Offering Hope in the Mountains

I raise my eyes toward the mountains.

From whence shall come my help?

My help comes from the Lord,

the maker of heaven and earth.

Psalm 121:1-2

I had lots of time to think of this biblical quote as I drove to and from Arroyo Prieto the other day. Four hours of driving to get there and four hours to come back to Tlapa also gave me time to enjoy the beauty of the mountains and the clouds.

Of course, it was a tiring drive, and I couldn't take my eyes off the road for too long a period of time. There were lots of sections where a wrong turn of the steering wheel might mean a long fall down a steep embankment.

Just to stretch my legs once in a while, I stopped at a few houses along the road and pretended to be lost. It wasn't always easy to understand the instructions on the correct way to go, since most of the people in that region speak only a language called na’savi, but every interaction was a real blessing. I felt a little like I suspect that Charles Darwin must have felt when he wrote after a stroll on the Cape Verde islands in 1831: “It has been for me a glorious day, like giving to a blind man eyes.”

My visit with the Sisters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul, who have lived in Arroyo Prieto the past six months, was wonderful too. This congregation lived in Cochoapa el Grande for twelve years, and Mission Mexico supported them in several educational and health projects there. In 2013 the Sisters decided to move farther into the mountains, where, as they put it, “there is very little presence of church,” and they opted for Arroyo Prieto. I drove there to see their new home and to deliver blankets and supplies from Tlapa.

The focus of the Sisters is evangelization and health. They are still “getting to know” the area, and the people are “getting to know” them. The Sisters hope to be there for many years, so they are in no rush to start new things.

Sisters Carmen, Esperanza, and Silvia

When I asked that they share with me one of their most impactful experiences thus far, they said that it was the situation of the girls in the area. There is a tradition that girls get married at a very young age (twelve or thirteen or fourteen years of age), and very often this marriage is arranged by the father of the girl, without her consent. Since the tradition also involves the girl moving into the home of her new husband, many fathers perceive the idea of educating their daughter as a waste of money, since the girl will be moving away from her home at an early age.

Of course, said the Sisters, there are many girls who do not want to be “given away” or “sold” by their fathers, and there are many girls who would dearly love to be able to continue their studies. But if they are left totally on their own, it is almost impossible to escape from this reality.

The Sisters and I talked about possibilities in the future. The Sisters don’t want to “disrupt” the culture too quickly, but they are definitely hoping—and will work to see that it happens—that their presence and their interaction with the people will lead to new possibilities (and the sooner, the better) for these girls in the future. It is possible that, in the future, Mission Mexico might be able to play a role in helping to offer education, freedom, and hope for these children.

The mist was starting to descend over the mountains as I started my four-hour drive back to Tlapa. Change doesn't happen overnight, but just sharing with the Sisters led me to think that the prophet Isaiah’s words in 66:17-18 will soon echo in this part of La Montaña of Mexico:

See, I am creating new heavens and a new earth;

the former things shall not be remembered nor come to mind.

Instead, shout for joy and be glad forever in what I am creating.

Non-believer or Non-person—or Both?

One is more apt to live into a new way of thinking

than one is to think into a new way of living.

As I drove for five hours back to Tlapa yesterday, I thought of this phrase, and I wondered if, at least in part, this was what led a couple of Canadian friends of mine to come to Mexico for two weeks with members of their local churches.

I had driven into Cuernavaca to visit with Brenda Curtis, who serves with the United Church of Canada in Humboldt, Saskatchewan. She and Jordan Cantwell, who serves with the United Church of Canada in Delisle, Saskatchewan, had organized a group to go to a wonderful center in Cuernavaca called Quest Mexico. Brenda and her husband, Clarke, had come to my wedding in Mexico many years ago.

Jordan and Brenda on a beautiful morning at Quest Mexico in Cuernavaca

Quest Mexico is run by one of the best friends I've ever had, Gerardo Debbink. He is from Leduc, Alberta, but has lived in Cuernavaca for more than twenty-five years, and he organizes what we might call “experiential education programs” for groups from the United States and Canada.

Gerardo Debbink—Quest Mexico

 The focus of each program can differ, but I know that Brenda and Jordan hoped that the “lived experience” of actually being and sharing and dialoguing with impoverished people and those in solidarity with these impoverished people, and discovering how they perceive and live their Christian identity and their Christian discipleship, might offer the Canadians new “ways of thinking” that would, in turn, lead to new “ways of living” their own Christian discipleship.

I can’t think of anyone who might help that to happen more than my friend Gerardo—his Quest Mexico programs really are “life-changing.” In a sense, the program is a response to Jesus’ invitation in John 1:39: “Come, and you will see.”

Two Saskatchewan farmers—Stan and Duane—who allowed me to sleep in their room

As Brenda, Jordan, Gerardo, and I talked about Mission Mexico and its work here in the mountains of Guerrero, Brenda and Jordan showed a real interest in the Scripture classes I teach at the diocesan seminary. But it seemed that sometimes the ideas and experiences I shared seemed “different” to them, and I knew that this was due in large part to the “different world”—or, better said, “different worlds”—that exist here and in other places in Latin America.

I will try to describe better in the next two paragraphs what I mean by each statement in the following sentence, but, in a nutshell, here is a thought: In Canada, one of the main concerns of the Church is how to relate to the non-believer; in the mountains of Mexico, one of the main concerns of the Church is how to relate to the non-person. 

Hermelinda and Isauro: "representatives" of the mountains of Mexico

What do I mean by “non-believer”? I don’t mean only the atheist. I refer as well to many Christian people (like myself on too many occasions) who live our lives as if God was not an intimate and essential part of every single experience of every single day. We have been baptized and we call ourselves Christians, but, in actual fact, most days go by without a conscious, constant awareness of God being with us. We forget what St. Paul states in Acts 17:28, that it is “in God that we live and move and have our being.” We are “good people,” but “forgetting God” means that we fail to “encounter God”; in a practical sense, we are almost “non-believers.” The Church has to ask itself what evangelization means in this context.

The future of the mountains

That is not the usual case in the mountains here in Mexico. The people here—mostly indigenous; mostly poor; mostly marginalized—are incredibly aware of God’s presence. Some of the most common expressions heard among people are “God-willing” or “if God allows” or “if God loans me life.” But most of these impoverished people are treated as “non-persons.” They are the most beautiful human beings I know—but that’s not how they are usually treated. In the eyes of too many in the “better-off” society (and maybe sometimes in the Church—and, undoubtedly, sometimes by me), these people are “in-significant.” What might it mean to share with these “non-persons” that God loves them? Or what does it mean to “incarnate” and “inculturize” the gospel in this context? The challenges of evangelization are different from those in “mainstream” Canada.

Looking toward new horizons—hopefully

I recognize that this description doesn't embrace all of the ambiguities and nuances of either situation. I know that there are way too many impoverished people in Canada—too many “non-persons”—and I bet that the numbers are growing, not diminishing. I know that the native cultures are changing here in Mexico, and the number of “non-believers” is growing. I can’t capture the whole reality in less than ten paragraphs. But I do believe that there is a certain “truth” to this way of looking at things.

Life will continue to change in La Montaña

Thanks to Brenda, Jordan, and Gerardo for stimulating these thoughts. I haven’t done justice to the real world that is out there, but just articulating these ideas will help me to “go deeper.” God bless.

PS: I was supposed to meet Bishop Alejo Zavala Castro for lunch today. He is another great friend and undoubtedly the “saintliest” man I know in Mexico—but he has had many health issues in recent years. I just received a phone call that he was hospitalized last night—no lunch today! Please pray for him.

Alejo Zavala Castro, Bishop of Chilpancingo–Chilapa

Sacred Ground in El Tejocote

Then God said, “Come no closer!

Remove the sandals from your feet,

for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.”

(NRSV: Exodus 3:5)

This quotation came to my mind when I was in El Tejocote this past week. Just speaking with some of the members of the 148 families that were forced to leave their village by the rain and flooding and mudslides in September seemed like a “divine experience,” and I really felt like I was on “holy ground.”

Arriving at El Tejocote

These families are just some of the thousands of displaced families here in La Montaña in the state of Guerrero. Their situation is precarious. Most of the people have no work. The nights are very cold, and many people, especially children, have a rasping cough. There is no electricity (even though there are power lines beside their settlement). It is the dry season, so it is impossible to plant crops. The community has been very involved in the struggle to get the government—both state and federal—to commit to providing temporarily these displaced communities with beans, rice, and corn. So far, no such commitment has been made.

Part of "Main Street" in El Tejocote

I went originally to bring a bundle of twenty-five woolen blankets to the community. The community had told me previously that they would meet in an assembly and come up with a list of twenty-five elderly people who definitely needed better protection from the cold at night.

Some of the blankets provided

When I showed up with the blankets, Doña Hermelinda, part of the democratically elected committee coordinating the activities of the community, showed me the list that they had come up with. She smiled when I mentioned that the list had closer to one hundred names, not twenty-five. She stated simply, “The other names are in order of need, just in case you find more blankets.”

Doña Hermelinda with her list of recipients

So, my friends, I returned the next day with twenty-five more blankets, thus providing at least fifty people in the community with a warmer sleeping experience. It is true that the physical blanket makes a difference in these people’s lives. It is also true that the realization that other people are willing to help them makes a difference in these people’s lives. I would be hard put to have to decide which is most important: the nourishment of the body or the nourishment of the soul. These people are grateful for both.

Two generations in El Tejocote

Thank you, Canadian friends, for supporting Mission Mexico. Thank you for making a difference in people’s lives. I hope that you have a great week. I suspect that the cold winter up north leads you to also be grateful for your blanket. God bless.          

One family invited me into their home—"sacred ground"—for lunch

Not for the Faint of Heart

How beautiful upon the mountains

are the feet of the one bringing good news. 

(Isaiah 52:7, NAB)

I often think of these lines of the prophet Isaiah as I am driving the roads of these mountains of Guerrero. I know that I am exceptionally blessed to be allowed to be here with these beautiful people, and I hope that my presence, representing all the Canadians who support Mission Mexico, signifies “good news” to the many persons I encounter.

Of course, a lot of the time I am not thinking of anything other than staying on the road. These roads are not for the faint of heart; they are often narrow, and any vehicle that goes off the road could roll down the ravines for hundreds of meters. Here are just a few photos from my visit to several villages on Sunday:

Road near San Juan Puerto Montaña

Road near Zitlacayotitlan

Road near San Marcos

A cross marks the site where a truck went off road

Road near Yukunduta

And one of the joys of travelling these roads is that I often come across unexpected blessings. The other day I picked up an elderly man walking to his village, and in our conversation, when it became known that I was from Canada, the gentleman said, “I know someone from Canada. His name is Padre Lorenzo, and in 1979 he gave me a Bible.” Of course, “Padre Lorenzo” was “Father Lawrence” Moran, SCB, who wandered these same roads for many years in the 70s, 80s, and 90s. The reason that the man remembered the name of Father Moran is the fact that he shares the same name: Lorenzo.

 

Don Lencho, recipient of Father Moran's generosity

Another joy is to receive the hospitality of the families in the villages. I am often invited to share a plate of beans or eggs, always accompanied by hot tortillas. On Sunday Doña Obdulia, in the village of San Marcos, insisted that I eat with her family. Her elderly mother, who speaks only Mixteco and who has never left the village, was there as well.

 

Abuelita (Grandmother)

The children are another blessing. Living in poverty doesn’t mean that they can’t be creative and find other ways to have fun. Take a look at this seesaw that the children were playing on in San Miguel Amoltepec el Viejo:

 

Children playing in San Miguel Amoltepec el Viejo

The people who were displaced from their homes after the terrible rains in September are still trying to get support from the government. Last week the roads in and out of Tlapa were blocked for two days by about 2,000 protesters from 200 villages in the mountains. This is the kind of housing that they have at the moment:

 

Scene driving into San Miguel Amoltepec el Viejo

My friends, I will say “So long” for now. I have to go to El Tejocote, one of these “camps” of displaced families, to deliver a bundle of about thirty blankets. I know the people there, and I admire them because they asked for these blankets for the elderly people in the camp, not for themselves. It’s always easier to do something that helps all the people in a place rather than just a few; it’s easy for jealousies and resentments to arise among the people “left out.” But in this case, the community decided that the elderly needed “a little extra.”

 

One side of the road in El Tejocote

Other side of the road in El Tejocote

Thanks to everyone in Canada for your support for Mission Mexico. My gratitude and my prayers accompany you. Have a wonderful week.

Walking and thinking and praying in Mexico

Working Together in La Montaña

This week about 200 pastoral agents from all over La Montaña gathered for four days in Tlapa to share experiences and search together for the best ways to be messengers of life in these impoverished mountains of the state of Guerrero.

Some of the participants in diocesan assembly

I had been looking forward to seeing Sister Carmen Dominguez, the founder of a Franciscan religious congregation here in the village of Tlalixtaquilla. But then I heard that she had hurt her back and has been in bed since late December, so she wouldn’t be attending the assembly. I decided to visit her on Sunday. It was painful to see such an active woman unable to walk, but it was good to talk with her and “catch up” on the work her congregation does with the poor indigenous peoples here.

Franciscan convent outside Tlalixtaquilla

The drive to Tlalixtaquilla certainly brought back some memories. When I approached a river outside the village of Amapilca, I remembered a rainy day back in the early ‘80s when it looked like the raging river would wash away the local bridge. A group of men were trying to tie up tree trunks near the base of the bridge, in an attempt to lessen the force of the water washing away the soil. I remember Bob Nau (from Medicine Hat) helping to tie trees together on the shoreline.

Amapilca River looks different in the dry season

When one of the trees started to be pulled into the rushing waters, another Canadian, Rob (I apologize, Rob; I forget your last name), tried to hold it in place. Suddenly, both he and the tree were hauled into the center of the river. Rob seemed to be caught in the branches of the tree, and he disappeared under the water. All of us near the shore held our breaths as we watched the tree—with no Rob in sight—barrel down the river. As the seconds went by, it seemed less-and-less likely that Rob was going to appear.

Then, almost as if by a miracle, Rob’s head appeared beside the tree trunk. He pushed off from the trunk and swam at an angle toward the shore. The rest of us all shouted and ran downriver. Rob made it to shore and was immediately engulfed in hugs as everyone gave thanks that he was still alive. I sometimes wonder if Rob has ever been able to forget that experience; I know that I haven’t.

The most surprising thing about participating in this diocesan assembly for the first time in seven years was the number of times that words such as “violence” and “fear” were heard. In many of the villages of this mountainous region, it is a real struggle just to stay alive. Being simply poor (rather than being in misery or in “survival mode”) has always been almost a blessing in La Montaña.

Small group discussion in diocesan assembly

But now, things seem to have become even worse. Perhaps in part because of struggles to control the harvesting of drugs in La Montaña (especially marijuana and amapola [opium poppy]), it is quite common to find bullet-ridden bodies scattered throughout the mountains on a regular basis. Life has changed drastically here in the past ten years.

Another not-so-surprising discovery in the diocesan assembly was the anger of so many people against Canadian mining companies. These companies seem to be able to get permits from government officials, and so they can claim that their exploration for gold or other minerals is “legal” here, but the local people are almost never allowed to have a say in how their region can best be “developed.” And almost always, the people have no desire to see mining companies destroying their environment for “riches” that these people will never share.

Hoping that the rosary that my mom held in her hands when she died in December
will help me to drive safely and be as a good a person as she was

One other thought that came to me this week relates to the similarity between what the Catholic Church in Latin America has been expressing for years and what Pope Francis is expressing nowadays in Rome. Anyone familiar with church documents from Latin America realizes that Pope Francis is not saying anything new; what is happening is that the “voice of Latin America” is now being heard on the global stage. My prayer and hope is that other people in the world will truly listen to this voice and allow it to resonate in their own lives and in the lives of their churches—and in the lives of their societies. If this happens, then perhaps the main word I will hear in one of these future diocesan assemblies will be “hope.”

Happy New Year 2014

Another year begins, and I can’t help but think a little of the past, the present, and the future.

The past: It was seven years ago today that Father Lawrence Moran, CSB, died. It was Father Moran who, after retiring from teaching at St. Mary’s High School in Calgary, began this “relationship” with the poor in Mexico. I remember when he asked me to stay with him for at least a year in 1982. He said, “Mike, I can’t stay here in the mountains by myself. I forget to feed the horse. I fall asleep driving the Jeep. I leave my sombrero in every church I visit. But I love it here. Please come and live with me.”

Father Moran in 1982

I was very happy teaching at St. Mary’s, but I thought that this living saint (Father Moran) deserved his “dying wish,” so I began my stay in Mexico. I wonder: if I had known at the time that Father Moran would be living another twenty-five years and making many other “dying wishes,” would I have accepted that initial invitation?

The present: It’s minus 25 degrees here in Regina (minus 38 with the wind chill factor), and I can’t help but wish for Mexican weather. I see that it’s 30 degrees today in Tlapa de Comonfort, Guerrero, Mexico, where I will be next week—although I also see that it will go down to 13 degrees there tonight. More than anything, though, I am thinking of my wonderful wife, Julie, and our two daughters, Sage and Sky. I want to spend as much “quality time” as possible with them during my last few days in Canada.

The future: There is no doubt that 2014 will be a difficult year for the people in the mountains of Guerrero. Tropical Storm Manuel in September of 2013—the worst natural disaster in the history of the State of Guerrero—destroyed houses, animals, crops, fields, lives. The outpouring of solidarity from people in other Mexican states was incredible. That initial response gave immediate relief to thousands of families. But the struggle for food, housing, and livelihood will be a challenge during all of 2014. Long-term solutions will need to be found for these people and communities.

Mission Mexico will try to be a partner in these life-giving efforts. But it will be a challenging year for Mission Mexico too. The flooding in southern Alberta in June of 2013 meant that people in the area concentrated on responding to the real needs of the people affected by that disaster—and that rebuilding effort continues. And in November of 2013, Calgarians and others responded (and are still responding) with great solidarity in support of the victims of the Super Typhoon Haiyan that devastated parts of the Philippines. One can’t help but feel gratitude and admiration for the compassion and sharing of so many Canadians after these tragedies.

I guess that my hope for 2014 is that people and institutions (schools; churches; businesses) in Canada will continue to support projects in Alberta and in the Philippines and elsewhere, but that people and institutions remember Mexico too. Mission Mexico has forged over the years a most trusting relationship with individuals and groups struggling for life in Mexico, and these friends and “partners” in Mexico are hoping that Mission Mexico will be able to continue offering support in 2014, in what looks like it will be a most challenging year for the very impoverished people there.

So thank you to all who have supported Mission Mexico in the past, and thank you ahead of time for all who will support Mission Mexico in the future. Have a wonderful 2014.    

PS: After my mom’s death a month ago, I found some old photos in her house that she had kept from 1982, my first year with Father Moran in Mexico. I have included a few of these in this blog. Thanks, Mom, for the memories.

Merry Christmas to all.

Bless the Lord, ice and cold…Bless the Lord, frosts and snows…

I always smile when I think of these lines from chapter 3 in the Book of Daniel in the Bible. Because that same chapter tells us (eight times in the NRSV translation) that the young men praying these lines were in “a furnace of blazing fire.” Maybe it’s easy to think that ice and cold and frosts and snows are great blessings when one is in the midst of great heat.

But here in western Canada, where I am spending Christmas with my family, I confess that the ice and cold sure don’t seem like blessings at the moment. Ouch! I can hardly breathe outside some days. Ouch! Get me back to Mexico!

But I see that in the mountains of Mexico the people are also experiencing cold. The Mexican meteorologists are calling it “Cold Front Number 20.” It’s not as bad as 30 or 40 below, but throw in the cold rain and the fact that thousands of people are still living under plastic tarps (since Tropical Storm Manuel in mid-September), and it means that the cold is hardly perceived as a blessing.

I think of the many “displaced” people I know there: the 81 families from Tepeyac; the 145 families from Union de las Peras; the 114 families from La Lucerna; the 44 families from Filo de Acatepec; the 445 families (yes, 445—it’s not a typo) from Moyotepec…and the list could go on.

So at the same time that I feel grateful to be celebrating Christmas here with my loved ones in a nice, warm house, I think too of my Mexican friends who are struggling in very difficult situations for life for themselves and their loved ones. And I breathe a prayer of thanks to Mission Mexico—and to all the people who support Mission Mexico—for assisting them in their efforts.

It will be good to get back to Mexico on January 6. But it is great to have time now to be with my wife and two daughters and other friends here in Regina, Saskatchewan. Memories made now will hopefully “keep me going” during some tough times in the mountains of Mexico in 2014.

One nourishing memory will be the potluck dinner that I was invited to at the offices of the Archdiocese of Regina last week (thank you, everyone). I worked in those offices for four years as the catechetical coordinator, and I know the many challenges that my friends on the archdiocesan team encounter in their work. Whenever I think of these friends, I think of some words written by Pope Francis in his recent apostolic exhortation, Evangelii Gaudium (The Joy of the Gospel). In article 266, Francis writes:

…we are convinced from personal experience
 that it is not the same thing
 to have known Jesus as not to have known him,
 not the same thing to walk with him as to walk blindly, 
not the same thing to hear his word as not to know it, 
and not the same thing to contemplate him, to worship him, 
to find our peace in him, as not to. 
It is not the same thing to try to build the world with his Gospel
 as to try to do so by our own lights. 
We know well that with Jesus life becomes richer 
and that with him 
it is easier to find meaning in everything.

In a way, I like to think that this is the "spirit" nourishing not only my friends on the archdiocesan team in Regina, but also many of the people involved with Mission Mexico—including myself. We are simply striving  (as the prophet Micah expressed it more than 2500 years ago) “to act justly, love tenderly, and walk humbly with your God.”

My friends, Merry Christmas. My wish for this beautiful time of year is taken from today’s gospel: that the rising Sun will visit us “to give light to those who live in darkness and the shadow of death and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”