What Difference Does Your Church Make?

In El Salvador, the Church is the difference between children getting an education or being lost to a world of gangs, drugs, and violence. It's the difference between women being safe in their own homes or living in domestic violence. It's the difference between a community having a place to gather and worship or having no sanctuary at all.

I was received in the Diocese of El Salvador by Reverenda Irma Guerra Alvarado. She, her husband, Padre David, and their son, Josue, hosted me for the majority of my time in El Salvador.

I arrived on a Saturday and spent the following day with Irma at St. Francis Church near Lourdes Nuevo. It's a small congregation in a neighborhood that has, I'm told, about 25 families. I was thrilled with the number of women and children and curious about the lack of men. The community was having a celebration that day and night, in honor of Independence Day, so I met a lot of people and experienced a wonderful part of their culture. I have to confess that I didn't understand all that was going on. What I understood very well was that the community -- even those not associated with the church -- came together this day and the following Sunday to display their pride in their homeland, and everyone was present and participating. Kids dressed up in costumes, hung banners, and played music. Young women presented themselves as candidates to be the representatives of the community for a wider celebration. Young men competed in a game. The elders chased babies. And everyone danced!

The Church and School of San Mateo had a grand celebration as well. I followed a parade with bands and dancers, even a little princess sitting atop a car. I tend not to be fond of parades. I find them loud and a little pointless. This one, though. Wow! The work the kids put into the music and dancing was obvious, and community members lined the streets as the parade approached. The national pride was palpable and a wonder to behold.

Padre David is priest-in-charge at San Mateo. He is also the priest of another parish, San Miguel Arcangel. I'm so not great with names of villages or colónes, and I'm lamenting that pretty well at the moment. What I remember well about the visit to the San Miguel parish is that we had to move out of the sanctuary and into a classroom because the rain was falling so hard on a tin roof that we couldn't hear each other. I don't know so much what the community is engaged in, but there was a faithful gathering who were quite hospitable to me.

I spent time with Padre Jesús Alvarenga Franco and his family, too, at San Andrés Apóstol Church in Amatepec - Soyapango, near San Salvador. Padre Jesús gave me a tour of the area, starting with his school. He's working diligently on getting sponsors for children, so more children in the area can go to school and so he can pay the teachers a fair wage on a regular basis. $300.00 per student per year is all it takes. Please contact me if you're interested in becoming a sponsor. Padre Jesús works in a very dangerous area -- high crime, drug, and gang activity. His daughter attends school at San Andrés and has to use a computer at the library. It's too dangerous for her to be out. I saw a program at the church put on by the school children in honor of Independence Day. Again, the pride with which the children recited their prayers and speeches and the honor with which they danced was awe-inspiring. I had a tour of the city, too, and in the evening, Padre Jesús, his family (wife and two daughters), and members of the community took me to dinner atop the city. It was raining, so I wasn't able to see the wonder of the city, but it had been a wonderful day, I had enjoyed the company and the hospitality, and I was thrilled to be there just to imagine what the city looked like. I will also look forward to going back.

I want to mention, too, that while it's not part of the experience I had with Padre Jesús (i.e. he didn't tell me the story), he has worked with young people to keep them out of gangs. I imagine its work he is either involved with now or will be soon.

This community has a wonderful feeding program. Every Friday night, the community prepares a meal and delivers it to homeless people in a particular section of San Salvador. The group took me to see the area, and I lamented not being able to go with them on Friday. The program is called Pan por mi Hermano -- Bread for my Brother, and it has received national recognition.

I left Padre Jesús to spend a few days with Padre Manuel Esteban Osorio Portillo at the Centro San Lucas Evangelista in San Miguel, El Salvador. There's no actual church building there, and the building in which the center is located, where I stayed, and where Padre Manuel resides is in need of TLC. Padre Manuel shared with me his plans to plant churches in two other areas, knowing full well he'll be attending to all three of them, even though they are two to three hours apart. We visited one nearby colón for the better part of the day. I met a lot of people, was well-attended to and well fed, and rested quite nicely on a hammock. I met people who had participated in the Cursillo weekend, an essential weekend in my faith formation, and suddenly the world seemed very small. I worshipped with this community, too. There was a shelter that served as their worship space, and we prayed Evening Prayer together. It was wonderful, and everyone I had met throughout the day was in attendance. And in no time at all, I had been honored with a gift. Amazing!

I returned to the city and visited the diocesan offices. The Bishop, Martín Barahona, arrived, and I spoke briefly him about my experiences so far on the trip. I returned, then, to Irma and David's house until Saturday, when the theology school met and there was to be an Ultreya (a gathering of people who had participated in Cursillo). I spoke again with the bishop, and he invited me to return to El Salvador sometime in the near future to talk with the theology school about the diaconate. I will be doing that! He also gifted me a book of Gospel Readings ... in Spanish, and recently, he mailed me a Spanish altar book. Beyond generous. Bishop Martín had been a victim of a recent assassination attempt. He works for justice, just as Oscar Romero did, and people are every bit as angry about it. For example, The Church in El Salvador actively and openly invites gay and lesbians to come and worship and learn about a God who created, loves, and accepts them. That's unheard of in Central America! Bishop Martín, once upon a time Presiding Bishop of the Province, has set a path that the priests in his flock willingly and actively follow. He's marvelous!

All the work of justice obvious in the Church in El Salvador does beg the question for those of us at risk of being complacent Christians (oh, the shame in that phrase!): What difference does your church make? If you can't answer that and want to, take a trip to El Salvador. It will open your eyes, heart, mind, and spirit to see what you're already doing and what there is still left to do.

The Return

I laid down in the grass in a park today, mostly because I could. I also walked around town with no fear of walking someplace I shouldn't, someplace that would be too dangerous to walk solo.

It really is good to be home.

Homecoming has been wonderful. I was picked up at the airport by Paigie, Jules, Gabey, Della and Alexys. I snuggled with the Girls on the way to Julie and Craig's, where I was given Blue Moon (from a can, still trying not to think about that) and cheese-filled pretzels (and where Cecil and Beenie Boy were reunited). CJ was there, too. We watched Scrubs and talked randomly about whatever occurred to us until it was time for bed. The next day, I enjoyed a breakfast sandwich, hugged Edie and Loren (and a few others I ran into on the street), got a haircut, and bought some "new to me" clothes. I drove my car (yea!) on Thursday and celebrated Gabey's 11th birthday. I went to a movie on Friday and checked in with some folks at Lugar de Reunion. I spent time working with the pictures I took, not really wanting to subject anyone to the 2500 photos I have. The Girls and I went horseback riding on the ridge on Saturday. The weather has been incredible since my return, even if it has been much chillier than in the days prior to my return, and being on the ridge ... whoa. Of all the wonderful sights I saw in Central America, it's really hard to beat an autumn in Wisconsin. Saturday night I attended Paige's show choir concert -- so very glad I was home for that! The Girls stayed at Julie and Craig's with me that night, and Baby Girl and I fell asleep with her having taken my hand. Sunday brought me to church. I wasn't going to attend the 9:30 service. I had wanted my first service home to be with my priest, who was on vacation, but I really missed my parish and being at the altar. Next Sunday will be the real thing, and I'm looking forward to that. We had Communion from the Reserved Sacrament for the Hispanic service, and I very much enjoyed being in that company. I went to a movie with my oldest friend, and we laughed about all sorts of things.

Homecoming really has been wonderful. And there's a difference between homecoming and re-entry.

I was supposed to (at least by my thinking) leave Craig and Julie's on Sunday, and when I went to say good-bye to Paigie, I started crying. I wasn't able to put words to it at first (which has become a more common experience than I'm comfortable with), but it was a bit of separation anxiety. I wasn't relishing being away from the two to whom I was most connected while in Central America. So, I stayed.

The next morning, I was watching television and rolled my eyes too often regarding the resources spent improving cereal. I also saw an episode of a crime drama in which a homeless man boarded a bus, announced he was homeless and hungry, and presented his cup for money. People turned away from him, and when one man did that, the homeless man took out a brick and said he could choose to use the brick but wasn't going to do that and put it away. The man he was speaking to gave him money. I thought about all the people I refused in Central America, the ones to whom I didn't give money, the taxis I declined, the items I didn't buy. I remembered thinking about what the consequences would be for refusing any of those people. Would I refuse the wrong one and find myself the victim of a crime, one committed by a desperate someone who just couldn't manage one more refusal?

I'm home, now. I stayed at my house last night, after dinner with my friend, Vicki. I had another bout of tears ... more separation stuff, I think ... and I processed that with Jules. My nephew (my roommate!) and I shared a few laughs, and after uploading a few photos to Facebook, I read myself to sleep.

I putzed on the computer this morning and ran a few errands this afternoon ... and by ran, I mean walked. I very much enjoyed my walk around my hometown. I enjoyed the chill and crispness in the air, the brilliant blue sky, and the bright autumn sun. I enjoyed the clean, wide streets and the tidy lawns. I enjoyed lawns. I enjoyed being able to walk.

My enjoyment of all that is shadowed just a bit by the memory of those who don't enjoy so much and my reactions to them. Such is re-entry -- sitting with the discrepancies in the world, trying not to feel guilty about my wealth, living with truths about myself I most likely wouldn't have known without this trip ... and rolling with all the reminders of those things just as they come.