alice in Wonderland, for example, has made it’s was through the Disney stage into Batman, the Matrix, and now a modern take has even emerged with Alice clad in armor.

Let me back up for a moment, though, and explain this seemingly irrelevant and nonsensical rant. As it has been stated in previous posts, we have a lot of time to read here. And I quickly made my way through the books I brought (I was dreadfully unprepared for the intellectual stimulation I would soon endure). So I turned to the bookshelf here at the mission, which is filled with extremely old, dusty, often decaying books. I found a few of interest, however. One set being Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass.

I have always heard how different the actual tales are from the cartoon movies that we have grown up with, so I figured now is as good a time as any to find out for myself. And let me tell you, these two stories are without a doubt the weirdest, trippiest stories I’ve ever read.

Now, you’re probably wondering what my point is in publicizing this to however large a world is currently reading this. Well, when I finished I discovered an interesting greeting that Lewis Carroll gives to those who love “Alice” (Yes, a greeting at the conclusion is exactly the type of contradiction you’ll find in these stories). But it was an Easter greeting no less! Allow me to share a portion:

Are these strange words from a writer of such tales as “Alice”? And is this a strange letter to find in a book of nonsense? It may be so. Some perhaps may blame me for thus mixing together things grave and gay: others may smile and think it odd that any one should speak of solemn things at all, except in church and on Sunday: but I think—nay, I am sure—that some children will read this gently and lovingly, and in the spirit in which I have written it… For I do not believe God means us thus to divide life into two halves—to wear a grave face on Sunday, and to think it out-of-place to even so much as mention Him on a week-day…

So Carroll may not have been as out there as I anticipated. Now, I don’t know anything about his personal history, so if he really was mad then so be it (and at the moment I don’t care to find out because it may render this post utterly useless). But from this end greeting I would have to say that he may have been saner than a great number of us. If I may share one more slice:

Surely your gladness need not be the less for thought that you will one day see a brighter dawn than this—when lovelier sights will meet your eyes than any waving trees or rippling waters—when angel-hands shall undraw your curtains, and sweeter tones than ever loving Mother breathed shall wake you to a new and glorious day—and when all the sadness, and the sin, that darkened life on this little earth, shall be forgotten like the dream of a night that is past!

As I was reading these two stories, I was trying, rather awkwardly, to find a way to tie them into…well anything, in order to give me something to write about. But I believe that I finally found it here. Carroll says that he is just trying to add to the, “innocent and healthy amusement that are laid up in books for the children I love so well.” And I think that he has done just that. His stories about Alice are about a truly innocent young girl who dreamily visiting a Wonderland where she is able to break away from the darkness and monotony of her own little world to find her gladness.

And is this not what we are to do in prayer? Are we not also communing with a “heavenly Wonderland” in which we find our gladness and joy? Ok, maybe this is a stretch (I’ll have to develop this proposal a bit more), but Carroll’s words do give us something to think about. God does not mean us to divide our lives into two halves, but to unite God to our very being. To our work, our play, and everything in between. And we too, in our own way, need to add to the innocence, purity, and faith of the children of this world—from America to Africa (going across the Pacific Ocean of course so you’ll hit everything in between).

For Jesus tells us that whosoever receives a child in his name receives him. And unless we humble ourselves and become childlike in our faith before the Lord we will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven (Mt 18:1-5). So may this be our prayer today. To open wide our arms before the Father and journey deeper down the rabbit-hole of our faith.

-Dan
written 07/16/11

P.S. – The Mad Hatter’s riddle in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is: Why is a raven like a writing-desk? Enjoy.

Authenticity

Perception is everything. How is it that we are perceived? How is the Church perceived? Is what we are teaching and preaching authentic or are we just talking the talk without walking the walk?

Today during a visitation in one of our local community I encountered my first argument. Although I hesitate to use the word argument, I’m not exactly sure what it was. It sounded like an argument from my cultural perspective, but I was warned when I arrived that when Liberians are conversing and get excited it can sound like they’re shouting at one another, but that’s normal. And the catechist, Bruno, and the other man said they were “brothers” and it is considered joking here. Whatever it was, it might have been the first time I really felt uncomfortable.

Not that I didn’t feel safe, but it really made me question things. This man is a recent convert from Muslim to Christianity. And he went on making accusations about the wealth of the Catholic Church and what we are really doing for the people in these communities. He made references to Bruno’s dress, crucifix, watch, phone, and the fact that he’s traveling with a white missionary (while he himself rode up on a quality motorbike, but that’s neither here nor there). He then asked how we are able to bring Christ to these people who have nothing.

The man, while his approach might have seemed a bit rough from my perspective, made a lot of valid points. How can we as Catholics proclaim Christ to the people we are called to serve? Bruno made many well-founded claims based on St. Francis of Assisi’s familiar phrase, “Preach the Gospel at all times, when necessary use words.”

But have you ever wondered how twelve men transformed an entire empire so long ago when thousands of us today seem to transform so little? The answer lies in our authenticity and our own personal relationship with God.

Fr. Thomas Dubay in his book Happy Are You Poor said that, “Modern men are weary of weavers of words, people who say beautiful things but do not live them. They are looking for authenticity, for heralds who have met God in deepening prayer and can speak of him from their hearts.”

If I have learned anything so far in my time in Africa is that even more than monetary or material support you can give people (even people who desperately need these), what matters more is our mutual spiritual poverty. And I have been fed just as much, and probably more, than I have been able to feed.

During our discussion this evening the man was attempting to make a point concerning our differing cultures, but Bruno stepped in and said that we understand each other completely. That the beauty of our Catholic faith is that no matter where we are from we are all serving the same God. We can relate with each other’s joy and walk with each other’s struggles because we are all pilgrims journeying to the same heavenly homeland.

We all have our own distinct and unique calling from the Lord. Even if you are called to the same vocation (say, two brothers in the seminary journeying towards priesthood) we are each called separately by name. But no matter what we are called to or the level of poverty we are asked to live out, we are all called to a deepening of our prayer life with God. We are all called to live out an authentic faith so we can be true heralds of Christ’s word and his love. And to quote St. Francis once more, "Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible."

-Dan
written 07/15/11

Class Dismissed

Today I taught the final writing and rhetoric class for the students at the University. Seems like only yesterday that they were staring at me wide-eyed and full of wonder, thinking that I was the guru of the gerunds. I’ve done the best I can. It’s in their hands now to revamp the newsletter and take their writing to where they will it. The students shared some generous words of appreciation for my time spent with them. It felt bittersweet to walk out of the classroom for the last time. They’re a quality group of young men and women.

Another blessing: my malaria-infected American companions were released from the hospital today. They received their final medications and hit the road this morning. I will admit that I had a great time hanging out with them yesterday (I daresay, it felt like I was finally doing ministry). I visited them in the afternoon and went back at night, bringing my iPod. I played “remember that ‘90s song” with the typhoid-affected girl, shuffling through hits spanning alt-rock and hip hop genres. She especially became excited when I played Vertical Horizon’s “Everything You Want.” I asked her to recall where she was when this song was on the airwaves. After twenty seconds of concentration she lit up, glowing like a Christmas tree: “6th grade dance, and the boy I had a crush on asked me to dance to this song.” Amazing...within every woman is that girl who still gets giddy when she recalls those pure moments of young love. She then requested some classic rock, so I put on AC/DC and told her to visualize her body rocking the malaria out of her body. Her friend thanked me as I was leaving; apparently her spirits were pretty low (especially being sick so far from home) and the music really lifted her up. Praise God.

I am a “Martha” who was forced to become a “Mary” this summer. The word patience comes from the Latin verb pati, which means “to suffer” (go figure). Most of my pastoral work has been to simply sit and receive whatever the daily experience the Lord offered, rather than (my preference of) actively getting hands-on with the people. It’s been a “desert of patience,” you could say. Yesterday felt like a reward for my trust—“active” ministry to my ill sisters in the hospital.

I now enter my last weekend and last Sunday Mass in Sierra Leone (and last volleyball game—thank you, Lord). I can remember sitting on the plane when it touched down in Africa on that first, pitch-black night. I had a lot of fear in that moment, questioning what I had gotten myself into. Now I’m wondering—-when I get back on the plane next week—-if this African experience will seem like a dream. It has certainly dragged at many moments, but these two months have passed in the blink of God’s eye. And what will I bring back with me? Will I fall back into old routines and habits, forgetting the simplicity in which I lived here? Will I continue to surrender to prayer in moments of loneliness or boredom, instead of filling it with busy-ness or technology? I don’t know…but I do know that God loves us too much to let us stagnate in mediocrity. Cheers to that.

-Bob
written 07/14/11

A War-Torn Country

Today marks the halfway point on this summer assignment. I have now spent five weeks in Africa and I have five weeks to go. A few days ago we had dinner with our friend from the Peace Corps, Bilal, because he is leaving to go back home to New York later this week. Before he left, he asked us if we ever experienced what he called “the epiphany moment.” This is the moment where you suddenly stop and remember that, “wow, I’m in Africa right now.” And yes, I have one of these almost every day.

Before we left we were warned about those warm, fuzzy feeling you can get about the people or the country you are in. First of all, to keep a realistic picture in your head about where you are and the concerns that need to be addressed. On the flip side, not to get discouraged or lose your passion for service if you lose those feelings.

While being here I have had the opportunity to learn a little bit about the people and the history of this country. I have not lost my passion for service, but I would definitely say that the warm, fuzzy feeling has ended.

Liberia is a war-torn country, there’s no doubt about that. I hear a lot about the days before the wars and how things were different then. Now, however, everything seems run down and somewhat gloomy, especially in the area where I am staying. From Tubmanburg it is a straight ride to the capital, Monrovia, on a paved road no less. So naturally this town was of particular importance for both the government troops and the rebels during the two civil wars Liberia recently had.

During the wars there was fighting in all the outstations I’ve visited, except for one which was apparently the only town to effectively fight off both government and rebel soldiers. And the fighting was brutal, little food, if any, was accessible to the people, and children were even taken as soldiers to fight on both sides. Fr. Garry stayed throughout the wars, however. He was threatened numerous times, fired upon, and was even taken by the rebels for a time for his own “protection.”

This was undoubtedly a hard time physically, emotionally, and spiritually for everyone involved. James Brabazon, the author of My Friend the Mercenary, was possibly the only journalist to be on the front line to capture video and stories of the struggles from the rebel front. And he said that, “West Africa pulled like iron on the needle of my moral compass. I was struggling to keep it pointing true.”

No matter what loss or trials they have experienced from these wars, however, the people of Liberia are still as hospitable and courteous as any group I’ve ever met. Not only to me, but I have seen the care that they show to one another, as well. The love they have for their neighbor whose house has been broken into, whose family member died, or whose friend is gravely sick.

James Brabazon made another comment that amidst the war and increasing amorality, the interactions with the children he met brought about a bit of romance of the Great European Explorers. In the same way, the people I meet (especially the children) show me a great hope in this country, and I have no doubt that the love of God will see them through.

-Dan
written 07/13/11

S.C.C.

Before we began this African adventure, Catholic Relief Services told us that our main mission would be building relationships. Two months is not enough time to complete any type of project, and in reality two years wouldn’t even be enough time. And especially given our vocational journey, our work is primarily pastoral, building relationships with the community we have found ourselves in.

And this is precisely what I have been doing. Up until now, I have been going out into the bush to do my pastoral assignments. Last week, however, I started to accompany the local catechist on his travels around Tubmanburg. This is largely due to the fact that there are now two other seminarians from Ghana that will be here until mid-August as well. So now we must all split up to cover Bomi County.

It has been a great experience to travel around my local stomping grounds though. It is all done on foot instead of by truck. This not only gives me a better opportunity to learn the lay of the land, but I don’t have to worry about the vehicles breaking down or getting stuck (but I did go out on the road Sunday morning, and low and behold, we got a flat tire).

But really it has given me the opportunity to build those relationships that I was sent here for. Traveling to the outposts gave me this chance to meet the people as well, but doing this locally I am able to see and interact much more often.

We start out by performing visitations in the mornings. After Mass each day we go around to a different community to visit with the parishioners. Also, if there are any special needs we can attend to these as well. Today, for example, there was a special service performed to name a parishioner’s newborn child.

In the evenings, we go back out to the same community that we visited in the morning to hold a Small Christian Community meeting, or S.C.C. for short. These meeting consist of six to eight adults that gather to represent their communities. After starting with the Rosary, we talk and see if there are any problems or issues that need to be addressed within the community. When everything is attended to, we go on to read the Gospel and discuss before closing in prayer.

It has been a blessing to see that there are so many within these communities who have an authentic love for their faith. And it is not only the meetings, but the genuine care for each other. In one meeting I was able to attend they talked about the fact that certain people were absent and need to be invited and welcomed back out again. We even held a prayer service with a Muslim family whose son was extremely sick.

It is a great feeling to finally get to know the community a bit better. To have my actual name called out in the street. But mostly to share with the people, as briefly as it may be, our lives and our own journeys in faith.

-Dan
written 07/12/11

Little Blue Pill

Malaria medication—what did you think this post was about?

I call the mosquitoes “Little Ninjas.” Hollywood led me to believe that African mosquitoes would be the size of my face and I could squash them with a crowbar. Not so, faithful reader. These mosquitoes are quick, small, and stealthy. They complete their mission, if they choose to accept it, within thirty seconds. I am bit probably about twice a day on average. I get angry whenever I see the bump and always wonder, “Will this one be malaria?” I have to take one pill a day, every day that I am here and for four weeks after I return. Slimy, yet satisfying.

Thanks be to God, and your prayers, my health has been the least of my worries. Somehow my stomach adapted quickly to the food here and I have yet to be troubled with an illness. Let’s hope I make it through these final weeks unscathed. Some of my compatriots are not so lucky.

Two of the girls from that American colony I found around the 4th of July are sick now and are staying in the hospital behind the parish. Fr. Francis was contacted, so I went up to visit. I told them I was from the American Embassy but they recognized me from the visit. They’ve already started calling me ‘Pa Bob,’ the tribal equivalent of ‘Father’—lovely. One of the girls tested positive for malaria and typhoid, the other only has malaria. They’re leaving Sierra Leone next week as well, and they were both pretty frustrated to have to deal with sickness in the final days. I told them that I would visit again tomorrow and smuggle in some Sprite. Smuggling is a corporal work of mercy, right?

-Bob
written 07/12/11

Born to Run

I went for a run last Sunday. Strange that my brother ran for his first time as well within the past week, but that is neither here nor here. I ran mostly just to say, “I ran in Africa.” Dan is right, though: no one runs for exercise here. If someone is running, something must be wrong. So if you want to stick out as a Caucasian, more so than you do already, you go for a run.

I ran through a trail that led out into “the bush,” the forested plain where the development ends and Jurassic Park begins. I’ve heard the John Williams theme music in my head quite often over the past two months as Fr. Francis and I have driven through the jungle environment. I’ve also waited in anticipation for a Velociraptor or a Tyrannosaur to leap from the thicket. No sightings yet.

It didn’t take long before I had a following of children keeping pace, giggling and laughing along. One child ran up to me and held out a stick. Please don’t stab me, I thought. Then several other kids ran in close with sticks, outreaching for me to take them. A kid yelled, “Take my torch!” They think I’m in the Olympics. Most of the children were clowning around, but I have no doubt that at least one six-year old believed that this strange man was running through her village on the way to Athens. So I grabbed some sticks and quickened my pace, perhaps believing for a moment that I was an Olympian.

Then I got tired, so I went home. But you know what, I ran in Africa. And I didn’t get stabbed by children.

-Bob
written 07/12/11

Natural Mystic

“Jesus left the house and went down to the lakeshore…”

This past weekend’s Gospel centered on the “Sower and Seed” parable. Perhaps I’ve just heard the reading so many times that I tried to find something new. I’m no Scripture scholar, but I’m learning that the little details, such as the time of day or what day of the week it is, actually matter. The first sentence began “Jesus left the house and went down to the lakeshore…” Then the crowd found him so he hopped into a canoe to escape. I can identity. One of the primary areas of development within the seminary is what they call “human formation,” that is, recognizing our complex dimensions and demands as human beings. This includes the need to recreate (re-create), to “get away” once in awhile to breathe.

Fr. Francis doesn’t have the luxury of an “off day” since he is the only priest in the parish—ergo, I do not get an “off day.” I’m not sure what I would do with a day off, anyway…probably read even more than I already do. My extra challenge is that, while yes, this area of Sierra Leone is inherently striking because it is Africa, it is developed and noisy, and I haven’t had much chance to appreciate the natural beauty. I suppose I grew up a spoiled ‘Florida baby,’ living so close to water. Gainesville took a toll on me because it was landlocked, and after several weeks I would have to continually escape the college town to get to the sea. Obviously, Christ saw the meditative value of the shore, and who am I to doubt the wisdom of our Lord?

Fr. Francis offered to take me to the beach at Freetown next week (if the health of his truck holds). I pray that this comes to pass. I can’t think of a better way to leave Sierra Leone than to get back in touch with the Atlantic. A professor in college told me once that people have different spiritualities: some tap into God in the mountains, for others the forest or the desert, and some have a “beach spirituality.” I know my place. After drums and jungles, it’s about time to get back to the horizon and one particular harbor.

-Bob
07/11/11

Francis and Francis

“Without reggae, the world would be very poor.”

These were the words Fr. Francis spoke after we spent an hour in front of my laptop, journeying through the jams of Marley, Tosh, and UB40. I introduced him to O.A.R., Matisyahu, and some of the funkier songs of Dave Matthews. Other similarities I have found between us: he used to play bass guitar in a band; he has the bass setting in his truck noticeably higher than the treble; he hangs a rosary from his rearview mirror (it’s a Catholic thing and it’s apparently consistent around the globe); and he’s not a “talker.” We spent last Sunday making the rounds to the villages and there was a stretch of two hours of driving where neither of us said a word, lest we disrupt the delicate flow of the reggae.

The irony is also not lost on me that I am having my immersion into poverty with a priest named after the saint of radical poverty, St. Francis. I feel like St. Francis intercedes to offer me daily challenges in my comfort level with the poor, and it’s not easy. The other day a beggar suddenly reached through the passenger window of the truck and held my face, speaking in a language unknown. Acting on instinct, I slapped the man’s arm away with my left hand, and the parishioners in our backseat immediately reprimanded the man for physically invading the truck. We drove on, but it shook me up. I slapped the arm of a beggar. I know that it was a self-defense mechanism; it happened very quickly, and you never fully know the intentions of the other person. But I slapped the arm of beggar. Coming from a seminarian trying to follow Christ and see Christ in the poor, I didn’t feel too great about myself. That’s just one challenging moment I’ve experienced.

Also factoring into the scope of poverty, I’ve noticed that it’s the “little things” that simultaneously test me and lift me up. My brother recently infected me with an addiction to the television series House, and I brought the second season with me to Africa to watch on my laptop. While the show has helped me through many tedious afternoons, it’s the little things like watching House pour a cup of coffee, or cook something in a microwave, or even just walking into an air-conditioned hospital, that make me remember the comforts I’m living without. Somewhere between the fire department and seminary my taste buds mutated to enjoy coffee—now every time I watch the show and see someone sip a cup, I shudder and itch my arm.

However, the little things also lift me up. There is a song called “Stereo Love” by Edward Maya and some Eastern European lady. Find it on Youtube. It has an all-too catchy accordion rift laid over club beats with some unintelligible lyrics. It was overplayed in Miami, but especially so at the gym where Dan and I worked out at to escape the seminary several times a week. We began associating this song with the gym and it eventually brought us joy whenever we heard it elsewhere. Well, the other night I heard this song blasting at full volume from one of the local houses having a party. And it instantly brought back memories of Miami, that gym, and my brother. I couldn’t believe that this song made it to Africa. I think it caused the biggest smile I had that day.

This post is a bit nonsensical—reggae, poverty, coffee, dance songs. Maybe I’m at the point of my trip where I’m becoming nonsensical. Well…more than usual.

-Bob
written 07/10/11

De-ology ‘o dee Bodi

Throw out all the usual teaching devices we take for granted in the States. We have no dry-erase boards or makers; no overhead projectors (no electricity during the day) and thus no copiers or printers, No portable chalkboards either, so everything is orally taught. Oh yeah, and that darn language barrier. I still insisted that Fr. Francis give me one night to talk about Theology of the Body (or “Dee-ology ‘o dee Bodi”).

The Theology of the Body (ToB) is the working title that John Paul II gave to the first major teaching of his pontificate; 129 Wednesday Audiences delivered from 1979 to 1984 have now been assembled into a collective work. It is a biblical reflection that illuminates the human desire of love, a love that God created in us to love as male and female in his image. John Paul insisted that our creation as male and female is not arbitrary, but points to the union within God that we are all called to attain. Our tendency to reduce the human body to something purely biological (and thus see the soul as something ‘trapped’ within) clouds our ability to see our sexuality in its full meaning, and it is not an authentic Catholic teaching. I have been blessed to attend two week-long workshops to deepen my understanding of JP II’s teaching, and I didn’t want to leave Africa withholding this gift.

I spoke very slowly and very clearly to a group of teens, offering them a snapshot of John Paul’s teaching. “So, dee bodi is ‘oly?” one of the girls asked, breaking the ice for a slew of other questions. It’s all about being a gift—our desire is rooted as a yearning to make a sincere gift of oneself to the other and to receive the other’s gift. Authentic love needs to find concrete form, love must become “enfleshed,” and thus we have a simple explanation of God’s physically entering into history. Christ recognized the risk of handing over His body, but as the heavenly bridegroom, He did so with full knowledge of rejection, as He does with every Eucharist. I’m not sure how much sense I made for the teens, but it’s in God’s hands now.


That’s it for my ToB plug in this summer blog. It is a vision of the human person that has transformed my Christian journey and I cannot recommend enough for those reading to explore this teaching in greater detail. As my Saturday morning cartoons taught me, knowledge is power and knowing is half the battle. But don’t take my word for it (cue Reading Rainbow music).


-Bob
written 07/09/11

Youth and Young Manhood

When does a man become a man? When he can grow a quality beard? When he can roundhouse kick like Chuck Norris? Most men’s magazines and pop culture will attest that the benchmark is once a person is financially independent. Sadly, during my stay on the fire department, I saw many thirty-year olds with the ethics and self-discipline of a teenager; I don’t think finances are the best barometer. Since I left my undergraduate studies at UF, I have often felt like a drifter on a wide-open field—I’m biologically, legally, culturally regarded as a man, but at what point do I “feel” like a man? Why do I still feel sometimes as clueless as I was in high school? Is this something I work out within myself or is it bestowed on me?

In this African culture, you are culturally not accepted as a “man” until you have left out into the unknown—be it for a hunt or for a great journey—and returned with a true inner transformation. You leave the status quo. You take responsibility for your actions and the consequences. You recognize the fear, but you recognize that there is something greater than that fear. Three years ago, I was more willing to run into a burning building than to allow God to have total control of my life. Now I am sitting in an African town where I have lived for the last six weeks, having taken nothing along but my clothes and laptop—I’m pretty sure God is now in control.

There’s a certain men’s magazine that my Dad and I have read for many years (whoever gets the magazine first tears out the cologne ads and subscription cards, and puts them in the other person’s bed; I have brought this practice with me into the seminary). They have good fitness and health tips, but I’ve noticed the magazine’s recent trends are now trying to convince me what kind of man-purse I need for this season and all the different hair and skin products I’m missing out on. Without getting into THOSE issues of where manhood is going, I do want to point out the scarcity of articles they run on the necessities of self-discipline, loyalty to your commitments, and sacrifice in the face of fear—those traits I’m sure any woman wants out of her man. I have fallen in the past to brief moments of supposing that I’m not a “man” because I don’t make the salary this magazine requires to own this gadget or that suit (even though I don’t need that pink-striped suit because, let’s be honest, it looks like black will be my color of choice for a very long time). But when I walk off that plane back into Tampa International Airport, no magazine can tell me that I didn’t face the unknown of Africa with every last bit of courage and faith and I had in me.

“What is to give light must endure burning.”—Viktor Frankl

-Bob
written 07/06/11

Madonna of the World

Mary has always seemed just beyond by reach. I’ve tried to get on a “Rosary schedule” numerous times, never with much luck. I’ve prayed to her and asked for intercessions, but never with much conviction. But after hearing of the importance, better yet necessity, of Mary to a priesthood, I decided that it was time to stop messing around.

I’ve already mentioned this book several times, but this is because it has truly made an impact in my life and changed my whole relationship with Mary, our mother. The book is titled The World’s First Love by Archbishop Fulton Sheen. In it he describes “the Woman the World Loves,” going over Mary’s role in the Gospels and in the life of our Lord. After this he talks about “the World the Woman Loves,” describing Mary’s role in our lives and our world today.

Fulton Sheen says that, “If fatherhood has its prototype in the Heavenly Father…then certainly such a beautiful thing as motherhood shall not be without some original Mother, whose traits of loveliness every mother copies in varying degrees.” And clearly, this original Mother is Mary. She prepares the way for Jesus, physically as His mother, and spiritually as the one who prepares our souls for her Son.

A few good friends at the seminary performed a consecration to the Blessed Virgin this past school year. I was asked to join in, but I knew that I was nowhere near ready to do something like that. I admired their obvious love and reverence for her though. And I knew that one day I would be there too. Well, while being here I have certainly had to rely on the Lord more than ever, but at the same time I have also turned to Mary in an honest, if not at times desperate way.

I always knew that Mary held an incredibly special place in our Church, but it wasn’t until I learned more about her and the impact she played in the life of her Son, and the entire Church, that I started to appreciate this in a more personal way. Now I have started to realize the true love that she possesses, for her Son first of all, but also for all of us to whom she received at the crucifixion when Jesus said, “Woman, behold your son.”

And in this love Mary has sacrificed much, but now in heaven she intercedes for us in the same way that our earthly mothers do before the justice of our fathers. And I can say without a doubt that I have felt her presence and her mercy while being here. This is not only a great comfort being so far from my own earthy mother, but it also shines a whole new light on my faith. I don’t think I could describe it any better than Fulton Sheen when he says:

As, in the physical order, a man who grows up without the loving attention of a mother misses something that makes for gentleness and sweetness of character, so, in the spiritual order, those who grow up in Christianity without Mary lack a joy and happiness that come to those only who know her as mother. Orphans of the Spirit! Your Mother lives!

-Dan
written 07/10/11

Blue Lake

On the way to Mount Bomi there is a fork in the road. One way is to the top of the mount and the other way is to the Blue Lake. When we went to the top a few weeks ago we were able to look down onto the lake, but I have never actually gone there yet. Well, today Rachel, Jackie, and I decided to go.

It is well over an hour walk, so to make the trek worth it we packet food and activities so we could spend some time there and not get bored. On the way we also recruited two other guys who passed and decided to join us.

After we got there and ate we played a rousing game of Uno. Then I spotted a diving board (literally a board sticking out of a rock) so I thought I’d go sit on the end and have some good reflection time. But of course, according to Murphy’s Law, if anything could go wrong it probably will. So I was sitting on the board no more than 20 seconds when I suddenly heard a "blop." When I looked down I saw my phone drifting to the bottom.

I never intended to go into the lake. Give me the ocean any day, but lakes creep me out. All that still water festering with bacteria. Not to mention that this is also African waters. And in this particular lake there is a story of a giant anaconda that lives at the center. We were told, however, that this was a myth made a long time ago by miners in order to keep the Liberians from coming to the area.

Nevertheless, there was my phone sinking to the bottom. At this point it was inevitable, so I sucked it up (gave Jackie my camera to film) and dove in. The water was actually refreshing. I retrieved my phone, and by this time one of the other guys got in as well. And later on Rachel and Jackie got onto a canoe made from four logs tied together and a shovel as an oar.

The experiences in Liberia never stop. But they definitely make life interesting. And overall I’m glad the phone fell in so that in turn we all got in. And phones here are cheap. I’ve been told, and now observed, that even the poorest of the poor have cell phones here.

All in all, it was a nice trip to the lake.

-Dan
written 07/09/11

Sophia

I just laid down to sleep and remembered that I forgot to do night prayer. I am exhausted and really didn’t want to get up out of the comfort and security of my mosquito net crowned bed. Then a strange thought popped into my head. If I was married and had a wife who called out to me right now, would I even hesitate to get up? That was enough convincing for me.

As a seminarian studying for the priesthood, if God calls me to ordination then I won’t be blessed with a wife of my own in the normal sense, but the Church would become my bride. This I have known intellectually, but there is a big gap between knowing this in your mind and feeling this in your heart. Before tonight I don’t think this gap has ever been breached. But something stirred in me tonight.

It is a seemingly trivial event for a possible life-changing end, but hey, our God works in mysterious ways. I started to think of this concept of the Church becoming my bride, and suddenly all the faces and interactions with the people I have met here in Africa came flooding to mind. Maybe my previous experience, mistakes, and self-centeredness stifled my mind and didn’t allow me to look beyond and properly grasp this truth of the priesthood. But at this moment I saw all of these people in pure love.

After this all overcame me, I listened to two songs by Matt Maher: Sophia and Set Me As A Seal. I’ve never listened to these songs without a longing for a tangible bride one day (one was even the “first dance” at a wedding I attended…didn’t help). So I’m not exactly sure what drove me to listen to these at this moment. Either I was testing this epiphany of mine or trying to snap myself out of it. Either way, it did affect me in a new way. The first line to Sophia goes:

She’s so, you know, makes me want to be like Jesus.

Now, there are several women who have told me that they can’t wait for a guy to say this about them one day. Well, this experience, looking back, not only at my time in Africa but farther still, I can definitely say that I have a desire to be like Jesus. To be whatever the Church needs of me and whatever God is calling of me. Later the song says:

In your Sacred Heart I burn for you, could I burn with her in the flame of Truth,
where all my burdens float like an angel feather?
Sophia, you know me; Sophia, see through me;
Sophia, dance with me, help me make it through the night.

The Sophia in the song refers partially to a person, but Sophia also means “wisdom” in Greek. In this context, referring to the divine Wisdom of God. “Therefore I prayed, and prudence was given me; I pleaded, and the spirit of Wisdom came to me. For she is the instructress in the understanding of God, the selector of his works” (Wisdom 7:7, 8:4) May God continue to guide me in this journey and allow me to experience his love burning in his Sacred Heart. And may I then be transformed and so filled with this Love that I can’t help but share the flame of Truth with his universal Church. And as for my vocation, well...

I am, your Hands, tell me what your plan for this is…

-Dan
written 07/07/11

African Rundown

It has been about a month now since I came to Africa, and today I finally had the chance for some physical exertion (minus kicking the soccer ball around a bit in Monrovia when I first arrived). I went running this afternoon with David, one of the men on the mission. I’ve been bugging him for some time, and our schedules finally lined up.

Let me preface this by saying that I have never seen anybody else just running for the sake of exercise around Tubmanburg before. So we, of course, ended up running down the main road of town with the usual afternoon crowd. And it turns out that I can get stared at even more than I usually do. It was great to finally get out and exercise though, and I would get the occasional encouragement from a child yelling after the “white man.”

But I must say, I am very much used to our nice flat land in Florida, and Africa is nothing like that. There are constant hills to conquer. I remember occasionally laughing to myself back home after hearing dad say that he was sore after putting too much incline on the treadmill…well, I guess he’ll have the last laugh after all.

It is my goal, however, to make it to the top of Mount Bomi by the time I leave here in August. I will offer up the suffering that I will most definitely endure from the heat and the height, and make it symbolically my own climb to Calvary on this trip.

I will not do it alone though. I told this to David and he said that whenever I’m ready to let him know and he will go with me. Also, a little later I had two other men approach me and told me to let them know the next time we go running so that they can come along too.

And next up on my list after I conquer Mt. Bomi: hardcore parkour!

-Dan
written 07/06/11

America the Beautiful

Yesterday marked the day of independence for our country. And lucky enough, there are five Americans around these parts of Liberia: the three SMA missionaries, a Peace Corp volunteer nearby, and myself. So we celebrated it right.

We went all out. The ladies offered their house for the celebration, so they decorated (homemade mind you) before hand and we even had patriotic music to set the mood. We all chipped in on the cooking, so we had corn, baked beans, potato salad, hamburgers, and hotdogs. Freedom has never tasted so good. Rachel even dressed up as Paul Revere (mainly so she could yell, “The British are coming! The British are coming!” when Fr. Garry stopped by).

The 4th also marked our fourth day of celebrations for this past weekend. Last Friday was the feast day for the two brothers who are part of The Congregation of the Sacred Heart from India, so we had a special lunch at their house in honor of this. On Saturday we had a goodbye dinner for one of the brothers who is leaving for two months. Sunday we celebrated the Lord’s Resurrection day in our usual style of BananaGrams. And yesterday, of course, was our Independence Day.

So if you had any doubts as to whether or not we have any fun here in Africa, let your minds be at ease.

-Dan
written 07/05/11

Rich or Poor?

I came across an interesting question recently. It asked whether it would be harder to be poor in a rich country rather than in a bankrupt one. The question stuck with me, and instead of just staying in my own head, I was curious to see what others had to say.

So I set off in search of answers. I asked two of the other American missionaries and they said it would definitely be harder to be poor in a rich country. In a rich country you would have a constant reminder of what you yourself do not have, and in poorer countries, as the saying goes, ignorance is bliss. Not that they don’t know what’s out there, but they are not continually bombarded with advertisements and reminders. I then asked Tata, the Liberian woman who cooks for us, the same question. She said with fervor that it would be harder in a poor country. In a rich one you would most likely have parents or grandparents that could help you out. In a poor country, odds are that your whole family is in the same boat you are in because they stick together more often than not. Also, the physical work they must go through just to receive their daily bread is immense. On top of cooking for us all morning, Tata said that she also works in the bush farming because the pay is small to rely on the one job.

I believe that the answer really lies in your perspective of the question, however. Both sides have valid points, but both sides also fall short. You can look at poverty from a materialistic standpoint or you can look at poverty from a spiritual one. From a materialistic standpoint, I may have to agree with Tata. While in wealthier countries individuals might not seem to take as much notice of the poor, there are better social services and charities that can help with survival needs (food, water, shelter, etc.) and education. It also seems easier to get back on your feet, while my experience here hasn’t shown me too many opportunities for people to get out of the situations they are in.

If we choose to look at spiritual poverty, however, I think the wealthier countries might be harder. This also has to do with perspective I believe. In wealthier countries the mindset is more worldly and less God-centered. There is much more of a value placed of material objects and status, so it is by no means easy for people to accept the idea of spiritual poverty. And it would probably be safe to say that the typical man on the street barely ever gives a thought to the idea of poverty as a religious ideal. In poorer countries, on the other hand, the lack of riches and materials leads to a mindset that is centered more on the family and on God. Because what else do they have?

I have found this hard to accept myself. I am not wanting for anything for my survival where I am staying. I have food, water, shelter, and security. But the mindset I have is beyond survival to wanting comfort. I do have opportunities to go beyond and add superfluities to my life, but I have tried to make the effort, in the spirit of poverty and solidarity, to give up certain comforts that I could very well obtain.

Strictly speaking, poverty in itself in not a good thing, but we do not seek it for itself but for the positive values for which it prepares us. Jesus himself said, “Blessed are you who are poor, for the kingdom of God is yours” (Lk 6:20). So no matter where you are living or what situation in life you are in, we are all challenged to live out a frugality in our faith. And it may not be an easy way to live or a popular one, but this is because God’s thoughts are not ours so many will not like or understand them.

-Dan
written 07/04/11

A Humble Call

It’s pretty late Saturday night but I can’t sleep. It raining lightly and dark, but I can see the silhouette of the trees outside my window as I stare off. I wanted to write something, but I’m not sure what to say. There is a lot going on, but nothing I particularly feel called to write up at the moment. I’m approaching my fourth week in Liberia soon. It’s gone by incredibly fast in retrospect. Of course, some moments felt like time was just inching by, but I’ll spare you all a philosophical discussion on phenomenological time.

No, instead I just started to ponder my time here. The growth I’ve undoubtedly achieved already and the immense growth that is still ahead. And I am focusing on not getting into a routine where I get too comfortable so that I let the summer slip me by. I’m at the point where this is a very real threat. While there is still a lot that changes and fluctuates from day to day, I do have a pretty set routine down for the week.

I have questioned myself on many occasions: Am I really doing any good here? Have I done anything to impact these people’s lives or am I just a spectator passing through? Am I just here to challenge and stretch myself? Am I following the Lord’s will or my own agenda?

It’s hard to think at times that I could have any impact on the people here. I am “teaching” classes to a dwindling number of students, I am giving reflections from one year of seminary philosophy, and I can barely communicate to build real relationships.

However, I am not writing this merely to complain or in hopes of receiving encouraging comments. I just wanted to fill you in on some concerns I’ve had. This is not my normal train of thought though.

Overall, I know that I am here because the Lord has called me here. I know that no matter what negative thoughts may pass through my head, when I am afraid of failing at the task at hand or just plain exhausted, that I am here for a purpose. And I know that we were not called to Africa so that we could be its saviors (though I’m still opened to that possibility). We have been blessed with 2+ months on this incredible continent to soak up the culture and the universal Church. If I can make a difference while I am here, no matter how small, than praise God. If not, then I know that I myself have grown and I can at least bring these experiences back to the States with me.

As for my personal growth, well, I think that this blog is definitely one of them. I have never been one to open up too much or even journal, let alone on a blog to an unknown number of readers. Also, I know that my relationship with the Lord is increasing. I am making sure I get ample prayer time in and I have been forced to rely on him like I never have before. But I know there is so much more ahead on that front. There is much more, but I can’t tell you everything at once. I have to leave you hanging a little so you keep coming back for more (but really it’s because I’m still figuring it out myself).

-Dan
written 07/02/11

P.S. – This picture was taken on the way back from Monrovia today where we had lunch with two other American missionaries. I chose this one because I wanted to make the point that this was just an introspective post, not written from a disheartened state. And we called this our “deportation picture” because we took it right before we passed the last immigration checkpoint. We passed!

Words Are Hard

I am currently in the process of reading a book entitled My Friend the Mercenary. Someone gave it to Fr. Garry and he read it on his recent trip to England. It is about the only journalist who was able to go into the midst of the rebel army during the Liberian civil war, and tells the story about the coup attempted to overthrow the government of Equatorial Guinea (this is a brutally honest book, I wouldn’t suggest it for all readers). But a good portion of it takes place in the exact area where I am staying now, so Father thought it would be an interesting and profitable read for me.

I’m only about a quarter of the way through (450 pages!), so I’ll hold my history lesson until I’m done. There is, however, a brief part that I wanted to share with you all now.

Bob and I have mentioned on occasion the difficulty in language that we have found. And in reading this book I came across a description of their speech that was enlightening for me, and I think might paint a better picture than I could:

His deep Liberian accent, the first I had ever heard, was immediately mesmerizing. It was a voice from another era, a way of speaking that had been brought to Liberia in the nineteenth century by freed slavery from the southern states of America. Endings of words, and other consonants, too, were dropped or swallowed in a unique Old American drawl: ‘now’ became nah, ‘it’ lost its ‘t’, which Joe pronounces ih; ‘th’ became a hard t or de – not unlike the accents of my Irish cousins.

The author even writes their conversations in the way that the people speak. Example: “Oh, yeah-o. I di’ mah trenin’ lon’ time ago. An’ nah, dese day’...I tink dis wi’ mak’ y’ bedder.” (Translation: “Oh, yeah-o. I did my training a long time ago. And now, these days…I think this will make you better.)

As for me, when I’m speaking one-on-one with someone then I’m usually fine, but when there’s a whole group talking and laughing together (like in the car…everyday), then I usually have no idea what’s going on. But I know that it works both ways, so I do my best to make myself heard clearly. And I pray to the Holy Spirit for the gift to interpret tongues…

-Dan
written 07/01/11

Beat It

This is a shout out to my high school art teacher, Mr. Blauvelt, who introduced me to the African djembe drum and how to play it. I finally applied this reservoir of knowledge in the drum’s native land.

I sat in on the choir practice the other night and they let me be the percussionist. My friend Elisa eventually showed up and we all got in on the tomfoolery. It was a lot of fun. As you can imagine, African music is heavy on percussion and vocals, especially for the Mass. They have a portable organ in the parish here that was donated, but it’s used sparingly. Some people would be scandalized by the music here (particularly one friend of mine who hates clapping…even if it saves fairies).

I dig it. I think God prefers that we get into the music that praises Him. Everything in moderation, of course; there’s times for somber tunes and silence. There’s also time to stir it up and jam out. I have had plenty of time for the latter.

-Bob
written 07/05/11

The Lost Boys (and Girls)

I found a lost colony of American students!

Ok, so they weren’t truly lost...they are students from the University of Washington on a study abroad trip. They’re living in a village about two hours away from Makeni. It is one of the parish outposts that Fr. Francis is only able to get to celebrate Mass at about once every two months. We headed there Sunday morning; he told me for the first time during the drive out that the village has Americans there. Sure, Father, sure.

They were more in shock to see me than I was to see 12 beautiful Americans sitting in the makeshift chapel/hut. Nine women, two young men, and their anthropology professor, all speaking the regional dialect better than I could imagine. Their professor has been coming to Sierra Leone every summer for 24 years and has an obvious love for the land. He prepares his students during the spring semester by covering the country’s details and a language preparation course. I later told one of the students that they had the “navy seal” training compared to my own preparation—they just threw me out of the airplane.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way. The students were all amazed that I have been here six weeks on my own without knowing the language or having another American to stay with. They are only here for one month and they are all still fresh off the plane—they overwhelmed me a bit with talking about their Powerbars, shampoo bottles, and packets of instant Starbucks (Seattle water, they called it). I’ve been here in Africa long enough to have a reverse culture-shock, I guess. Yet it gave me a great morale boost to head into this last stretch of my trip. It warmed my heart to have such an onslaught of American company the day before the 4th of July. They invited me back to the village today to celebrate our independence, but I had to teach. Shame, though—they told me they would be sacrificing a goat.

As much as I have longed for that companionship, yesterday’s escapade made me appreciate (for truly the first time) my conditions and the solitude I have been given. A sheltered, itinerary-bound study abroad program wouldn’t have done me any good, especially for discerning this priesthood of Christ. Benedict XVI writes, “In order to mature, in order to make real progress on the path leading from a superficial piety into profound oneness with God’s will, man needs to be tried..…Love is always a process involving purifications…and painful transformations of ourselves” (Jesus of Nazareth, 162). My prayer life certainly wouldn’t have been challenged to the next level if I had eleven friends living in such close proximity. Check out the picture below—how’s that for student housing?

That’s all I got. Oh, and that Seattle water was delicious.

-Bob
written 07/04/11