|
OUR HAITI CONNECTION - Reflections of a seminarian's travels
to Haiti
By Mr. Jonathan Goertz - seminarian
June 2006, originally published in St. Bridget's Parish bulletin,
Richmond, VA
|
A Seminarian’s Reflection on
Playing Soccer Badly in Haiti
The others were
finishing breakfast, so I stepped out of the rectory into the
blazing sunshine. There I found a tiny boy trying to bounce a
soccer ball nearly half his size. His mother, who lives and
works at one of the outbuildings of the Church of the Sacred
Heart in Hinche, offered him some advice in Creole, and Malou;
and I began to kick the ball back and forth. I was quickly put
in my place. Rapidly I discovered that the two of us —the
three-year-old and the 24-year-old—had roughly the same athletic
abilities. Much to the merriment of my companions, who had now
emerged, I scrambled to keep up with tiny Malou. The stifling
heat didn’t help. I think I’d better shelve my World Cup
ambitions and learn my way around a different kind of cup—a
chalice. |
|
† |
|
Later that evening, after touring
the school in Carissade and getting in a nap, we returned to
Sacred Heart for a special novena Mass. It is a Haitian custom
to celebrate nine Masses in the days leading up to your parish’s
patronal feast, and the Feast of the Sacred Heart was just a
week away. It was a jubilant, upbeat, Spirit-filled liturgy. For
ninety minutes (on a weekday!) we sang, clapped, swayed, and
prayed together in Creole. But all good things must come to an
end. The final song concluded; and I looked around, flushed, and
energized. |
|
† |
|
Just then, I felt a hand slip
into mine. I looked down, and there was Malou. All business, he
wordlessly led me through the crowded doorway, down the concrete
steps, and across the pitch black field toward his house. At the
doorway he dropped my hand, scrambled up the steps, pushed open
the door and went inside, never looking back. I watched his
little head disappear into the dim interior that he knew as
home. |
|
† |
|
I stood outside—a seminarian for
the Diocese of Richmond, alone somewhere in the dark in rural
Haiti. What had I learned? It’s always better to have a friend
walk you home, even if you only met him that morning. Maybe your
new friend isn’t very good at soccer (hilariously incompetent,
even), but that may not be important when the night is scary and
you’re very small. We all need somebody to walk us through the
dark nights of our lives, and so we turn to Jesus. As the psalm
exclaims, “Even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil,
for you are at my side.” Then what does it mean for the priest
to be in persona Christi, to embody Christ’s compassion
and sacrifice in his ministry? The priest is the one who guides
us through the darkness. He has the dry eyes at funerals and the
steady hands in crises, even if he is aching or quaking inside.
Malou gave me a glimpse of what it is like to be that priest.
Perhaps I can’t impress on the soccer field; but I can walk with
others on life’s journey, strengthened by faith in Christ. |
|
† |
|
The Ministry of Presence
My arm
was resting on the back of the pew when I felt something brush
against my elbow. I looked to my left. A very small girl in her
school uniform quickly withdrew her curious finger. Big shy eyes
looked back at me with respect and awe. As my attention moved
back to the activity near the altar, I felt that cautious finger
return and slowly stroke the skin of my elbow. Undoubtedly, her
experience with white people had been limited to stories and
rumors. At the dedication of the cafeteria at the school in
Carissade, we were the larger-than-life donors, the millionaire
philanthropists who arrived and departed in a whirlwind. This
tiny girl, however, used the chance to learn that I was a
person, too, so much like her. |
|
† |
|
They say that half of life
is showing up. It seems that was all we did in Haiti. Three days
is not enough time to actually do very much. But we were there,
and that meant a lot to so many. When we visited the young kids
at the Missionaries of Charity facility, we were greeted with
singing, clapping, and big smiles. Clearly they were excited for
some diversion. “Papa!” somebody called out. At least a dozen
kids managed to all hold my hands at the same time. Extricating
myself to leave was a delicate process. They didn’t complain
about their extreme conditions or object to our sudden
departure. They were absolutely delighted that we were there.
Those who do similar missionary work overseas know that you reap
far more than you sow. Children in rural Haiti taught me a great
deal about “ministry of presence” and the power of a simple
smile. I was there, and that opened the door for love and hope.
Sometimes doing nothing more than allowing somebody to touch
your elbow can make a big difference. |
|
††† |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
