August 19, 2008 A note from Anita

We spent last Saturday at a funeral – a head-on collision of two busses on Friday took the life of the father of a Dominican co-worker on the community health team (as well as about 40 other lives).

The custom here, without embalming, is that friends, family and acquaintances hang-out with the family all day and that the burial occurs that same day or the next depending upon the timing. For a poor family, as this was, everyone gathers at the house while the coffin sits in the front room. People gather in the house or yard (usually a tarp has been positioned to offer some shade). While some people drop-in to offer condolences and then leave, most people stay and then join the procession to the cemetery. During the hours of vigil, people console the family members, chat quietly (in this case about some of the gruesome details of the accident as seen on the news) or meditate silently.

As with many things here, schedules are more approximate than definite. Thus, the procession to the cemetery starts when it starts. Last Saturday, it was a bit looser than usual as four people in the vicinity had died in that accident and there was only one hearse available in that rural area.

The custom of taking time to “be with” is different than my usual North American (and personal) efficient, task-oriented, and “just do it” style. The “ministry of being” has been identified as perhaps one of the most important elements in cross-cultural mission work. Even so, after more than eight years here it still feels a bit foreign to me. On the other hand, I can’t imagine using my time last Saturday in any other way under the circumstances than spending it with our co-worker’s family.

Keep praying, Anita

July 17, 2008. A letter from Michael

Manuelito was the topic of one of these missives several months ago – a 9-month-old with HIV infection who had been unofficially “adopted” by a woman who tends to take-in needy children. Manuelito arrived at the Clinic in poor shape, but is now doing well. In fact, I was at his house (a dilapidated wooden clapboard and tin roof thing) on the day that he started walking. The delighted older children were enticing him to take wobbly steps on the uneven floor to retrieve toys and shiny objects.

However, the reason behind the visit was that the family may be losing that house (not uncommon in the USA these days, either). The community outreach worker from the HIV/AIDS treatment unit was checking on the status of the problem. This family is already living in cramped quarters - eight people sharing two beds. We can keep Manuelito healthy, but there is not much we can do about the housing problem. There are always limits to how much we can do.

The temptation to try to “fix everything” is certainly there for us. But that would be a losing battle. People commonly ask us how we can do this – confront the poverty on a daily basis, see the problems, constantly run into the limits of what can be done, and resign ourselves to the harsh realities.

Mother Theresa’s answer to that question was basically that she did all that she could for the person in front of her, and then moved onto the next. We have to be content with knowing our limits, and offering what we can up to those limits.

Another answer lies in our call to mission. After a long discernment period (involving people from our parish, the diocese and far beyond), it was determined that this was the life to which we were called – this is the life that the Lord has intended for us to live. And from that standpoint, the question becomes: How can we not do this?

So, we do what we can and pray for the wisdom to know where the limits lay.

Keep praying, Michael