Saludos

Wednesday, February 13

My itinerary tells me I have crossed 2,482 miles from New York City to Bogotá, Colombia. In another twelve hours and more than a thousand miles, I will be in La Paz, Bolivia. A layover, five and a half hours, and 165 miles more, and then I will be in Cochabamba, Bolivia. There, I will take up again the dreams and journeys I undertook four and a half years ago in Ocotepeque, Honduras. But, in truth, the dreams are different. The journeys are different. The traveler is different. Things have changed in the same brother. They are changed and they are different so that I may better follow the beloved Son, Jesus Christ, who Scripture attests is the same yesterday, today, and forever. I feel aware of the long journey already done and the long journey yet to come. Six weeks five years ago in Central America as prelude to six months in South America for the rest of my life. Do I understand? Do I know the meaning of this journey for me, for others? I sought to be sent out, to say “Yes,” to say “I repent,” to say “let us repent.” Now I am being sent. Now I am saying Yes. Now I am doing and preaching penance. I understand and I don’t. Here comes a cup I have never seen before, filled with a drink I do not know. Now I am to raise this cup and drink it. I vowed to do so before all God’s people. There is no turning back. The journey goes forward.

Thursday, February 14

Today, I am 4,000 miles away from the people who have loved me the longest and who love me best. But it hardly seems like 4,000 miles when they are dwelling in my heart.

This is a time of formation, as my first years as a Capuchin were, too; only now I am a Capuchin brother for life and this is continuing education, continuing formation.

And what is there to chronicle today? To be brief: the end of a 27-hour transit, most of it awake and more than half of it done by waiting in airport terminals. We journey even when we wait. Perhaps that waiting is the most important part of it all, when the soul catches up to the peripatetic body and says, “Yes—now, remember.”

I have not suffered from the elevation. I breathed deeply during the layover in La Paz (altitude: 11,942 feet) and benefited both from good medicine and the gift of the Spirit given in other people's petitions. My mild headache came more from lack of sleep. Well, I have had breakfast, a nap, lunch, and a shower, and I feel human. I have even felt so bold as to converse with the friars. A very good sign.

Friday, February 15

I am awake after an afternoon in which my only achievement was to commit to memory the Angelus prayer in Spanish. I found a rendition of it on the Internet, copied it by hand, and slipped the paper into my breviary. If it does not conform precisely to the formula the friars use, at least it is close to it.

Prior to this good work, this morning I took a stroll north from the convent through a public park, well-tended with sculptured gardens of all manner of trees, plants, and flowers. I was proud of myself when, upon returning after the church closed for the siesta, I figured out how to let myself in to the cloister using every key I have been given. And I know that if I were stuck, I could ask for help if I needed it.

And just like that, the day is done. Now it is a half-hour of silence, then evening prayer and Mass in the church, then dinner, then recreation, maybe sports or maybe games. Perhaps I will participate by observing. My ministry now is to observe everything, while God through Jesus Christ sighs a sigh of loving concern and says, “Be opened.” This is my duty of delight—I enjoy observing—and it is my salvation. May I repeat this labor faithfully, slowly, every day of these six months and let God make of me whatever, whoever it is God desires of me. Do this well, dear God.

Saturday, February 16

Jesus said, “My heart is moved with pity” (Mark 8:2). And I am one of the many for whom Jesus showed compassion as time and again he breaks the bread and multiplies the riches I could not see in my poverty. Patiently, he waits for me to bring the seven meager loaves, or my even more meager share of them. No matter how much I doubt, I am given an abundance of food and drink, leaving from my place of desolation full and content.

I can report that in these initial days, living among the cheerful brothers in this convent, I can speak much more than I expected was possible. The listening is more difficult, but even in this labor I am cultivating more fruit than anticipated. Things are happening, and I feel that the language is beginning to live in me. Doors are unlocking, and the Spirit of tongues is whistling in. Dear God, do not let the whistling, onrushing of your Spirit cease! Not now, when I embark on this journey with unusual confidence.

As it was yesterday and Thursday, my schedule is very light. This has been very good for the adjustment. I can focus on little things, like remembering the names and faces of the student friars and other friars in residence. I can go about the courtyard, wandering through the cloister garden, wondering about the names of the plants and fruit trees and making a mental picture to share with others. Most worries have melted away. My only mild anxiety is about getting to Maryknoll using the local buses or taxis (trufis). The traffic does intimidate me! I want to travel safely.

The only other uncertainty is how my personal time will become absorbed, as my studies begin on Monday. On weekdays, my day is spoken for from rising at about 5:30 a.m. (if I want to get a shower in before morning prayer) to the end of classes at noon, and from there to the end of lunch at 1:30 p.m. In the evening my time is also spoken for from 6 p.m. (meditation) through evening prayer, Mass, dinner, and night prayer to 9:30 p.m. From 2 to 6 p.m. I will have homework and studies. When, then, can I luxuriate in the interior world, the space where I daydream now with God, at home in the Spirit?

Sunday, February 17

An answer to the question left hanging the day before:

I can “luxuriate” in the interior world, the space where I daydream with God, on Sunday morning. Because the student friars have pastoral ministries throughout the morning and daytime, there is no common schedule except for the mid-day and evening meals. So this leaves me free to recite morning prayer as slowly and intentionally as I wish. And using the lectionary text as my source for centering prayer within morning prayer, I can find myself hiding blissfully in God. And so it was this morning, with a later rising and longer period of meditation than I have done at any time except on private retreats at Glastonbury Abbey. Whatever homework may come or cultural encounters may present themselves, I wish never to be so busy as not to have at least one day a week (more than one, please God) to enter into a deep rest, wide awake, in God.

This extended moment of rest is also the product of my seeming disadvantage. I cannot read Spanish with comprehension at nearly the speed I do in my native tongue. This forces me to proceed slowly and carefully. With these friars setting the pace for common prayer, it is slow enough that I can decode the texts. But when reciting the divine office in private, I can go even slower than them, like a monk chanting in choir or in his cell. And mere information gives way to meaning gives way to understanding and wisdom. How good this is! Of course, I should like to pick up the pace and come to decode and interpret more quickly: I see my studies at Maryknoll as like a training, a regimen to build speed, strength, and endurance as well as tone. But in the meantime I will accept the slowness or weakness of my comprehension and dwell on the words as they gradually reveal the Holy One who authors them and inscribes them onto my heart.

I may have a friar accompany me to Maryknoll on Monday. Bless you for showing me the way.