Church

This Saturday we went to mass in a community called René Cisneros. The church community is small, welcoming, and rooted in the spirit of the Christian Base Community movement. Christian Base Communities grew with the impetus of the Second Vatican Council and the Bishop’s Conference of Medallín, Colombia. Our Jesuit Volunteer community tries to alternate between this parish and the local barrio parish down the street. I have found the experience at René Cisneros much more conducive to prayer and reflection. The parish reminds me growing up in the New Jerusalem Community in Cincinnati, Ohio. The music is lively and upbeat. People are relaxed and present to the community around them. Formalities and orthodoxies take a backseat to the activity and participation of the congregation.

I would like to share three short insights I had at Mass on Saturday. First, in the middle of the opening prayer a young woman, no more than 20 years old, approached the altar where the priest stood. She held a very small baby wrapped tightly in cloth and nestled close to her chest. She went right up to the priest, whispered a few words, and then returned to her seat with a number of other young women. The priest stopped right in the middle of the prayer and announced joyfully that the small child had just been born and he invited us to welcome her into the community. After applause he continued with the service. The seeming distraction and interruption in the order of things was nothing more than the joyful welcome of a child. I could only think that I had never seen anything like that at mass before and how often apparent inconveniences can be moments of grace in disguise.

Second, the homily, given by a Jesuit priest was nothing like I had experienced before. After reading the gospel he did not start by explaining what he, or the Church, or what anyone else should get out of the Gospel, but rather asked a question to the congregation. He asked, “What is the message of this Gospel reading?” It was not a loaded question or a rhetorical one, but an invitation for the community to participate in the Good News. What did the Gospel mean to the people sitting in this small church, in this poor neighborhood, in Nicaragua? Much in the spirit of Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed, the priest was using the words and experiences of the people to shape and mold the direction of the homily. It was not only biblically and theologically based, but also rooted in the lived experiences of the people. It was liberation theology in action. It wasn’t socialistic or antithetical to the Catholic faith, but, in opinion, just really good Church.

Third, on my way down the middle aisle, toward the Eucharist, I noticed a small, hunched, old woman walking back down the aisle in my direction. She was simple but elegant and wise looking. As she turned into her pew she reached out to a small boy sitting next to her with a small piece of host saved from communion. The boy obediently opened his mouth and ate the bit of host. I laughed. That small act of rebellion or thoughtfulness or whatever it was tickled me. This innocent old lady was “breaking the rules” but only in gifting the boy what she saw to be something holy, meaningful, and necessary. Perhaps, not. That is of course my interpretation of the situation. However, it was such an interesting observation that I felt I must share it. It reminded me of my childhood when my mom baked communion bread for mass. She would let me eat a piece before it was taken to church for consecration. I thought it was exciting, mischievous, and also delicious (it was not the host of the dry wafer variety).

In my recent news I just got off the phone with my boss at Colegio Roberto Clemente. She told me I could come in on Janurary 26th to start getting acquainted with the school. The kids start on Feb. 3rd. I´ve never been so excited to start this work. My boss is extremely nice and really excited to have me. I´m pumped!