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