Entrevista

Not a return to form, but at least a return to classes. I began a review of lessons I’ve learned before. We’re simply having conversations, natural conversations, and that’s all. No exercises by the book unless I am really stuck on some grammatical point I have learned but not absorbed. This is in preparation for the exit interview. This will be the final assessment by which the teachers can measure my progress in Spanish from February to the present. The weekly cultural conference was postponed to Friday, so today it was all review, all repaso. It will be all repaso tomorrow, too. I am skipping the field trip the other students are taking to Quillacollo to the shrine of Our Lady of Urkupiña, which I visited back in May. I have written at length about my pilgrimage to Quillacollo, so I won’t repeat it here. I am finding that I am growing less inclined to do the same thing twice, or maybe that is just how I have decided to do things in Bolivia. But I digress.

The interview, which will take place in the fourth period tomorrow, will be conducted by a teacher other Profesoras Liliana and Viviana, my current tandem. What will be, will be. I am not now a nervous tester, but I am a reluctant tester. Results and a discussion of the same will come at some hour on Friday. Whatever the results, I will receive them with good cheer. I’ll share the results with the friars on our provincial council, and more than that, I’ll seek their expert opinion regarding the suitability of my language skills for ministry. 

In the meantime, I have been doing a little extra credit, preparing my despedida from Maryknoll with some appropriate remarks and a few verses. Perhaps I will make a post in Spanish this Friday. 

I’ve been refueling on Powerade, and beginning this evening I will be attacking whatever bad bacteria are left inside with an antibiotic. I had a vegetable omelet this afternoon, and hopefully it will agree with my body. So, yes, I am getting back on my feet. I feel tired, not having slept since Sunday night. It’s like the greatest hits (to the body) are all coming back now: diarrhea, insomnia. No more, sir: I have had enough. This kind of makes it official: my soul, mind, and spirit have left Bolivia, and now my body is telling me it’s through. 

During this bout of unwellness, these songs have stuck with me. Here’s what I have been listening to lately. They sound the way I feel. Sometimes they pick me up, too.

Bob Dylan, Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 

Gnarls Barkley, Crazy

The Rolling Stones, Get Off My Cloud and No Expectations 

and Undercover of the Night 

Having intestinal troubles three times in three months is a nuisance. Is it the cooking at the convent? Have I swallowed too much sink water while brushing my teeth, or shower water when bathing? I don’t know. I suppose a little caution these final days in Bolivia wouldn’t hurt. 

Off now to rest, to have a video call with family, and to hope for a renewal of vigor tomorrow. Four days until New York, dear friends and readers. Keep me in your prayers, and I will keep you in mine.

Recuperando

The last 24 hours have been a blur while I have been battling bad bacteria for at least the third time in the last three months. This will be the last time, I swear it! It has to be the last time, with only five days to go in Bolivia. 

The hours crawled by. I could not sleep, but at least I found restful positions in which I could lie. I felt my body temperature rising in response to the bad bacteria inside my intestines. I trust my body has been fighting the good fight. Being somewhat dehydrated, my mouth and throat dried out and I caught a sore throat, though that seems to be on the wane. I drank some liquid, but I did not eat because I had no appetite. Up to now I have eaten nothing since breakfast yesterday, but I will try some food later on. Anyway, I muddled through, hour after hour. The music from the Bolivian Independence Day parades, yesterday and today, has continued steadily, muffled in the distance. My earplugs worked well to keep out the ruckus—joyful, but still a ruckus. Hour after hour crept by slowly. From last afternoon to this one it was like a 24-hour night for me. 

Am I getting better? I do not know. I have nothing to expel. I feel a little hungry now. But I will not eat a full meal, lest I overdo it. Easy does it for the rest of this day. As for tomorrow, when classes resume, it’s a roll of the dice. Do I go to class, arrive late, or stay at the convent? It’s a game-day decision. Thank goodness for the national holiday; I did not miss classes today. 

In addition to Bolivian Independence Day, this is the feast of the Transfiguration, one of the most important Christian celebrations of the year for me. I have written poetry about it. The Transfiguration is like a compass for me; it gives direction to my discipleship. When I am in doubt about where to go and what to do, I can remember the Transfiguration. Christ is risen, and his Transfiguration is a foreshadowing of this ultimate reality. Since I was laid low a day ago, I have not really prayed—too tired to do anything. But oh, how I would like to pray. How I would like just to remain in the presence of the risen Christ, the transfigured Christ, the exalted Christ. Active as I have been over the years, there is nothing I would prefer more than to drop my busyness and enter the presence of God for all time, for all eternity. But I need to be honest to God and honest with myself. When I say I want to drop everything and enter the presence of God, do I really rather want to enter the presence of myself? Instead of holy solitude with the Holy One, is it an ungracious isolation where I deify myself? 

Let it not be that way. God will never leave me alone. God would never have it that way. The Transfiguration of Jesus took place in the company of Peter, James, and John. Even as my soul, mind, and spirit have flown from Bolivia (and the body is soon to follow) for some impossible sanctuary of isolation, God will chase my wayward parts and reintegrate them in the company of others. The communion of saints is the holy solitude and exalted community destined for me.

Desaventura

I have not been feeling well at all today. A couple of bowel malfunctions and the chills have come over me. Not the way I expected to begin the final week of this Bolivian journey. I do not want to look at or smell food right now. I returned to Convento San Francisco an hour early from classes at Maryknoll. And despite all the pomp and circumstance of Bolivian Independence Day celebrations happening directly outside the convent, I lay me down to rest, bundling up under the covers and closing the shutters. I have not slept, but I do feel good about having rested comfortably in bed for the last several hours. I have sipped some liquids and that is all. Maybe the fever has gone away. I do not know. I do feel a little achy, but the aches would have been worse if I did not lie down. I took a little acetaminophen, and that helped. 

My regret is that I missed the farewell lunch for Brother Scott and me with the Franciscans. No tres leches cake for me, that is for sure. And I need to lay down again shortly, because that is the most comfortable position for me. So I probably will not go off to the airport with Brother Leo and my Capuchin compañero. Again, I regret this very much, but sickness never cooperates with our busyness or our plans, does it?

The bands have started up again, and they will be making martial music all evening and all night. It should be a pretty interesting night for me, given how I feel. But I may be too fatigued to notice or care. Yes, it’s wall-to-wall people all along Avenida Heroinas, but for all I care they could be on Mars. I probably won’t be helped or hindered by the throng outside Calle 25 de Mayo. If I lie awake, I will lie awake. If I sleep, then I will sleep. 

Okay, back to bed now. Pray for me, friends. I aim to return to the United States healthy and in good spirits!

Comida Fina

It is Sunday, and on this day usually I devote this cyberspace to some spiritual reflection, based on the Gospels and my experiences in Bolivia. But this is my last weekend in Cochabamba, so instead I will look to the lighter side and give you a restaurant review!

To celebrate Brother Scott’s completion of classes, and to rejoice in the time we have shared living together, we went to dinner at La Cantonata. This is the Italian restaurant we enjoyed very much six weeks ago when we treated our Jesuit compañero Brett on the eve of his departure from Bolivia. We came with high expectations for an excellent meal, and all our gustatorial hopes were fulfilled. For me it was sautéed mushrooms followed by ricotta-filled gnocchi; for Brother Scott it was antipasto followed by tortellini. Our homemade pasta was succulent, very filling, and very good. For an encore I had a coffee cake torta, and Brother Scott had a crepe-like apple pancake that was still flaming when brought to the table! Our hearts were warmed by the genial service and the pleasant atmosphere. Brother Scott and I relished the conviviality of the hour and the opportunity for two Capuchin brothers just to be together. I offered a prayer of blessing for the meal, and to my amazement, I improvised it in Spanish. I was proud of myself. Midway through the meal, who should walk in the restaurant but Profesora Liliana and her husband? We introduced ourselves to Profesora Liliana’s partner and marveled at what a small world it is. We came hungry, and we left with full stomachs and full spirits. ¡Bellísimo! To all the Italian restaurants I have known and loved in the Little Italys of New York City’s Lower East Side and Boston’s North End: it is time to raise your game. 

This morning, for Sunday worship, Brother Scott and I returned one more time to Templo San Rafael, the chapel of the Capuchin Poor Clare sisters. Accompanying us were Silvana, the public relations director at Maryknoll, and her mother Daisy. The celebrant, Padre Agustín, was a priest from India; Silvana recognized him because he, too, has studied Spanish at Maryknoll. At the end of the Mass we introduced ourselves to him, and we also said a hasty farewell to the Capuchin clarisas. Next Sunday is the feast of Saint Clare of Assisi; I regret that we will not be here to celebrate this joyous solemnity with our sisters in religion. Following worship, Brother Scott and I went with Señorita Silvana and Señora Daisy to Rincón Potosino, one of the finest eateries for salteñas in Cochabamba. I am a vegetarian, so I cannot enjoy these savory baked meat pastries. But salteñas are practically a national symbol of Bolivia, so I gladly sat and kept company with my compañeras as Brother Scott and I shared with Señora Daisy and Señorita Silvana how we became Capuchin friars. 

I am about halfway finished with the coplas I am writing for my farewell remarks this Friday at Maryknoll. I will now return to the poets’ corner and look for small coins of inspiration.

Más Fotos

I am not a photographer. Even if I had a smartphone, I would probably not use it to take pictures. I have relied on words to show you Bolivia and to convey what language study and cultural immersion feels like. But on occasion a picture is really helpful to tell you a story. So I have depended on websites and friends to share images of Bolivia with you. 

Once or twice during this chronicle I have referred the reader who wants to read images as well as words to the Facebook page for Centro Misionero Maryknoll en América Latina. I am posting the link one more time so you can see what goes on at the mission center. Now and then your correspondent appears in the timeline of photos. You can see, proof positive, that I really have been living and studying in Cochabamba!

Dar Vida

“ ‘It is not that which gives you life’ ” (Luke 12:15). 

It is strange to admit this, but right now I wonder what this Bolivian journey has been all about. What has happened, and what is next? 

I am thinking of Jesus’ parable of the foolish rich man and his dream of bigger barns in the Gospel of Luke. I am thinking of Jesus’ stern words of God: “This very night your life will be taken from you” (Luke 12:20). What I could give while living in Cochabamba has been limited by my language skills and lack of social capital, but more than that it has been limited by my love or lack of it. I have a greed for my own place, my own time, my own way. I have a greed for having it my own way and changing the way when it no longer suits me, even though I elected it. Basically, I want to be my own dictator. I want to rule myself, and in so wanting I become a tyrant to everyone else. That is not right. But Jesus interrupts these machinations to tell me, as he tells the avaricious brother seeking property, “It is not that which gives you life.” Most of the time, all I do is seek to save or safeguard this life. Protecting life is not the same as creating life or sharing life. It is not the same as giving life. And all God does is give. All I ever do is take; that is, take by force more than I receive in peace. Certainly, I take more than I give. But I know I can give, for I have done it before. But to give more constantly, more fully, in prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, I hesitate to do or I ignore entirely. Not the right place, not the right time, or so I say. This is not the way of Jesus Christ. It is my wayward way. 

What has this Bolivian journey been all about, and what is next? Learning a language was not the end, but a means to an end. But many times I feel that I have forgotten what the end is. Or if I knew it, I chose not to pay mind to it. I am a religious brother with the Capuchin Franciscans by the grace of God for the sake of Christ and the kin(g)dom of heaven. That is the end. Is that all there is? What it is to be a brother in Jesus and Francis is less clear to me now than it was before I came to Bolivia. How I am to live a life of discipleship as a consecrated brother is also less clear to me today. Finally, both my love and God’s love, my desire and God’s desire, are a mystery more obscure to me today than it was six months ago. What is God’s love that it gives me life? And how (and why) should I give that life over to God’s love? I am not asking to be clever or to test Jesus. I am seeking.

It is almost eleven o’clock, late morning on a sunny Saturday, another beautiful day in Bolivia. Why is it that I have come here? I have been dipped into love, but now I feel dried up and dried out. It does not make sense to me. I do not know what has happened, but something happened here in Bolivia. God is doing things. God is giving me life. And God wants all of it back, transformed—transubstantiated. How strange it is.

Nuevo Ritmo

I begin where we left off yesterday, with thanks to everyone who came out to the despedida. Brother Scott and I were bowled over by the fine food and kind words and good feeling shared so generously. To the teachers, fellow students, and Maryknoll friends I say que Dios les bendiga abundantemente. Special thanks to Elisabeth and Winifred, our Mennonite friends who last night made their home a home for all of us living far away from home. Indeed, I will miss sharing meals with them at their apartment! May God do good things through them as they continue their adventures in discipleship in Cochabamba.

Today was Brother Scott’s final day of classes, so in keeping with custom, he gave several words of thanks and farewell during the mid-morning café. He received a Maryknoll shirt and his diploma, marking the completion of three months of study. Next Friday it is my turn to give a commencement speech of sorts. I believe Joshua and Charles, my Maryknoll seminarian friends, will be finishing their studies next Friday, too, so they will have some parting words as well. After you, hermanos: you are more than welcome to speak first! 

I avoided the usual Friday funk with a break in the rhythm of classes. For starters, Señora Kitty took the first two periods, during which time we talked about events of the past week. Then we viewed part of Our Brand Is Crisis together. I had viewed the film with Profesora Liliana previously, but we watched in English. Today I watched it dubbed in Spanish with Spanish subtitles. Señora Kitty had not seen the film before, so as we watched I gave her commentary. And those two hours flew by quickly … hooray for real conversation! I continued the film and commentary with Profesora Viviana for the third hour before going to the office of public relations director Silvana Martinez for the fourth hour. There, we continued the conversation with Señor Lionel of Maryknoll’s missionary disciple formation program in the U.S. I was impressed with the work he is doing with parishes across the country to form women and men for domestic and foreign mission and to create a culture of encounter that builds solidarity among different ethnic groups in Catholic communities. I hope to continue a correspondence with him after I return to New York City. All in good time. 

Here comes my last full weekend in Bolivia. Tomorrow, I expect to do a deep cleaning of my room so as to leave it in better condition than when I moved here. In the evening, Brother Scott and I are going to have one more excellent meal at La Cantonata on me, with thanks to the benefactors whose generosity has allowed us to have this immersion experience. We will probably worship at Templo San Rafael on Sunday morning so we can say goodbye to the Capuchin Poor Clare sisters. Apart from those happenings, who knows what the weekend will bring? With fewer than ten days left here, now is a good time to break with established rhythms. Let the work God has begun in us be brought to fullness with the help of grace and good luck and a twist to the beat!