Giving Sight to the Blind

As Jesus walked along, he saw a man blind from birth…

Jesus spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva

and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in

the pool of Siloam (which means “Sent”). Then he went and washed

and came back able to see.

       John 9,1.6–7

Today, Saturday, March 29, I can’t help but think of Father Fred Monk preparing his Sunday homily in Bow Island, Alberta.

Father Fred Monk receiving a "royal welcome" in Xalpitzahuac in 2005

If you are reading this, you undoubtedly know that Father Fred is the founding director of Mission Mexico. He comes to my mind today because of tomorrow’s gospel reading from chapter 9 in John’s gospel, in which Jesus gives sight to a blind man.

Father Fred, through Mission Mexico, did the same thing here in Mexico ten years ago. A young boy in the village of Xalpitzahuac, Pedro Bruno Ramon, had been blind for several years. His very poor family had never been able to take him to a doctor. Mission Mexico provided funds for an initial medical visit, for surgery on his eyes in Mexico City, and for several follow-up appointments afterwards.

Pedro after his eye surgery

I remember taking Pedro’s hand on one occasion and guiding it toward a cup of coffee on a table. He really was blind! Yet, months later, he was able to see everything—and he proudly began to learn to read and write. That was in 2004.

Thinking of Sunday’s gospel about sight and light, and thinking of Father Fred’s gift of sight and light to Pedro—as well as Father Fred’s incredible use of sight and light in his photographs; please check out www.fredmonk.zenfolio.com—I decided to drive today to Xalpitzahuac to see how Pedro is now doing.

Pedro and one of the first "white persons" he ever saw in his life (he was impressed)

I drove for two hours, but discovered that Pedro was not there. I spoke with relatives, and they informed me that Pedro had left last month with his family to seek work cutting sugar cane in the State of Morelos. He will come back to his village in May, in order to prepare the fields for his crops of corn and beans.

When I asked who was included in the “family,” I was told that he went with his younger sister Martina (who also received assistance from Mission Mexico when she was ill from tuberculosis), his wife Lourdes, his four-year-old daughter Cristina, and a ten-month-old son who has not been given a name yet. Yes, Pedro is now a husband and a father—and according to his relatives, his sight is perfect.

Pedro's house in Xalpitzahuac on March 29, 2014—it's locked while he's away

It would have been great to speak with Pedro about his memories of those days of darkness and the new sight and light that he received, but that will have to wait for now. (It gives me more time to think of more questions.) I’m simply happy to know that Mission Mexico could help to make possible a new life for this young man. Thank you, Father Fred. Thank you, Mission Mexico. Thank you, supporters of Mission Mexico.

The Church of St. Mark, in Xalpitzahuac

Of course, Pedro’s life is surely not an easy one. Cutting sugar cane is one of the worse jobs that one can think of in Mexico. The work is hard, the pay is low, the hours are long, the field is hot. Shortly before the workers go in to cut the cane, the field is set afire. The fire destroys any kind of grass or plants growing among the cane, it forces snakes and other rodents out of the field, and it softens the sap (maybe we’d call it “molasses”) inside the cane. However, the worker tends to become filthy black within minutes of starting work, and the temperature is unbearably (almost) hot. Often the worker is breathing in smoke and soot. But as long as there are impoverished people willing to do this kind of work just to feed their family, the life of a sugar cane cutter probably won’t soon change much.

Cutting sugar cane—I can't imagine most Canadians doing it

So please pray for Pedro and his family—and please do what you can to relieve suffering in other peoples’ lives.

PS: Thinking of Pedro and Father Fred reminds me of Father Keith Sorge, a priest from the Diocese of Calgary and Father Fred’s great friend, who died in October 2010. Father Keith accompanied Father Fred to Mexico (including Xalpitzahuac) in 2005. He touched many lives here. As Father Fred (quoting Dr. Seuss) says about Keith: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” Thank you, Keith.

Who needs a bed?—Father Keith taking a break in Xalpitzahuac in 2005

Celebrating El Santo Entierro—The Holy Buried One

Having bought a linen cloth, Joseph of Arimathea

took Jesus down from the cross, wrapped him in the linen cloth,

and laid him in a tomb that had been hewn out of the rock.

                                                                                                             Mark 15:46

Here in the mountains of Guerrero, the biggest religious celebration in all of the year is el Tercer Viernes de Cuaresma—the Third Friday of Lent. Thousands of people come from all over Mexico to pray at the shrine of El Santo Entierro (“the Holy Buried One”) in the village of Xalpatlahuac.

 

Carrying El Santo Entierro out of the church

El Santo Entierro is an image of Jesus laid horizontally in a burial casket. During 364 days of the year, the image lies behind the altar in the parish church of Xalpatlahuac. But on the third Friday of Lent, the image is taken down and carried all around the village. The image is considered very miraculous, and everyone tries to at least touch the casket as it passes by. The church and the streets are packed with throngs of people.

 

You can almost see the faith in the eyes of the man in the middle

I remember back in the early 1980s when a new parish priest was sent to Xalpatlahuac. He was rather upset that people came to the church often to greet El Santo Entierro but didn’t always attend Sunday Mass. So, in one of his homilies, he reminded people that El Santo Entierro was just a ceramic image and wasn't really Jesus, whereas the host in the tabernacle was the real Jesus; therefore, the Mass was more important than the image behind the altar.

Did this attempt at evangelization work? Not by a long shot. That evening the people from Xalpatlahuac gathered in front of the priest’s house, took him prisoner, stripped him, tarred him, covered him with chicken feathers, led him to the edge of town, and wished him well on his new journeys. The next parish priest—and none since—didn't repeat his predecessor’s homily.

 

Bishop Dagoberto and priests in procession with the Holy Buried One

One lives and learns. Two of the people I have been most learning from during my years here in Mexico have been Father Cesar and Father Pablo.

 

Father Cesar and Father Pablo

Father Cesar is the rector of the diocesan seminary, and he does an incredible job in offering preparation to the young men who will offer their priestly service in this indigenous, impoverished, mountainous setting. As I type these lines, Cesar is in a meeting with his mom and dad and brother and sister. Doctors are telling the family that the 77-year-old father, Natalio, who has suffered with diabetes for many years, should have an operation this coming week in the city of Puebla to remove his right leg. The family wants to do what is best for the dad; the operation will cost more than 6,000 Canadian dollars; the family is talking about how they might best be able to cover this expense. And what if the doctors suggest a prosthetic leg for Dad in the future? Ouch! Please pray for Cesar and his family.

 

What I contemplated when I couldn't sleep the other night

Father Pablo belongs to a religious congregation called Missionaries of the Holy Spirit. He helped organize this Diocese of Tlapa in terms of its evangelical processes and programs (but he can’t be blamed for the priest’s homily in Xalpatlahuac). He left the mountains about five years ago to work in the southern state of Chiapas. But he is returning to Tlapa in May to participate in a national encounter of his congregation taking place here. The congregation has invited me to participate in that national encounter. I feel honoured by the invitation and overjoyed by the thought of being able to spend time with Pablo and other former friends.

Life goes on. On Wednesday evening I went to Ixcateopan, where Father Hubert celebrated his first Mass after being ordained a priest the day before. The mountains are blessed to have him here serving the people.

 

Father Hubert during his first Mass as a priest

I had better go to fill the truck with gasoline. Tomorrow I will drive Arnulfo, an architect from Mexico City, to and from the village of San Marcos. Arnulfo just wants to be sure (for safety reasons) that the ten houses being built by the villagers there for the families that lost homes in the September landslide are being built according to plan. It’s not easy to find transport to this isolated village, so it’s one small way in which Mission Mexico can accompany the people in their effort to offer a dignified life to these families.

 

Question of the Week: If you had to get your van across a lake when the road was washed out,
would you think to get two boats to travel side by side, with half of the van on each? I thought
I was seeing things when I took this photo.

Have a great week, my friends. God bless.

Seeing and Hearing God this Lent

Once when a visiting philosopher

 asked St. Anthony the Great (251–356)

how such a learned man as he

got along in the desert without books,

Anthony replied,

"My book is the nature of created things,

and as often as I have a mind to read the words of God,

it is at my hand."

I’m still working on my Lenten mission of trying to deepen my awareness and understanding of the psalmists words that “the heavens declare the glory of God; the firmament proclaims the work of God’s hands” (Psalm 19:1).

 

Getting the fields ready for the rainy season

I may not agree one hundred percent with Saint Bernard of Clairvaux when he wrote a thousand years ago, “You will find something greater in woods than in books,” but I do believe that if we have the eyes to see, then every moment can allow us to apprehend (or be apprehended by) the sacred, the holy, the divine (I thank David Suzuki for that metaphor of “apprehension”).

The mobile ice cream "truck." The ice cream costs the equivalent of 50 cents.

I am undoubtedly prejudiced toward books, simply because I love to read. But this Lent I’m trying to get away (okay, I admit it—not totally) from books, trusting that Origen was correct when he wrote almost two thousand years ago that since “the parallel between nature and Scripture is so complete, we must necessarily believe that the person who is asking questions of nature and the person who is asking questions of Scripture are bound to arrive at the same conclusions.”

Some days it seems like I'm going to drive to the clouds.

 Of course, people play a special role in this apprehension. I went this past week to Potoichan, where Mission Mexico plays an important role in supporting a high school for 260 impoverished youth from all over La Montaña of this state of Guerrero. A Mexican Marist brother, Salvador Gonzalez Cardona, is the director of the school. His nickname is “Cepillo” (“Brush”); take a look at the photo below, and try to guess why he has this nickname. Cepillo is, for me, almost a “miracle-worker” in terms of the incredible difference his school is making in the lives of these youth from the mountains.

 

"Cepillo," the director of the high school, with two crosses from Chiapas.

And I visited with Abel Barrera Hernandez, the director of the Tlachinollan Human Rights Center (which receives support from Mission Mexico). Tlachinollan has received recognition from all over the world for the great work it is doing in its support for justice for the indigenous peoples of La Montaña.

Abel Barrera Hernández, director of Tlachinollan Human Rights Center

 On Wednesday evening, Abel was travelling on a road outside Tlapa when he was assaulted. The three thieves stole the vehicle he was driving—a new Nissan truck just like the one I drive—his laptop, his cell phone, and his wallet. He was left abandoned in a remote field, but after managing to untie himself, he was able to walk to a road and eventually receive assistance. Here in La Montaña we are simply grateful that Abel is still alive.

House where I stayed overnight in San Marcos

 But it’s not only “important people” that allow me to feel that I am on “sacred ground.” On Friday night I slept in Doña Gertrude’s house in San Marcos. When I got up at about 7 on Saturday morning, she was outside pushing coffee beans into a bag, so that I could take a gift of coffee back to Tlapa.

 

Doña Gertrude with her coffee beans

Another woman, Elodia, insisted that I go to her house for breakfast. The photo below shows this “special” breakfast for the Canadian visitor: water to drink; noodles; squash; beans; herbs; tortillas (under the colorful cloth). No coffee, but who was I to complain?

Breakfast. It's not all for me. Each persons takes a bit of what he/she wants.

 And since Elodia’s mother, Doña Virginia, was going to the river to wash clothes, Virginia insisted on taking a dust-filled shirt of mine to wash. While she was washing clothes, other children were taking advantage of the river to cool off.

 

Doña Virginia washing clothes at the local "laundromat."

So, hopefully, I am advancing with my Lenten “challenge.” I wonder if the seminarians who are doing homework this weekend for my class next week will refer to nature and creation in response to the questions I left with them. The class is on the Pentateuch (the first five books of the Bible), and we were talking about Abraham. Genesis 12:7 begins: “Yahweh appeared to Abram and said.”

The seminarians have to turn in a written response to the following questions: How does God “appear” and “speak”? Does God appear and speak today any differently than when God “appeared” and “spoke” to Abram? What is needed to “see” and “hear” God?

 

Some children cooling off on a hot day near Ojo de Pescado.

I’m smiling as I’m thinking that I’m glad that no professor ever gave me a homework assignment like that. Maybe you, esteemed reader, are thinking the same thing. But just maybe we’ll all learn something from the exercise. I’m not great at answers, but I love asking questions.

 

I'm still happy to have my mother's rosary accompany me in my travels.

Have a great week, my friends. I hope God appears to you and speaks to you this week. Or maybe I should rephrase that: I hope that you are “seeing” and “listening” as God appears and speaks to you this week.

Sacrificing to Idols—Is It Still Happening?

And then you took your sons and your daughters,

whom you had given birth to as my children,

and you killed them, sacrificing them to idols.

      Ezekiel 16:20 (The Message)

Manuel didn’t know it, but this line from the prophet Ezekiel that he mentioned in my Scripture class here at the seminary on Monday created for me a déjà vu moment. I “saw” it as if it were yesterday. In fact, it occurred some twenty years ago.

Early morning - Wednesday, March 12, 2014

 We were in a base ecclesial community meeting one night, and someone read this line from the prophet Ezekiel. Don Ignacio, an elderly man who worked as a taxi driver (and who seldom spoke in these meetings) started sobbing—softly at first, but then more loudly. All of us around him were shocked. What could be so impactful about this biblical phrase written 2500 years ago?

Then Ignacio explained. He had been born in poverty and had never experienced any of the good things in life. When he married his true love, Doña Estela, he made a promise that he would never allow his children to suffer the way he had.

 

Tomás is the seminarian in the red-and-white shirt; his father, Salvador,
died last week. Please pray for him and his family.

Ignacio and Estela had two boys. As they were growing up, Ignacio did his best to respond to his boys’ every wish and desire. If they wanted brand-name clothing, they got brand-name clothing. If they wanted to hang out with the rich kids, they got to hang out with the rich kids. If they wanted a car to drive to school, they got a car to drive to school.

Both sons went on to study law, and they were able to use their “friendships” among the rich to get good jobs with the government. In almost everyone’s eyes, they were a true “success story.”

 

A "success story" here would be a better house for protection against the elements.

Then why the sobs as Ignacio was telling this story? Because, he said, he knew that his sons were two of the most dishonest people in the local government. They took bribes; they denied justice to the poor; they did whatever it took to make an extra buck for themselves.

And, Ignacio went on, it wasn’t totally their fault. He—Ignacio—had “sacrificed them to the idols.” Not physically, of course, but really! He hadn’t done enough to help them identify with the poor. He hadn’t done enough with them so that they could perceive the gospel message of justice and love as the only way to true life.

This boy's family will give him a good "message."

 And, he ended, he was now afraid that his failure to have done that would mean that his grandchildren would unwittingly be sacrificed to the idols as well. How could his sons “educate” their children in a way of life that they themselves neither understood nor lived?

All of this came back to me on Monday. I haven’t seen Ignacio and Estela in many years, but I hope that they are still alive and that they are continuing their struggle to “steal back” their children and grandchildren from the idols. Surely that is one reason for this season of Lent.

Some seminarians with the first copy of new diocesan newspaper

 The Diocese of Tlapa began this past week a new project to evangelize the people here. The first edition of a new diocesan newspaper was published. It is called Montañas de Fe (“Mountains of Faith”), and it is supposed to be available every two weeks. A group of seminarians is in charge of this new project. I assist them, and I write an article called La Biblia para el Pueblo (“The Bible for the People”) in each edition.

Bishop Dagoberto, of Tlapa, examines the first edition of new newspaper

 That is a sign of hope. Another sign will be the ordination of two young men to the priesthood and two young men as deacons here in Tlapa on March 25. I have taught Scripture classes to Juan, Mario, Hubert, and Arturo, and I have no doubt but that they will be blessings for the impoverished people of these mountain parishes.

Invitation for everyone to attend ordinations on March 25 in Tlapa

 So Lent is a busy time. Generations ago, a custom began here in the mountains (not in all of Mexico) whereby different villages would celebrate Good Friday on different Fridays throughout Lent. That would allow the parish priest (and, on occasion, the bishop) to accompany the people on this important day. Need I mention the fact that almost all of the parishes here have at least 30 villages, and many of them have more than one hundred villages? I already celebrated Good Friday last week in Alcozauca (where I lived with Father Moran in the early ‘80s); this Friday I will be celebrating it in Atlamajalcingo del Monte. Each village has its unique blend of music, dances, processions, and ceremonies to commemorate Jesus’ death.

The "tlacololeros" lead the religious procession in Alcozauca - First Friday 2014

 And perhaps it’s because the signs of death often seem to outshine the signs of life in the mountains, but the native cultures here definitely emphasize Good Friday much more than Easter. As my dad might say, “It isn’t even a contest.” That’s one of the challenges of the “permanent mission” of “new evangelization” in the Diocese of Tlapa: to offer not only a message of life beyond death, but also a message—and a practice—of life before death for all those who are forced to live as “non-persons.”

Lent can mean lots of things to lots of people. What does it mean to me?

 Mission Mexico tries to play a role in that message and practice. As always, my gratitude goes out to all who help to make this life more of a reality here. God bless.     

Lent 2014—How to be Faithful to Mom

God’s glory is on tour in the skies,

God-craft on exhibit across the horizon.

Madame Day holds classes every morning,

Professor Night lectures each evening.

Their words aren't heard, their voices aren't recorded,

But their silence fills the earth:

unspoken truth is spoken everywhere.

                                                                         Psalm 19:1-4

(The Message: Catholic/Ecumenical Edition

—The Bible in Contemporary Language

Beautiful cloud formation

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. My brothers and sisters and I have been sharing amusing e-mails, because this is the first Lenten season without our mom’s presence. She would have been on the phone the past few days, reminding us that Lent is starting and asking us what we were going to be doing to live this special liturgical season.

Seminarian Ponciano giving ashes in Tlapa's cathedral - March 2014

My sister Elaine (she’ll kill me for using her name—sorry, Sis) reminded us, in one of her e-mails, of the following: “Mom did agree 8 years ago to the idea that one could take something on, instead of giving something up. (Her novenas had already been answered & I had finally quit smoking.) I am trying to focus on just what to take on.”

Beautiful mountain scenery

Readers of this blog know that I spend a lot of time on the road. I smile as I think of my cousin Loyola, who visited here several years ago; she’d probably scream, “Those aren't roads!” When she returned to Canada and my mom asked her what the roads are like, she responded, “I don’t know. I had my eyes closed almost all of the time we were on them.”

One of the great mountain roads

But the “roads” are pretty much home for me, and I have lots of time to look around and admire the beauty of God’s creation (without ever being able to forget the suffering of the people who have to struggle so desperately for life amidst this “natural” setting). I am often reminded of words written by Saint Augustine centuries ago (in Sermon 68.6):

“Others, in order to find God, will read a book. Well, as a matter of fact there is a certain great big book, the book of created nature. Look carefully at it top and bottom, observe it, read it. God did not make letters of ink for you to recognize him in; he set before your eyes all these things he has made. Why look for a louder voice? Heaven and earth cries out to you, “God made me.” You can read what Moses wrote; in order to write it, what did Moses read, a man living in time? Observe heaven and earth in a religious spirit.”

Wisdom, beauty, and life in a mango

So, if my brothers and sisters don’t mind, I think this is one of the things that I will “take on” during Lent. I will concentrate more on “discerning the artisan,” on reflecting on “the original source of beauty [who] fashioned” “the greatness and the beauty of created things” (Wisdom 13:1, 3, 5—NAB).

Really "seeing", reflecting, and acting—that's the challenge

Of course, this will involve more than just “discerning” and “reflecting.” Elizabeth A. Johnson, in her latest book, called Ask the Beasts: Darwin and the God of Love, reminds us of two important things:

“The Giver of life creates what is physical—stars, planets, soil, water, air, plants, animals, ecological communities— and moves in these every bit as vigorously as in souls, minds, ideas. Earth is a physical place of extravagant dynamism that bodies forth the gracious presence of God. In its own way it is a sacrament and a revelation.”

“Both spiritual and moral responses flow from the understanding of the living world in its givenness, resplendence, fragility, and threatened state as the dwelling place of God.”

The villages of Yosondacua and Cuahañaña are there on the side of the mountain

There’s the challenge. What will be my “spiritual and moral responses” to this deeper understanding (I hope) of life and the Giver of life? What will I do—who will I be—as the result of this Lenten undertaking? It’s a daunting task, in one sense. Even to dare to strive for this understanding means that I don’t totally agree with what Ecclesiastes wrote thousands of years ago (in this translation from The Message):

“When I determined to load up on wisdom and examine everything taking place on earth, I realized that if you keep your eyes open day and night without even blinking, you’ll still never figure out the meaning of what God is doing on this earth. Search as hard as you like, you’re not going to make sense of it. No matter how smart you are, you won’t get to the bottom of it.”

Ashes on Mike's forehead—Ash Wednesday 2014

Sorry, Ecclesiastes, but you’re wrong. We can figure out lots, even if it’s “indistinctly, as in a mirror” (1 Corinthians 13:12—NAB), but even that little bit can be like “a little yeast [that] leavens all the dough” (1 Corinthians 5:6—NAB). Mom, thanks for continuing to remind us of the beauty and challenge of this Lenten season.

Building Houses...and Hope

They shall build houses and live in them…

They shall not build and others live there.

Isaiah 65:21–22

Isaiah was only partially correct. In the ideal world, the houses that are built will not necessarily be lived in by the constructors. But that can be a good—a great—thing.

Salvador contacted me on Friday. He is the comisario (“mayor”) of San Marcos. I knew that he hadn't wanted the job (which involves lots of responsibilities, but no salary). When the village assembly proposed his name in January, he said that he had no money; he requested that the village give him a year, so that he could go (illegally) into the United States and work for a while. Then he would return in time for next January’s election of “mayor.” The people said they needed him now.

Salvador (in green-and-white shirt) and other elected leaders from San Marcos

San Marcos is a very poor village, and families there lost lives and homes during the terrible rain storm and landslides in September 2013. Salvador and other village leaders have been requesting for months assistance from different levels of government so that at least ten houses can be built for families that lost their houses in September.

Alejandra preparing our chicken broth for lunch

That struggle for help has led nowhere. And the villagers are concerned that the next rainy season is drawing near (late May, early June). Enter Ligia and Arnulfo.

Ligia and Arnulfo, architects

Ligia and Arnulfo are professional architects and earn their living from their work in Mexico City. However, in their “free time,” they voluntarily visit impoverished areas in all of Mexico and offer their services (at no cost) to communities. They were hoping to visit San Marcos on Saturday, but the community had no way to get them from Tlapa to San Marcos and back. Enter Mission Mexico and its four-wheel-drive Nissan truck.

Part of the great road to San Marcos

Yesterday I drove Salvador and Ligia and Arnulfo to San Marcos (one hour on pavement; two hours on dirt road). It was interesting to note that on the two hours of dirt road to San Marcos, I didn't encounter a single vehicle, and on the two hours on the dirt road back from San Marcos, I didn't encounter a single vehicle. It wouldn't be the best place to break down.

Once we got to San Marcos, a village assembly was held, and Salvador explained to the people that if the community wanted to continue pressuring and waiting for a government response to the need for houses, that was fine. But if the community wanted to organize and work together to build ten houses in the next few months—before the rainy season beginning in June—Ligia and Arnulfo would gladly assist in the construction effort.

Village assembly in San Marcos

The people agreed to do the construction of the houses on their own. Ligia and Arnulfo will help with finding appropriate plots of land in the community, designing the simple houses, and arranging water and electricity connections. The people will do the hard work: making adobe (mud bricks)—about 1,200 for each house—cutting beams, chipping in for cement for flooring, etc.

Hopefully, Natalia and her family will have a house to live in soon

A lot of hard work has to be done in the next few months. There is always the possibility that things won’t work out as planned. But the first steps have been taken toward a new life for ten families in the village. The houses won’t bring back the loved ones lost in the landslides, but they will offer hope for a new future.

Part of the future in San Marcos

Salvador is proving his worth to the community. In February he invited a brigade of “volunteer” doctors to come to San Marcos (where there is no health clinic) to tend to the ill. The doctors did that, but they also discovered that almost all of the children in the village have lombrices (“worms”) in their intestinal tract. The local water looks clean, but it’s not safe to drink. That discovery of the lombrices has helped families become more conscious of the need to boil their drinking water.

Another part of the future

One of the best parts of the trip for me was getting to know Ligia and Arnulfo. What an incredible commitment by them—and by their families! Ligia has been doing this kind of solidarity work for decades, and she has no plans to quit. Arnulfo, like me, has a wife and two daughters at home. They, like my family for me, support him in his effort to help the impoverished of Mexico. At the same time, it was encouraging to them to know that Canadians, through Mission Mexico, are helping to make a difference in the lives of the poor here. Thank you, Mission Mexico.

Waiting for my Mexican Keurig to prepare my coffee in San Marcos

So, if the prophet Isaiah were here, I’d have to tell him that some people are building houses and other people are living in them. In this case, though, it isn't due to the “oppression of the destitute and the abuse of the needy” that the prophet Amos denounced (4:1). It’s due to the desire of the poor people of San Marcos to follow Jesus’ invitation: “As I have loved you, so you also should love one another” (John 13:34).