The Caresses of the Mission
Charitable Dérisseau | 2015 Issue 3
In early 2013, I arrived at the parish of El Calvario in the diocese of Verapaz. After some 14 years of commitment to the missionary ministry in Mexico, I dedicated myself completely to the observation and discovery of my new mission field in Guatemala. I spent a long time learning the local language and familiarizing myself with the Q’eqchi culture of the Maya people here.
I now spend a great deal of time visiting the different villages of this territory, sharing faith with the people that God has put along my “missionary road.” The parish spans a substantial section of the city of Coban. We attend to more than 120 small communities. Together they constitute an extraordinary cultural richness and diversity, provoking a change in our patterns of thinking. How does God speak, and how do we speak about God, in these cultural contexts? The answer is constantly evolving, chal-lenging us to adapt. This landscape calls for mobility, not just physically, but in our hearts and minds as well.
Poverty and richness
Doing missionary work in the villages is a constant challenge, requiring psychological preparation. The majority of the distance to the villages is travelled on foot. These journeys teach me about the lives of the people I am here to serve. I perspire as I cover steep terrain in boots, getting covered with mud. I teach my stomach to accept breakfast, lunch and supper of only chicken soup, be it cold or warm. I learn to drink coffee and cacao at any time of the day. This way of being makes me face the poverty and the richness of the people; I experience their surrounding culture. By doing so, I can better understand their pains and joys, their deficiencies and happiness, their worries and their achievements. This type of presence is a continual learning process. I am constantly invited to examine my values. “For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be,” reminds the Gospel.
I walk from one small settlement to the next: in the morning, at noontime and in the afternoon. I practically lose the notion of time. Because of the distances, a pastoral tour may last a whole week. Catechists, a translator, extraordinary ministers of communion, and area guides usually accompany me. At times, I am beset with doubts and indignation about the conditions in which the people live. Their milieu is far from desirable, with a lack of access to health clinics, schools, electricity and even water. These deficiencies seem unjust. In spite of the many things that are lacking, I discover happiness and joy on the faces of the people. Their struggles and courage, the longing for change and their enthusiasm for life, all animate me.
When I worry about a steep or narrow passage, or falling in the mud or between the rocks, the good Samaritans lend me a stick, and I am protected against the blows and the falls. At times, I hear the voice of my translator: “Take courage Padre; be not afraid of dirtying your boots, be not afraid of stumbling––you can only fall to the ground! Such are the caresses of the mission.” Indeed, the dirt and stumbling are gentle reminders that humility serves one well in mission work. We can only authentically walk in someone else’s shoes when we have truly left our own behind; it is give and take.