Gracias

“Before all other things wisdom was created” (Sirach 1:4).

Up to this point in this chronicle I have not mentioned by name some of the people who make up my life in Cochabamba. By way of giving thanks to God for them as they show forth the grace, power, and wisdom of God for me through their good works, let me introduce a few of them to you.

Brother Leo, who is a permanently professed lay brother in residence at Convento San Francisco. He is the economo, meaning he is in charge of the finances of the household and many if not all of the temporal needs of the friars. He is one of the two friars who met me at the airport, and he conveyed me safely to the convent in his truck. He has answered all my questions about the household, obtained items I needed, showed me where to find other things, and told me when and where to gather for prayer, meals, and social hours (convivencia). He does all this cheerfully, with never-failing good humor.

Padre Tomás, who is a professor of theology at the Catholic University of Bolivia in Cochabamba (Universidad Católica Bolivia, Facultad de Teología San Pablo). He is the other friar who retrieved me at the airport. We corresponded by e-mail for months before my arrival (he is from the United States and understands English). He secured the letter of invitation I needed from the Franciscans to secure my visa to enter Bolivia. He has stopped randomly by my room to check up on me, giving me directions to the Maryknoll Mission Center and to La Cancha, and reminding me not to drink the water!

Diana, the weekday cook at the convent, and Rosario, the weekend cook. These are the women who prepare lunch and dinner daily for the 15 friars in residence and for the guests. They know I am a relaxed vegetarian and are pleased to make accommodations. Everything they make—soups, vegetable dishes, egg dishes, grains, starches—is delicious. Rarely do I leave anything they prepare unfinished. Diana, in addition to meeting my dietary preferences, manages my thus far unpredictable school schedule. There have been days when I had to skip lunch. There have been days when I had to eat lunch early. I talk to Diana the day before, and everything is all right with her. Diana and Rosario are my strongest, surest lifeline to good health during my stay. I will remember them in my prayers forever.

Kitty Schmidt, the coordinator of the language program at Maryknoll. She has worked at Maryknoll in the language program in one capacity or another since the 1990s. She is for me a motherly presence, showing kindness and expressing interest in my adjustment and progress. She is most generous in giving her time when students have questions or concerns. Her door is always open. More than an administrator or even a nurturer, she is the animator of the school, handing on its tradition of celebration of cultures, egalitarianism in relationships, and joy in mission.

Profesores Osvaldo and Óscar, currently my tutors at Maryknoll. They are my instructors for another two weeks before I rotate to other tutors. Osvaldo is jolly, enthusiastic, and complimentary, always providing positive reinforcement for me. Óscar is sincere, sober, and thoughtful, and he is determined to push me to formulate more complex grammatical constructions, free of errors and with correct pronunciation. These are my trainers. With them and with the other instructors I will encounter in the future, I will be pushed toward the limits, and with their help and God’s, I will break those limits.

Padre Juan Carlos, the guardian of the fraternity at Convento San Francisco. He wrote the letter of invitation that Padre Tomás procured for me. As the guardian he has given me the inestimable blessing of living in this historic, beautiful, serene oasis in the middle of downtown Cochabamba. He has given me all the brothers of this fraternity as my host family during this sojourn. And, though this was not intentional, he helps me listen to the language and understand it better. When he leads prayers in the convent chapel or celebrated Mass in the church, he speaks very slowly with a sonorous voice. It is the music I hoped I would hear.

This is mainly a community of simply professed friars in temporary vows; the convent is a house of formation. The brothers study philosophy and theology. All of them wish to become priests after perpetual profession of vows. When they are not in classes or studying, they do house chores, cleaning and maintaining the convent and church. They engage in pastoral ministries on Saturdays and Sundays. Still they gather for three times of prayer daily: morning prayer, evening prayer, and night prayer, with some variations, like the rosary or adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, on some evenings. They gather for meals three times daily. They gather three nights a week for movies, sports, or games. In word or deed, they have showed me a handful of mustard seeds of kindness.

Fray Freddie and I have sat together watching the other brothers play soccer on the convent’s concrete multipurpose court. We have talked in basic Spanish about many things. Sometimes he asks me how to say some things in simple English, and I oblige him.

Fray Bladimir showed me how to use the washing machine in the lavandería, even though I thought I knew what I was doing. (I needed to add more detergent and more water for my load.) His laughter carries the spirits of the whole fraternity. He, too, would like to learn some English words and phrases.

Fray Jorge (the younger; there are two) leads the music ministry on many evenings during the celebration of Mass at the church. He was one of the first brothers to strike up a conversation with me after my arrival. His gift of song helps me understand the language and appreciate its poetry and beauty.

Fray Itamar is a young, good-natured brother who has showed me courtesy and curiosity in where I am from and what I am doing. Equally courteous and well-mannered is Fray Rodrigo, who is something like the mayor or dean among the student friars. Like the others, he has expressed interest in me and the Capuchins. He has asked about two of my brothers, Scott and Paul, who also lived at Convento San Francisco while studying at Maryknoll last summer.

One final bouquet, for now, to a woman selling fruit drinks on the eastern frontier of La Cancha who, when I was lost and needed directions, helped me find my way back to Calle 25 de Mayo, the street where the convent is. I don’t know her name, but I thank her.

Good people, thank you, one and all.