Fr. Jim's Ramblings

Dancing in the Rain

2011-07-16T05:17:00.001-07:00

Fridays of vacation bible school are, well as one of the team members said, beyond description. I'm not sure if it's because, by Friday, the word of our presence has finally reached the bottom of the barrio, or maybe because Friday is "goody-bag-day," or maybe some of both. At any rate, the hoard at the door at ten minutes ‘til two was loaded for bear, and kept coming and coming and coming. In the end, there were kids looking wistfully through the windows. We had prepared 225 goody bags and about two-thirds of the way through we had to start "height-testing" the kids. Under this height you get a bag; over it, you don't. My guess is we topped out at 260, with 20 outside who just couldn't fit. It's telling that a few pencils, some candy, a plastic butterfly whistle and stickers inside hand-colored (done loving by team members) white paper lunch bags would be such a draw.

So when the first rumbles of thunder erupted at about twenty minutes to three, it became clear that we needed to wrap things up, hand out the bags and let the kids get home before the deluge. It was great timing. Ten minutes after the last child left, the heavens opened. Thunder, lightening, and throbbing rain. Suddenly the streets were filled with children again. Not the little ones, but teens and a few bigger pre-teens. Running up and down the streets, throwing water on watch other, so tell me...why is it that getting a plastic water bottle filled with rain water and thrown by a drenched - and I mean drenched - boy on an equally drenched girl cause such squealing and laughing...because they're teenagers, that's why.

One of the team members commented to me, "you know, this is the barrio's version of a day at the beach," and I guess he was right. So much joy, so much energy, dancing in the rain! And all in the midst of so much poverty and desperation. We came down from the barrio after cleaning up the school and saying goodbye to the staff we won't see on Sunday. It rained all the way down to the hotel. I guess dancing in the rain looked like so much fun that several of the team had their own soiree between (and in) the drops.

When I went up to the roof-top pavilion for some yoga it started to rain again, but the sun was out. Through the aluminum-slatted window, as I was standing in tree pose I saw the faintest hint of a rainbow, (see picture). As I watched, it grew, both in clarity and size, until finally it stretched from horizon to horizon, seemingly encompassing the entire city. Remember the Noah story? God's covenant with God's people. After the flood the Bible says that God set the rainbow in the sky to remind humanity (and God's self) that God would never desert creation in such a way again.

Pray that more and more the people of the barrio of Pastor, in the city of Santiago, the Dominican Republic hear this message of hope and take heart. And keep dancing in the rain.

Blessed Sleep

2011-07-15T05:40:00.000-07:00

I wonder if there was a time when there was not a heated, and often vitriolic discussion concerning the work ethic of the poor, and in the most recent days that includes the working poor, those millions of people, all over the world who work incredibly hard, but can never get ahead. Words like lazy and manipulative are still being spoken in accusatory ways, while many on the other side of the issue talk about institutional racism and the evils of capitalism. Today looking out on the throng of children gathered for Bible school, looking into those beautiful faces I detected something else, exhaustion; real deep down bone weary fatigue.

Nightly, vigorous, sometimes violent thunderstorms are a regular event. For those who are in a well-built water tight house this doesn't present that terrific of a problem. Maybe an occasional evening on the patio gets rained out, but there are more than likely no other ramifications. But for those who live in a shack in the barrio at the bottom of the hill, it's a very different story. Water comes pouring in from the porous roof, or washing in over the dirt floor to create an untenable situation for sleep. Remember, or maybe you have to imagine, what camping out in a tent in a rainstorm is like. Now expand to the idea of living that way. That's the way it is for these families in the barrio, nightly.

I am beginning to believe that it's not primarily laziness, or alcohol and drugs, or societal maladies that incapacitate these folks nearly as much as it is the monumental difficulties and the immense energy it takes to simply exist in the barrio, or in the ghetto.

It's not that I have any answers. But I wonder if moving the conversation from one about moral fiber to one about adequate housing might not change some minds, some minds important to the issue. As for me, I'll continue to pray for peace...and a good night's sleep.

This Is a Tribute to the Women

2011-07-13T19:10:00.001-07:00

This morning, climbing the stairs to the multi-purpose room over the Church that has been serving as the lunch/gym/main classroom for the Alburgue de Cristo Salvador, the church school, we were greeted as we are every morning by the young women and their teenage helpers who are the teachers. Watching them, instructing, comforting, challenging and corralling the young ones in their care I was struck anew by the energy and love they put into their work. The ways in which they extend themselves for their charges is truly inspiring.

Some of them are the same women who work in the kitchen to prepare our lunches, and then watch with pride and genuine love as we happily gobble the delicious food down. While we were eating today one of our group commented on how it is the women of so many cultures of the developing world who provide the love and stability necessary to create positive change.

First thing this morning many of us walked down, deep into the barrio, to visit Dora. On a previous trip the St. Anne's mission team helped to transform Dora's house from a scrap-wood shack into a substantial cinder block-house. Dora has severe physical challenges which makes the treacherous climb up out of the barrio and onto the streets with the shops are difficult. Yet even with her economic and physical challenges Dora has, by taking in laundry, provided for her two children in a way that provides for them a chance at a brighter future. Even with my limited Spanish it was easy to understand that Dora was explaining the ambitious dreams she had for her dreams for an addition, with a bathroom. I was struck again by her intensity, her energy, her passion for the betterment of her family.

For all intents and purposes, the numbers are in, and convincing. When developed world NGOs and other financial organizations want to make a real impact on a community, when they want to sponsor micro businesses it is uniformly true that it is the women who are successful. They work hard, focus on their business, and collaborate well with others. Our experiences with the women who run the albergue bears this out. Padre Hipolito talks passionately about providing opportunities for the women which will make the most drastic changes to his community. So we have seen. So let us celebrate the women, the women of Cristo Salvador, and all the women who work so hard for their families, for their communities for it is most surely on their shoulders that the future, including, undoubtedly ours rests.

New Digs

2011-07-12T15:36:00.000-07:00

It was the polos that threw me for a loop, well actually delighted me. I knew that the
children were up above the church in the big room, the one that serves all purposes,
and I could tell they were having a great time. School was definitely in session. But I
was not ready for the really cool blue polo shirts, really small polo shirts that 90% of the
kids were wearing, and the very best part was the really cool emblem on the breast of
the shirt which has the shield of the diocese and the name of the school, Albergue de
Cristo Salvador. So many had worked so hard to make this children's center a reality
and here it was. With light hearts and renewed spirits we planned finishing touches
on the new building across the street from the church and we carried over some of the
furniture for the class rooms. By the middle of next month, after the plumbing and the
appliances in the kitchen are completely installed the children will move over from the
church to their new digs. What a blessing for us, and for all of the St. Anne's community
to have witnessed the inception of this new school.

There were maybe only twenty-five children in the pews at 2:10 when vacation bible
school started. I was nervous, was it the strike yesterday that made the families think
they had gotten the wrong week? Had the group of children who had swelled the
numbers towards two hundred in the past few years moved on in age, to a place where
such things are for "kids?" Did they move away? "Oh ye of little faith," the first song
started and the line formed at the door. By 2:30 there was seventy-five singing, dancing
bible schoolers; if things work as they have in the past, tomorrow there will be one-
hundred.

Driving up to the neighborhood, it's called Pastor, early this morning I noticed some
important things I had missed Sunday morning. New pavement, houses freshly
painted with bright colors and contrasting trim. There is a totally different feel. When
I first came to this neighborhood in 2000 it was riddled with drugs and there was an
air of desperation. While talking about this with one of the other folks on the trip who
has been here before we wondered what the role of the Church had played in the
stabilization of the community, and tangentially our participation. Padre Hipolito has
complete dedication to the people of this barrio and in his seventies and eighties he is
nothing short of inspirational. Pastor, and it's padre has opened me up to the marvelous
work of the Holy Spirit in a most amazing way.

Empty Streets

2011-07-11T14:45:00.000-07:00

It's hard to find exactly which 1950's movie scenario works the best; a toss up between the high-noon-western just-the-stray-dog-wandering down the street, or the after-the- apocalypse-no-one-left empty street. Definitely felt like the observation of one of the group: "So, this must be what the rapture will be like." Any way you want to look at it, it was completely foreign to us, a National Strike. We woke this morning to a whole new sound experienced in the Dominican Republic, for me anyway. Silence. The everyday work day bustle in the street outside the hotel; the street hawkers, the shoe shine boys, the car radios on nine with the base turned up past what the average woofer could bear, none, not a hint, just the empty street. And it has been that way all day long, eight this morning, four this afternoon, just a wandering dog and an occasional teenage boy on a motor bike.

Times are hard in the DR, just like almost everywhere else in the world. Here many feel like the government is not being responsive, different than anywhere else? In the DR they have called a national strike, and everyone, well almost everyone stayed home. After consulting with our local expert, Lazarus the inn keeper, we took a walk in the morning. We did indeed feel safe, with copious numbers of army and state police monitoring, but the few people we passed were very surprised to see us.

It is hard to believe that such an occurrence could happen in the US. Maybe the rugged individualism of the likes of John Wayne and Ayn Rand reflect and now inform an attitude that precludes the idea that my joblessness, or the high prices I have to pay for a gallon of milk doesn't affect you. Or maybe we have become so cynical that we don't think a mass protest would make a difference.

Countries like Egypt, Syria and Libya have recently experienced mass protest that has been fraught with violence. Today, as far as I know now at four-thirty in the afternoon has been peaceful. Will this protest make any real difference in the lives of Dominicans? Has the "Democratic Spring" of the Middle East changed the lives of the people for the better? Only time will tell. But it seems to me to be a sure thing; having a voice or even just believing that I have a voice, empowers me to continue the struggle. We have had a day of forced inactivity. It hurts to have only had five days to accomplish our chosen work for the week, and to have lost one. We are all antsy to get up to the barrio and get started. But for me, anyway, today has given me something to think about.

Home, again

2011-07-10T20:04:00.001-07:00

It really is the sense of smell, out of all the senses, that is most tied in to memory. Coming off the plane, into the airport in Santo Domingo brought back so many incredible memories. With the scent of the warm air, Caribbean Ocean and a couple a of million of people came the sights, vibrant scarlet of the flamboyant tree and the crystal blue of the sea. Because it was 11:00 at night, as I say, all this came from my memory bank. I was good to be back.

Church at Cristo Salvador was great, once again, it feels so much like home. On the last leg of the flight last night I carefully went through the communion service in the Spanish prayer book. I never know for sure whether Padre Hipolito will ask me to officiate/preach, but I have learned to be prepared. So what happens this morning? He turns to the short service before the Communion and has me start with the Penitential Rite, which I hate in English, and have never looked at before in Spanish! Butchery of the most romantic language in the world, yet again. Thanks to Martha's amazing skill as a translator the sermon went off without a hitch, or should I say without a malaprop.

Lunch prepared by Dulcina and company was, as always delicious and plentiful. We watched the US Women's world cup soccer team pull an incredibly dramatic win in the quarter-final game against Brazil, in the middle of which Lilian, Poly, and the kids showed up from San Francisco de Macoris. Seeing Lilian-Marie, Rosanna, and Gabriel come in and with out batting an eye go from adult to adult, introducing, or re-introducing themselves made, as one of our group said during our evening meeting like "the cousins had arrived."

Which is exactly the point. Family. I looked around the living room after lunch, some of our folks were napping in the rocking chairs, some were out front on the patio talking, some of us were watching soccer. We were truly a family. I find this remarkable, in the very sense of the word, a phenomenon needing to be remarked on. Different languages, different cultures, same family, a microcosm of the Kingdom, exactly.

Wild Goose Journal 2011

2011-07-06T13:00:00.000-07:00

It's pretty late. Almost 11 on Friday night and I hear clearly the band that is currently playing, and their appreciative audience. Part of me wishes I was over there with the audience…another older, weary part of me knows better, after a day of chasing three pre-teen grandchildren around in the 90 degree heat. All this while trying to catch a few moments of the talks given by such contemporary church icons as Jim Forbes, Brian McClaren and Richard Rohr. This is the inaugural Wild Goose Festival in rural central North Carolina. We're camping for the weekend. It's the first time Kay and I have taken any of our grandchildren camping, though their parents were pros by the time they were ten. Our tent is over at the quiet family area, which seems a complete misnomer to me with all the squalling tots too tired to go to sleep. It's anything but quiet. Too much ‘duck duck goose’, and ‘tag you're it’, I guess.

Although the numbers were not what the promoters had wanted, I think the event was a great success. What struck me more than anything else was the inter-generational nature of both the attendees and the performers/speakers. Old bearded hippies like me, and colorfully "tatted" young folks. And yet, even with the differences in ages and cultures, there was a marvelous sense of kinship. We are all here for essentially the same reason: we care about the plight of others and about our environment.

Saturday has heated up quickly, both in temperature and in numbers of people. Last night was very pleasant in the tent, a steady faint breeze kept us cool. Things went pretty much without a hitch, although at bedtime, as everyone was settling down, seven-year-old Alec exclaimed, "Papa, there's bugs IN THE TENT!!" They were reconciled to bugs in the grass, bugs in the trees, bugs in the dirt, but in the tent?! Too much. My daughter Emily, her husband Matt, and two-year-old Penelope arrived from Wilmington NC about 10:00. Simone and Penny, cousins six months apart in age, ran into each others’ arms like Zhivago and Lara. Worth the trip. We sat in the shade and listened to some great music, caught some of the speakers (tough to stop for long with the three amigos in tow) and ate great popsicles while drinking huge paper cups of homemade iced tea. Around two in the afternoon we found ourselves walking around a very long strip of clear plastic sheeting stretched on a gentle slope. I wondered briefly what it was for, then heard the excited comments of a bunch of kids standing nearby. "There's going to be a sloppy-slide!" And so there was, much to the delight of all involved.

For dinner I boiled water on our camp stove and fed everyone our patented "red and green." Pasta with red sauce on one half and pesto on the other, but the kids were too full and too tired to eat much. We packed it up and Emily and Matt took the leftovers home that evening.

With everyone tucked in and on their way to buggy-land I walked over to watch a preview of the documentary "Little Town of Bethlehem," and meet the producers. It's a powerful film, recounting the experiences of three Israelis: one Jew, one Palestinian Muslim, and one Palestinian Christian. Several of us had a good discussion afterwards. On my way back to the family camping area, I stopped to listen to some of the performers on the main stage. By this time some of the artists, who had obviously worked together before, were on stage jamming with each other. It made for vibrant, exciting music! What a treat to hear one of my favorite singer-song writers, David Wilcox, sing the old Woody Guthrie, "If You Ain't Got The DoeReMe."

Sunday morning was hot and after breakfast we decided to pack up and head on home. We missed the closing ceremonies at noon, and I felt bad about that, but thought it was best to have the kids leave on a good note. No sense pushing it; I want them to want to go back next year.

Trying to sort my feelings about the weekend now that it's over and I have had some time to reflect, I realize that it really was precious and invaluable time with Miles, Alec, Simone, and Penny. It's exactly the kind of environment that I want them to be exposed to, and that I want them to remember me in. I know the conversations on social justice and the role we, the faithful ,must play in bringing it about is not something they could grasp. Yet the feeling of the place, the air they were breathing, was full of earnestness, compassion, and commitment.

The other thing I have to come to realize was that this was a gathering of my tribe, This was, in a distinct way, my people. Not like family, but a group that chooses to come together. Not all of one mind, certainly differences were there, but all of one heart. What was important to me was important to others, lots of others, as well. This was the antidote to the Tea Party rallies, for me anyway. And it was full of joy and hope.