A Weekend in Tikal - Guatemala

Part of our humanity seems to be our capacity to be inspired beyond our expectations, and while this may happen more frequently than not, it still seems to be new every time it happens. The trigger could be a daily scene, an encounter with a set of puppies, a stirring verbal exhortation, or an amazing natural vista. They are each unique catalysts towards an integration of sights, sounds, feelings, history, and thoughts that soon swell into a "something more" than we thought possible. And since each is utterly unique, comparison is fruitless and simply unimportant.

Our visit to Tikal was one such experience during our stay here in Antigua. It's an experience that also seems to require very early rising, by the way. On Saturday morning, we were standing in front of the house in Antigua at 4:00 AM in the early morning darkness and almost complete silence, with just a dog wandering down the street, a passing police truck whose occupants waved to us (I'm sure they knew exactly what we were about), and a couple of weaving men at the corner having a cigarette and gesturing to one another. After a couple of minutes of standing, a tour van appeared and soon enough John, myself, and the other passenger (Lindsey) were on our way to Guatemala City and the early morning flight to Flores, the nearest town to Tikal.

Thankfully, TAG airlines had facilities on the other side of the Guatemala City international airport, so we were saved from long lines. There were no seat numbers, just a boarding pass with a 1, 2, 3, or 4 on them. An hour or so after arriving, our group was called and directed to a small plane - open seating. Then it was off into the air, the little plane slewing from side to side, and the 45 minute flight to Flores. Once there, the helpful taxi drivers and hotel drivers outside the terminal pointed us to the person with the "Tikal Inn" bus, and an hour later (he had to wait for another flight) we made the 90-minute drive to the park, with "Nixon" our tour guide talking most of the way in Spanish and in fairly good English.

At the Tikal Inn, within the park itself, we checked into our little cabana by the pool and settled in. The "regular" tour would begin 20 minutes later and go for 3-4 hours, visiting 70% of the park. Then the afternoon and following day were meant to be for visiting local shops and the like. The other option, which we chose, was to "upgrade" to an evening tour and an early morning tour, covering the park at a more leisurely pace and avoiding the crowds (600 people on average per day). Since John was particularly interested in watching birds, the evening tour was the better option.

There was no regular electricity at the Tikal Inn, but the generator was run in the early mornings and from 7:30 - 10:00 PM at night. While most of the group went on tour, John and I wandered around the property, he looking for birds and myself checking out the visitors center and buying a floppy hat for the hot, humid, insect-happy environment. The midday meal was provided as part of the package, and here we were well surprised. The food was exceptional in every way. Nothing fancy, but very fresh and well-prepared. From what I could tell, they use orange and lime juice more than we might, and that makes a big difference. It's a fine place to stay, especially since in the park itself. (Tikal Inn Website) After lunch, a bit of siesta and then the tour.

Our tour commenced around 4:00 PM, and the nine of us on the tour met Abel in the lobby. He was a very interesting character, clearly knowledgeable and of wide experience. He spoke loudly and had a somewhat aggressive personality, although very polite and solicitous of everyone in the group. We ended up being with him for some seven hours total, so I think most of us became used to his ways. He'd grown up at Tikal, had studied accounting, had returned after the civil war - where he'd lost some siblings and been in jail - and had become a tour guide. He said he was too lazy and preachy to be anything else at this point.

The tour experience was well laid out, staring with innocent enough things (crocodile pond nearby, scale models of Tikal, nearby vegetation) and moved to some of the smaller, half-repaired parts of the site. Gradually, we came to the big stuff. And these were impressive. You would see them from a bit away, jutting up out of the canopy - everyone froze in their tracks to take their first photographs. Then we'd approach more slowly, turn a corner, and there they were in all their ruinous grandeur. As we moved along, Abel would point out things in the jungle, tell us about Mayan history, pick up obsidian nuggets and pieces of pottery from the ground, find an insect we'd never be able to see, and the like. We were gradually being initiated into the world of the Maya, where the library of nature reigned supreme.

One of the things that struck me was that most of the 20 (?) square miles that houses the park is still very much a jungle. It's only in a few places that vegetation has been cleared and reconstruction has taken place. Between the various sites, you walk along small paths, some of them along old 50-wide ancient canals (the burms are visible in the jungle on the sides) where other life predominates. And with a purported 3,000 buildings within the entire complex, they haven't even begun to scratch the surface of the potential archaeological riches under the ground. Of the buildings that have been "cleaned up" only a few have undergone reconstruction; most of it paid for by Japan. For many of them, what you see is what was there.

The plan worked out so that we could be on top of the largest building, Temple IV, at sunset. Thankfully, we didn't have to climb the stone steps - steep, high, and precipitous. A sturdy staircase had been introduced on the side of the temple, and 182 steps later we were on the top level, overlooking the jungle canopy and seeing the sun sink beneath the clouds. I ended up sitting on the opposite side, overlooking the tops of Temple I and Temple II, since that was really the impressive scene. Looking over those trees, sitting at the apex of the largest temple and seeing the tops of the other temples as the sun was setting, one thought many thoughts, none making much sense - but that was okay in this kind of setting. Not only thoughts about the people who dwelt here from 800 BC until 700 AD, but also about why they moved elsewhere and left everything behind. The most popular theory has to do with drought and simple migration. A shaky video of my arrival on top of Temple IV is here.

We walked back in the dark through the jungle along a different path, one that was really a small trail. There were interesting sounds every once in a while from the wall of green on each side. It's amazing to think that if any one of us had veered off the path for even 10 feet, we'd be utterly lost. Once back at the Tikal Inn, we took our showers since the heat and humidity had been intense. John decided not to do the early morning hike but simply to go bird watching on his own, and pretty soon we were both zonked out, fast asleep.

Although John had forgotten to set his alarm for 3:30 AM so that I could join the early bird crowd, I woke up at 3:38 AM when I heard sounds outside. The rooms had thatched roofs and open-air "windows" all around, with screens thankfully, so that you heard everything from the outside. What had awakened me were the others going to the lobby for the 4 AM departure. I hurried to get dressed in the dark (no electricity, remember) and got to the lobby in time to have a cup of coffee that Abel had prepared. At least it tasted like coffee in the dark.

Then off we went along a different path to go back to Temple IV, the one furthest away in park. This time, Nixon came along quietly too, staying at the front while Abel kept up the rear. This turned out to be a good thing, since one person in our party was a bit overweight and elderly needed to go more slowly. An hour or so later, hiking in that dark jungle, we reached the stairs and made our way to the top of Temple IV where the now-familiar area was quickly covered with quiet folks watching the darkness before us.

This is the experience that I'll remember for a long time. As the night turned to grey dawn and the mist lightened, you could hear Howler monkeys sounding their deep-throated, gurgling calls from very far away, interspersed by 3 - 5 seconds of silence. Then another troupe would respond some distance away. And so it went for 15 - 20 minutes, echoing throughout the jungle canopy and gradually getting louder and moving more closely. Then all of a sudden, a troupe that seemed not 100 yards away began their roaring as well. It was as if someone had cranked up the stereo. At one point, there was a sonic track of Howler money calls reaching from my near left to the far right, punctuated by a profound silence, with an expanding view of the jungle canopy and an increasingly lighter mist that hung over everything. (Temples I and II were obscured entirely and we never saw them.) Once it had become lighter, the sounds changed and the monkey calls from far away began to stop or fade away. But the bird chatter began. It was as if all the bass instruments in an orchestra had carried the theme, brought it to a crescendo and were now gradually handing it over to the flutes. A wide variety of bird sounds filled the air, sharing the sonic spectrum for a while with the Howlers but then dominating the dawn and filling it with eager anticipation of the day.

Once it was light enough to move around, Able pointed out a number of bird species to me, most of which I forgot. I do however remember the Keel-Billed Toucan (the beak is shaped like a boat keel, hence the name), two of which were poised on a dead tree below us. And there was red-crowned song bird not 20 feet away from the top platform in a nearby tree, singing its little heart out. Just before leaving, we heard the resident hawk take off, screeching across the canopy on its daily rounds.

Somewhat reluctantly, we left Temple IV and continued our tour now that it was light. Since it was still quite early, we pretty much had the place to ourselves, and for the next couple of hours we visited a variety of sites and Able told us a lot about the Mayan system of counting, their astronomy, and some of their religious practices. Basically, you don't want to play their "volleyball" game, and you certainly don't want to lose. If you do, you're painted blue and beheaded. Puts a whole new twist on "sore loser" doesn't it? The Mayan cosmology, let along its culture, are as fascinating as they are mysterious. You could spend a lifetime studying them and still only scratch the surface. Just think of how strange we think our own culture was when we look at photographs from some 50-100 years ago. Project that about 2500 years back and you've got a cultural chasm that lies beyond our ken.

One of the things we did was pursue a nearby troupe of Howler monkeys, walking into the jungle and following their calls, most of which were responses to the calls that Abel made - and he did a pretty darn good imitation. Finally, they were right above us, excited as can be, thinking that we were poaching their territory. Of course all we poached were pictures.

We got back to the Tikal Inn at around 8:30 AM. Abel had done a fine job in showing us around. He'd been dropping hints about tips all along and most if not all the people in the group gave him a 5-10 dollar tip, which he appreciated. In that environment, every little bit helps.

John had spent his time bird-watching but had waited for me to return so that we could have breakfast together. Again, it was a wonderful meal. I was especially impressed with the syrup for the pancakes. John was asking the waiters about some birds he had seen, and they were kindly trying to figure out what he was asking and looking at the pictures he was pointing to in his bird-watching book. Finally, a lady at a nearby table cutting a melon section into tiny pieces (for the Coati in her room) came over and explained, in very good English, what John wanted to know. Her name was Roxy and she was a naturalist who gave tours in the area and knew at least as many birds as John did.

John, being the friendly guy he is, soon had her engaged in a conversation about birds, and we ended up talking with her quite a while. John asked if she would do a morning naturalist tour of the area with us, since we wouldn't be leaving the Tikal Inn until 2:30 PM, and she agreed to spend a couple of hours with us. And so we had a wonderful "extra" tour by this naturalist and archaeologist who really knew her stuff. She'd spent six years in Atlanta during her high school years and knew English real well, although it took a while to lose the southern accent that tour groups found funny ("If y'all look at that there pay-ra-mid ..."). She took us all around the property, to places we'd passed by earlier and didn't know existed, pointing out native birds from 100 yards away with her naked eye, highlighting vegetation and medicinal herbs, pointing out animal tracks in the mud, tracking a rare bird that they had both heard but couldn't find even after 30 minutes of quiet movement into the trackless part of the jungle. This little excursion was one of the highlights of the trip.

The thing that I particularly liked is the "formula" she gave for that breakfast syrup. It wasn't maple syrup at all but was made from Allspice. Abel had crushed up Allspice leaves on the tour and had each of us smell it. Roxy pointed out that the Allspice berries, which we can get in the U.S. are what's used for this "miel" as they call it. You take a handful of Allspice berries, put it in about 2 cups of water and let it sit for 3 hours, letting the berries expand into the water. Then you heat it up, filter it, add sugar and cinnamon, and reduce it down to a syrup-like consistency. Now you have wonderful syrup for pancakes and the like. I know I'm going to try this one when I get home.

As a kicker for our "extra" naturalist tour, Roxy took us to the back of the the Tikal Inn, where the staff is housed, and brought out two juvenile Coati. These are of the ant-eater family, and these two little buggers would not have survived if Roxy hadn't taken them from the wild. She's now their "mother" and they follow her around like puppies. She's bottle-feeding them, and as they were exploring the grass around her, she would catch the occasional cricket and feed it to one of them. Her plan is to wait until they are beyond bottle feeding and then re-introduce them to one of the Coati troupes that live among the ruins. Since these are two females, the troupe will very likely adopt them and "educate" them as their natural mother would have. We stayed out there talking about nature and Coati and taking care of wild animals for a while and then went back to the restaurant for a bit of refreshment (I had my second Licuado, made of papaya and milk and ice; much better than my first).

If you know of folks who would like to see Tikal or any other Mayan site, have them contact the Tikal Inn and ask for Roxzanda Ortiz (Roxy). As an archaeologist, naturalist, and guide with 32 years of experience, she can arrange and guide trips in Tikal or other remote sites such as Nakbe, Nakum, Yaxha, Mirador, and a host of others. John and I would recommend her very highly.

Soon enough the bus was loaded and we were on our way back to Flores and our return flight, this time on a slightly larger plane.

So that was the trip. Lots of words, I know, but realize that there's a lot more behind the words and I'm only sharing tidbits of the experience. The more interesting impressions may be found in the photographs below (click on the photographs in order to go through them individually, with their captions):

Third Week in Antigua

It's Friday evening, and I figured that I had better do the blog entry now rather than tomorrow, since tomorrow we're scheduled to leave for our weekend trip to Tikal, a famous set of Mayan ruins that lie in the jungle about 45 minutes away by plane. We will be back on Sunday evening. Since we don't have class on Monday (it's a holiday in Antigua), this was the weekend to go to Tikal.

Early in the week, the "main drag" in Antigua was taken over by a Guatemalan television station celebrating a major anniversary. They would be filming their news programs (6 PM and 10 PM) from the main street in Antigua. And so a huge tent and stage were constructed on the spot, electricity mains were piped in, and that evening there was lots of noise from the street. I didn't go out to check it out, but I certainly heard it all in my bedroom in the house, especially their midnight fireworks. It's one of things that goes with living so closely to the center of town. This is true generally on the weekends. Right now, for example, various parties in the area, groups in the street, and musical events in houses nearby are creating a cacophony that I'm sure I'll hear in my room until at least midnight. I'd put on earplugs, except that I wouldn't hear the 3 AM alarm for our 4 AM departure for Tikal.

Last Monday, I was surprised to learn that I would have a new teacher at San Jose el Viejo. Apparently, the school shuffles teachers around week by week, according to a variety of factors, including preferences expressed by returning students and the like. At first, I was a bit upset, but I soon warmed up to my new teacher, Silvia, and within two days found her to be just the right person to take my lessons to the next level. All through the week we have been proceeding via conversations in Spanish - halting on my part, clearly and slowly on hers - along with exercises, new material, quizzes, and the organization of the information that I've absorbed so far. One of her talents is the ability to connect various pieces of learning from the last two weeks and to highlight patterns in the language. I hope to be able to continue with her for another week and then perhaps move to yet another teacher for the last two weeks.

The days have passed quickly, and there are just a few things to highlight outside of class time. Each day, John and I spend the 30-minute break in the morning walking around the neighborhood, trying new streets every day. At noon, when his class ends, I take a 15-minute break inside the property and then return to the cubicle I've been in all morning (since 8 AM) for another session. I finish at 1:30 and make my way home for almuerzo with the Brothers.

On Tuesday, on my way home, the road was blocked by a long procession or parade that made its way through the central plaza area and consisted entirely of young students from, as far as I could tell, schools dedicated to indigenous populations. Kids were dressed in all sorts of costumes or uniforms, carried statues or other processional items, were led by a band, and generally seemed quite at ease walking down the middle of the street in organized groups. The procession was related to the fact that on July 25th, Antigua celebrates its patronal feast, Santiago (St. James), and the whole town takes a holiday. The parade was one of the events leading up the headliner next Monday. It was fun to watch the groups walks by and to take photos as they happened, By my estimate, the procession was about two football fields in length. I was late for lunch.

On Wednesday, John and I took an afternoon excursion to Santa Domingo, where we had been before when we took Elizabeth Bell's tour. On the way, we stopped by her travel agency to confirm our plans for this weekend. At Santa Domingo, we took our time walking around the various ruins, and although we didn't pay to enter the museums there, we did see lots of interesting parts of that old Dominican monastery, now a slick hotel and conference center.

It's a bit amazing to notice the variety of contrasts here in Antigua, as I'm sure is the case for the rest of Latin America. On the way back, we stopped by the Dona Luisa Cafe for an afternoon refreshment and I tried a "licuado" (papaya, if you must know) for the first time. Quite nice.

On Friday afternoon, the students from the school put on a musical performance in the main square. It was the history of Antigua and included singing, dancing, drama, and audience participation. Brother Francisco was in his element, running around taking pictures, talking with students, teachers, and parents, and generally enjoying himself and others. The performance lasted about an hour. At the end, the students came into the crowd, handing out flowers to the women and little flags to whomever would take them. Then the girls coaxed guys out onto the pavement for impromptu dancing to the music that was provided. Everyone seemed to have a terrific time. The students were all sophomores and had been preparing for this event for many weeks. If you'd like to see a short video I took of the event, click here.

Some of the symbolism in the drama has been lost on me, unfortunately, but I got the general idea. There are mythical figures, historical figures, and generally "fun" figures. At one point, a student with some sort of figure on his head (I think he's supposed to be a bull) is set alight, and fire crackers go off right above his head for quite some time while other students jump around him or symbolically hit his feet with pieces of fabric. I don't quite know what it all means, and parts of it seem to be a bit unsafe, but there you have it. When in Rome ...

Tonight (Friday), we also celebrated Br. Carlos' 62nd birthday in the community. Other festivities will occur on the weekend, apparently, and we should catch the tail end of the big party planned for Sunday afternoon. We had a very enjoyable dinner this evening and a terrific cake (with cafe and flan and other things in it). The interesting thing for me is that I'm beginning to figure out more and more of what others are saying in Spanish. It's not 100 percent by any means, but my ability to comprehend is gradually expanding. It's like that great quotation from Herbert McCabe: "As we understand a mystery, it enlarges our capacity for understanding." That's as true of language study as it is of anything else initially, or perhaps essentially, mysterious.

Totally unrelated tidbit: Earlier in the week I was surfing the internet and found a wonderful little video on Youtube from a Michael Buble concert in England. If you're interested in music and people's potential, you might enjoy it too - Here.

I'm sure that I'll have a lot of pictures and the like after our Tikal adventure. Stay tuned.

More pictures than you might want below (click on any of them to go to the photo album itself and see the captions for each of pictures).

Second Week in Antigua

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting in the courtyard, just outside of my room, and simply enjoying the fact that I was here. The clouds were clear (for now ... it rains every day), the temperature mild, and from the TV room came the voice of an excited Spanish commentator describing the action of one of the quarter-finals of the America's Cup (soccer, that is, not sailing). I'm surrounded by all things Spanish and it's better than okay.

The major part of this week has, of course, been spent in school learning Spanish. And it doesn't stop when we come home. The morning and evening prayers are in Spanish, and all of our conversations with the Brothers and others here are in Spanish. In the process, our ears are becoming more familiar with the flow of the language. Most speakers we encounter speak very fast. It's really only the teachers and those who know that we are just learning who speak more slowly.

The highlights of this week include the school trip on Thursday to a Mayan cultural center and coffee plantation, and the Friday trip to a nearby private forest featuring a bird-watching path for avid bird watchers such as Br. John. And then the weekend with further unexpected activities.

Early in the week, Br. Julio took us for an evening tour of sixteen classrooms in the school, each of which had students preparing their "project" for the rest of the studentbody. They transformed their classroom into one into which groups of student would come the following day in order to learn about some social problem or concern. It was the students' job to make the "class" interesting, appealing, and convincing. Clearly, they were well into creating something special for their fellow students, staying late into the night to transform their classroom into a small theater that followed their theme. They would be evaluated on the following day when the school day consisted of students having their "classes" in a rotating fashion among all these special classrooms and displays.

It was a great way to tap into the creative potential of students, to have their studies come to a specific focus and task, and to engage the rest of the student body with the results of their research and preparation. On the following day, we had a short visit once more to see some of the finished preparations.

On Thursday, our Spanish school sponsored an outing with our teachers to a coffee plantation and cultural center here in Antigua. We took a rented camioneta - called a "chicken bus" by some, but not by me - and spent the morning listening, observing, and reading signs and explanations. All the while, our teachers were at our sides, continuing their lessons with us. The great advantage was that the guides were well trained to use simple language and to speak slowly and distinctly. John said that he understood virtually everything that the guides told us.

The first section dealt with Mayan musical instruments, both pre-colonial and post-colonial. It was all interesting stuff, and our guide was able to play pretty much anything that she picked up. The second section dealt with the coffee plantation. It reminded me of a vineyard/winery tour in the Napa Valley, only this one was all about coffee. And of course we had a sample at the very end of the tour. The tour also included an on-site nursery and a reconstructed Mayan village. Obviously, they had gone all out to make the experience as inclusive as possible. Since we had plenty of time to see everything, we took our time, finishing around lunch time.

The next day, John and I had arranged with our teachers to go to El Pilar, outside of the city and in the mountains. We would have to take a public bus for a bit and then walk the rest of the way. Although it was cloudy when we started, by the time we got there it was beginning to get sunny. Thankfully, it never rained.

The walk was longer than we had anticipated, but eventually we got there. The people along the way were all very friendly and helpful. Once we got to the place, and after paying our entrance fees, we pretty much had the place to ourselves. The available trail could be a 2-hour or a 4-5 hour experience. We chose to simply stick to the opening section. There was a covered hummingbird feeder station where 30 or more hummingbirds fed regularly. Further on, the "path" consisted of a series of stairs that went up and up and up. We heard the birds all around us but couldn't see a blessed one, despite our common efforts.

However, we did make it up to the highest point, where there was an outlook that looked down onto the valley below. At that point we decided that we'd probably done enough and made our way back down to the main road where we caught another camioneta back to town. That converted schoolbus was packed, packed with students who had just been released from school. All very polite and curious - and I wish I'd had the courage to take photo inside - but the bus was packed to the gills. There must have been 75 people in a bus made for 40. At least three to a seat and the aisles jam-packed. Yet the "helper" was able to wade his way through, collecting money and having kids skootch over to make room for someone else. Quite the Guatemala experience. Once we'd returned, we all decided to call it a day and I returned to the house for my first siesta of the week.

That evening, there was a youth symphony concert at the school to which we had been invited. The orchestra was made up mostly of youth from the area playing 95% string instruments. The "hall"was the open gymnasium. There was a downpour, of course, but that didn't prevent parents and friends from coming to see it. With the metal roof and the heavy downpour, it was difficult to hear the soft bits, but everyone seemed to enjoy the evening, and the kids were pretty good, all things considered. Nevertheless, John and I decided to call it a day at the break, when everyone lined up for their free cup of coffee.

On Saturday, I joined Br. Julio and Steve for a trip to "Guate" (the capitol), about 45 minutes away by car. There, we went to a very nice shopping center where there was a big sale going on. After wandering around a bit, we went to where you could really get whatever you were looking for ..... Walmart! The place was huge. You needed a guide just to get to the other side of the store. Thankfully, every aisle had at least one person standing there, helping people out and probably keeping an eye on pilfering. I was able to find all the things I needed, and then some.

When we got back for the afternoon meal, there were four Brothers at the table from Spain. One of them, another Br. Francisco, is teaching here in Guatemala (at Santa Maria Visitacion at Lake Atitlan) and he was hosting the Spanish Brothers for the week. They were just here for a day visit and would return to Spain within a day of two. It was funny to hear the Spanish I'd been listening to spoken in a different accent, and even more rapidly if that could be believed. They asked for a photograph after lunch and then left to explore the city. John and I went to the central plaza where tents had been set up with various book sellers. We explored, found some bargains, and then made our way back, stopping for ice cream for good measure.

That evening, the Director had prepared a special social and dinner for us outside. As before, prior to the social, several Brothers made short speeches and then we enjoyed the food and each other's company for the rest of the evening. Br. Francisco had brought out his iPod and we listened to Spanish, Mexican, and American Country music, singing along when we could. It was all very nice and relaxed - a good way to end the week.

On Sunday morning, after going to Mass next door at La Merced (a loooooong homily during which I was able to outline several projects for myself and review conjugations), we did some work in our rooms. Around lunch time, the Brothers announced that we would go to Pollo Campero for lunch; it was located just down the street. So off we went to this popular hot-spot in Guatemala. It's sort of like KFC but with a restaurant atmosphere, lots of kids, and chicken that tastes just slightly different from most chicken you might have had.

Following lunch, Br. Julio drove Steve, John, and myself back into Guatemala City in order to see the latest Harry Potter movie. We arrived at the theater, inside a shopping center, and found a line that reminded me of the line at Disneyworld for Splash Mountain. It would take 90 minutes to get to the front. So Julio said that he knew of another place. I thought that it would be the same sort of line wherever we went, but once we got to this other shopping center, we found a quite reasonable line and got our tickets. Their system includes assigned seating; first come, first chosen seats. Our seats were in row A. So the week ended with watching the final Harry Potter movie, in dubbed Spanish, with my neck craned back to a screen that began 15 feet away and reached up into the ceiling. But it was great, and I even picked up some of the dialogue. From what I could tell, the good guys win.

Now it's back to the books for the week and into the world of declensions, conjugations, past participles, gerunds, and a word order that still really seems like magic to me.

More pictures than you want in the slideshow below (You can click on it to see individual photographs with their captions):

First Week in Antigua

It's now the end of my first week in Antigua. Do I know Spanish? No. However, I am a bit more comfortable with learning Spanish. There has been a definite improvement in my ability to "pick up" what people mean when they speak, as long as they don't speak too fast or use grande palabras. It's a rather interesting phenomenon to realize that you're gradually understanding something that before was almost entirely unknown to you.

When we arrived last Sunday, of course, everything was new: the Brothers house, the town, the experience, the sounds at night, etc. The Brothers were extremely hospitable and we felt very comfortable. The church next door, La Merced, was surrounded by a huge crowd of people in very formal dress, just milling about. It was several days later that we realized that they were having one of the several Corpus Christi processions that occur at this time of year. Hence the flowers on some of the streets and the like. Unfortunately, we didn't know that at first, so while the processions were going down the street, we were in the house, napping or getting our things in order in our rooms.

Another interesting phenomenon accompanying these festivities is that once in a while, a HUGE loud blast is heard. At first, I thought, "Okay, this is it. We're in Guatemala and some bomb or other is going off." Immediately after hearing the blast(s), which in this case came from right next door at La Merced, you hear a whole bunch of car alarms going off around the neighborhood. Looking around, other people seemed to be unaware of anything strange going on. And by now, the end of the week, I think I'm at the same point. These bombas are loud fireworks without accompanying sparks or the like - exactly the same as those used large fireworks shows everywhere - that fly 100 or more feet up in the air and explode. They're both the sonic searchlights for some major event, religious or civil, calling people to come and investigate, and they're there to scare off the bad spirits. By now, I must have heard 50+ of them during the week at various times. They're sorta nice.

Later in the afternoon, before John and I walked to where our school was located, just to know how to get there, Brother Carlos - he's the one in the top photo - took us for a walk down the main street of Antigua, stopping in various places (where he seemed to know everyone) and showing us some of the highlights. He doesn't know a word of English, but somehow we communicated just fine. One of the old hotels was especially impressive, the Posada de Don Rodrigo, made up of a whole set of old building and showing off some wonderful courtyards, gardens, and rooftop vistas. It was a fine introduction to the city.

On Monday morning, we made our way to the language school at 7:30 AM and promptly set to work. Each of us was assigned a teacher (female, in both our cases) and began our program. The teachers are very friendly and helpful. They clearly know English, but they do everything they can to avoid having to answer us in English. My teacher has, so far, said perhaps 15 words English in 30 hours of class time. She gently invites you to speak in whatever Spanish you can, both gauging where you are and determining how you might best proceed. Class goes from 8 until 10 AM, when there is a half-hour break. John and I usually go for a walk down one of the nearby streets. Classes then resume from 10:30 AM until noon. For the first three days, we both returned to the house for "Almuerzo" - the main meal of the day with the Brothers - at 1:30 PM. I hustled back at 2:00 PM for another 2-hour session while John decided early on that 4 hours a day is plenty.

By the middle of the week, you're fairly floating in Spanish words and phrases and things known and unknown. This apparently is as it should be. By now, teachers and students have established a good rapport, and conversations (in Spanish, always in Spanish, nada but Spanish) begin to take shape, halting but steady. On Thursday, a group from the school, including John and I and our teachers, took a camioneta (a converted school bus used for all public transportation around here) to the pueblo of San Antonion in order to visit an indigenous women's cooperative. Along the way, the lessons continued, of course, with teachers sitting next to their students, speaking in Spanish. At the cooperative, one of the women gave a fascinating explanation of Mayan weaving traditions, using clear, simple, slowly pronounced Spanish. I even understood most of it! Then we were given a traditional Mayan dish - Pinean (?) - consisting of chicken and rice in a bowl of mole salsa, and we were invited to look around the place and perhaps purchase something to support the cooperative. Upon returning around noon, John went back to the house, while I continued straight into my afternoon session, stopping at 2 PM, which gave time later for a blessed siesta at home.

The following day, on Friday, my teacher and John's decided that we should have a common session doing Bingo, since both of us were having trouble with our numbers, and so we spent a profitable 90 minutes having a joint conversation around numbers. That ended at noon, and by now my teacher and I had decided that it would be best to simply continue our session during everyone else's lunch break and end at 1:30 PM. That way I'd get back to the house a bit late for almuerzo and we would both have the rest of the afternoon free. Also, returning for the late afternoon session hadn't become very productive for me.... the specter of old(er) age and the afternoon "I think I'll put my feet up" made themselves known, I believe.

On Saturday, both John and I wanted to take the highly recommended walking tour of the city with Elizabeth Bell, who literally wrote the book on the place. She came here in 1969 from Palo Alto at the age of 14 and didn't leave. She's now intimately connected to most, if not all, of the restoration projects in the city and calls it home. The tour cost $20 but was worth every penny, especially since it included entry fees to the major sites.

We met in the central square with about 10 other people on the tour and proceeded around the square to the major buildings there. Her explanations were clear, concise, and interesting. She's been doing this tour for years, and it showed. She left time for questions at each location and answered them thoroughly, even bringing back a topic from a question later in the tour, if it was relevant. The three hours went by very quickly.

Saturday evening, the Brothers took us to a nearby Chinese restaurant. Yes, Chinese. And nearby in this case means about 120 feet from the front door, right at the top of that major Antigua street with the big yellow arch in it. It was somewhat humorous to read a menu in Spanish, Chinese, and English, and to hear them ordering Chinese dishes in Spanish. After dinner, we all walked down the street enjoying the evening ambiance, with lots of talking, laughter, music, and energy in the air. Even after returning, all that noise remained nearby (literally), and things only settled down after 10:30 PM (for me in my room) or much later for the others. Apparently, this is the common Friday and Saturday evening dynamic and the price you pay for living right in the middle of all of the action, as it were. The message was, get used to it.

Today, Sunday, John and I made our way to Santo Domingo for Mass (Ordinary Time) and the local Corpus Christi procession there. I don't quite know how they pull that off, liturgically, but with thousands of years of tradition, it all works for them. This particular procession was a small-scale affair, compared to what goes on in the other locations around the city during these weeks. But what did we know? It was all novel to us. Afterwards, John and I went to a popular place for breakfast, where we met one of the many seminarians from the U.S. who are here for language studies. He explained that dioceses are sending seminarians to Central America because Mexico had become just a bit too dangerous. After lunch, John returned home while I wandered streets for a few hours, going to one of the very interesting supermercados (where the locals shops; it's nothing like Safeway) to pick up some things that I needed to get. It was busy in the streets, but everyone was friendly and courteous. Somehow you don't expect anything else here.

This evening, Steve Smith from Saint Mary's University in Winona arrived. He was a LTIP participant three years ago and is spending the summer in Guatemala. He will be staying with us in this community until August 20th. So it looks as if there will be three Spanish-speaking Brothers here and three English-speaking folks. Kind of an even match, linguistically. However, even when we Ameriglots meet, it's Spanish, always Spanish - well, with some exceptions. After all, we're in Antigua.

Other things happened this week that I don't have room for in this posting; if you've even read this far. They include, getting a tour of the school by Brs. Julio, meeting the students of both the day and the night school (for kids who work during the day) by Br. Francisco; John and I visiting various churches for daily Mass since the Brothers attend the daily school Mass at 9 AM; exploring the city after school by walking through the densely packed market area - sort of a combined Arabic and U.S. flea market, only with much smaller passing lanes; making our way to school and beginning to know the characters on the way; and so on.

Last thought: I'm reminded of the scene in the Helen Keller movie where she figures out that those signs in her hand are there to communicate meaning. Remember the "water" moment at the well? That's a good metaphor of what's happening with us, although infinitely more slowly.

Gradually, we're figuring out how those funny sounds that our teachers and the Brothers are making are related to the meanings of words and sentences. At some point in our futures, hopefully while we're still here, the puzzle pieces will begin to "click" and "fit" in such a way that we turn that same kind of corner and the Spanish language world will begin to show itself in all its rich colors and textures.

Meanwhile, if I can just keep separate the meanings of "a" "de" "que" "en" "el" "al" and "o", I'll be happy.

Pasos de bebé.

More pictures than you want here:

First Week in Antigua, Guatemala

An New Educational Adventure

Two days ago, on June 30th, Br. John ONeill and I arrived at Guatemala City for a few weeks of intense immersion Spanish classes. We had spoken about it a few months ago, found that a common time was available, discovered very reasonable air fares, and proceeded to make all the arrangements. Much to our advantage, of course, was the fact that the Brothers have places throughout Guatemala, including where we will be staying, Antigua.

Upon arrival, we were picked up by a driver from the Provincialate community in Guatemala City who has the uncanny ability (so we were told later) to pick Brothers out from a crowd simply by looking at their faces. Perhaps its that deer-in-the-headlights look that gives us away. In any case, before John could whip out his "La Salle" sign (red letters on the back of a manila folder and a pre-arranged signal), Marcelino, standing across the street in a mix of people greeting arrivals, took one look and had his sign up, smiling and staring right at us as we came through the glass doors beyond immigration.

A fast-paced, exciting drive through busy streets later, filled with smoke-belching buses and shops open for the evening, we arrived at the oasis of the Provincialate - a large set of buildings on a big piece of property in a gated-type community (guards at check-points with serious demeanors and real guns). The complex used to be the formation center of the District. Now, novices and scholastics go to the regional novitiate in Costa Rica while this place is used for retreats, meetings, and gatherings by outside groups. And the Provincialate and district offices are here. Its a very nice facility. (BTW, I cant figure out where the apostrophe key on this keyboard is, having tried all possibilities, so dont fault me for bad grammar.)

The four Brothers here greeted us very kindly and had dinner waiting. Brother Daniel knows English fairly well and was quite helpful in getting us settled. Toward the end of dinner, a number of young Brothers came into the dining room to say hello. They were here for their own retreat but staying in another part of the property. John was quite ingenious in communicating with all the Brothers, and soon we were laughing and relaxing as we might in any Brothers community in the world. Between halting, half-forgotten Spanish words, gestures, smiles, and guesses, we got along pretty well. In a few weeks, hopefully, our abilities will be much more improved.

Both of us slept like a log that night. Yesterday was a church holiday here - the solemnity of the Sacred Heart - and so we had a special schedule. After a breakfast that seems to simply appear in the morning from elsewhere on the property, both of us wandered around the property hunting for new birds to observe. John is quite the birder, and I am happy to tag along. We identified three new birds that neither of us had seen before, and then Br. Daniel came by to invite us join him for Mass next door with the Sisters of the Sacred Heart who were having a special Mass on their feast day.

We were placed in the front row of the small chapel, and I understood most of the Mass - in action if not in words. Being tall people compared to most Guatemalans, I felt bad about blocking all the people who sat behind us, but nobody seemed to mind. At the end of Mass, the monstrance came out and we had a procession to the inner court of the house, where a small shrine had been put up. The monstrance was placed there, many people knelt on the concrete, and a series of prayers were begun. After a while, Br. Daniel indicated that we should sneak away since this was likely to take a while; the group was scheduled to continue this prayer journey throughout the house.

This property had been sold to the Sisters by the Brothers some years ago. Several years after that, the Sisters sold a large portion of it to someone else. Without realizing it, they had sold it to very large evangelical church, which proceeded to construct a stadium church right next door, with enough room for at least 5,000 people. They fill it up every Sunday, too, which is a dramatic illustration of how active the evangelical Church is becoming here in Guatemala. On the plane ride here there was a large group of American evangelicals wearing T-shirts advertising the fact that they were service-bound missionaries for a few weeks.

Back at our place next door, the two of us continued our bird-watching adventures until lunch, which is their main meal. Again, the food mysteriously appeared out of nowhere. The food is good an plentiful, but the water has to be taken from bottles. Beer works too. A nice siesta later, and each of us did some futzing around in our rooms, reading, listening to the rain, and the like. There is a football (soccer) championship going on, called the Gold Cup, and it can be pretty exciting on the TV.

Today, after breakfast, Brother Alex took us to another location in Guatemala City where there is large complex of buildings that the Brothers run for the diocese. It consists of a school for indigenous people, a teachers college for teachers from indigenous tribes, all of whom live and learn here and support the whole operation with a large farm (vegetables, fruit, coffee, and animals). The Scholastic community for Brothers at study is also here, as is a set of buildings on the far end of the property housing 8 Postulants, 7 Pre-Novices, and three Brothers who oversee their combined 3-year program. They were all happy-go-lucky, enthusiastic, and hospitable. One of the postulants was painting a picture of De La Salle on the wall outside of their entry gate, and we all took several photographs to commemorate the event.

And so now it is towards evening on our second full day here. Its been raining on and off all afternoon, but somehow that seems appropriate. Tomorrow, we will be taken to Antigua and the rest of this little adventure commences. But I think it will be a bit more taxing on the brain.

A final note: Brother John wrote down a Spanish quotation that is posted inside each of the guest rooms. "Uno de los grandes signos que hoy puede ofrecer la vida consegrada como signo evangelico pobre y humilde, sea sencillamente la casa: que alli donde haya consagrados haya casa abierta, acogedora fraterna como signe de communion el la eglesia." (Ciro Garcia) The Brothers explained that it is a quotation from a Carmelite theologian who describes religious life as one of simplicity and humility. The way they interpret that is by trying to live as simply as possible in community (common TV, few possessions, shared cars, etc.).

This is evident in their lifestyle; nice but simple buildings, lots of responsibilities for each of the Brothers, good and hearty meals, and a palpable sense of community (care for others, much humor and teasing, dedicated to prayer times). It has given us a fine introduction of our likely experience during the next four weeks, for John, or six weeks, for me.

This last picture here is of the chapel in the Provincialate complex, used by larger groups since the Provincialate has its own small chapel. Brother Alex explained that the first time it was used was for the funeral of Br. James Miller. Another significant connection to the experience of the Brothers in this country.

More pictures at the following link:

2011.06.11 - First days in Guatemala

The Kairos Experience

I just returned from a "Kairos" retreat with Christian Brothers High School in Sacramento; a four-day retreat experience at Christ the King Retreat Center in Citrus Heights that involved 56 students and 9 adults.

This was the 37th Kairos retreat that the school has offered, and therefore was called K37. Many years ago, I was an adult leader for the very first such retreat at CHBS, called K1, and subsequently staffed a number of them over the years. It never fails that at first I'm reluctant to go - given the time commitment, sleep deprivation, and general "on call" status for the four days of retreat - but by the end of the retreat I'm energized, inspired, and very glad I went.

The retreat is an adaptation of the Cursillo retreats for high schools. There are a great number of very honest talks, by both student and adult leaders, and a variety of activities in small groups that gradually lead participants more deeply into the recesses of who they are. Within the growing trust of small groups, students are able to help one another deal with their blessings and their challenges, their relational lives and their faith lives, their joys and their hurts. What's discovered is a common human bond of care - even for those whom you wouldn't really have paid attention to beforehand - and a glimpse of what the roots of faith's foundations look like and feel like. They may not call it that, but that's what it is.

I am constantly amazed at the goodness that shines out of the students. Something like this helps me to appreciate anew what it means to see others as true “children of God”, as De La Salle did. A retreat such as this allows the best in our relational potential to come to the fore, provides a safe place for our dearest desires for community to rise to the surface. Yes, there is a deliberate process for doing that; there are steps along the way. But it’s neither forced nor obligatory. It’s all by invitation. And the results are a freedom and spontaneity (and happy silliness) and good will that for a brief moment are given free rein – just to know that that potential is possible – before being tamed into the larger social context again upon returning to the “real” world. Neither one is a bad thing, but it’s good to know that the first is really possible and in the right circumstances can be accessed or nurtured deliberately in the future. Christianity is first and foremost about God and Love (1 John 4:8).

Students and adult leaders are able to touch a small but significant signpost to where God’s presence is found. I know that I’m personally enriched by the experience every time that I participate. When those on retreat return to the school and to their families, they are on a "K-high" for a while. And while this may fade over days and weeks, the touchstone of the experience itself remains and one knows that some very deep part of oneself was found and made alive.

My student small group was called "G2" for Group Two, and over our time together we became a close-knit group of very unique individuals who grew to appreciate each one's gifts, challenges, and life situations. While group conversations remain confidential, virtually forever (with the normal exceptions for counseling situations and issues) this atmosphere allows for rich, caring conversations.

Prayer (genuine prayer) is another key element throughout the retreat. Both for the presenters and the participants, formal and informal prayer settings / opportunities become stepping-stones for the retreat process. There is a group Mass each day and a reconciliation service on one of the evenings. But what stands out is that the life of faith becomes a natural element that weaves its way through the activities; nothing is forced or abrupt. Individuals participate as they will and as is fitting with where their faith currently lives. Hopefully, by the end of the retreat they will come to see that a life with faith enriches, deepens, and brings greater life to what it means to be human (at least in all its important parts) and an active faith life takes nothing away. To be faithful, or faith-filled, is to be fully human, which in the end is God and other directed. As St. Irenaeus wrote: "The glory of God is the human person fully alive."

The whole thing reminded me of a wonderful quotation from Nicholas Lash in a book entitled "Easter in Ordinary" - "Other people become, in their measure, 'mysterious,' not insofar as we fail to understand them, but rather in so far as, in lovingly relating to them, we succeed in doing so."

These have been days of fine mystery, fed by grace and human encounter. It remains to live them forward in small, deliberate steps that deepen the benefit for all.

Photo Notes:

Top - Entire Group

Next - Adult Leaders

Next - K37 - G2

Below: All the student and adult male leaders posed for a "Summer Collection" photo during a section of the retreat when we were all formally dressed up and waiting for the next phase of the retreat to begin. Sort of a "GQ" look.

An Alternative to Pinball

How is it that some lives dash madly around in the public eye while others meander quietly among more local paths? Public figures, media favorites, and scandal-of-the-week personalities bounce about like so many balls in a pinball machine, vying for just a second of our attention. Most of us are drawn into the game – through magazines, online news, blogs, television, and the like – completely oblivious to the fact that in doing so we are bouncing to the same tune. And yet occasionally, when we take out attention away from that strange world of make-believe and take a long loving look around us, we realize that our real world is inhabited by individuals who are, in the final analysis and by slow increments, much more interesting and engaging.

Saints seem to share a characteristic deliberateness toward the more important things. They come to learn that virtues such as patience, perseverance, and true piety only grow as a complete package. One doesn’t happen without the others. Patience doesn’t come about unless your keep practicing it, unless you persevere. And piety – the kind where God’s presence seeps into all the nooks and crannies of your life – hasn’t got a chance without patient endurance and an ongoing practice that is quiet and humble. The fact is that truth and goodness seep into your life together. The important things can’t be split apart.

Saints also generally fall into the apparently boring, non-public category rather than into the public pinball one. Even the very public Mother Teresa often said that one of her greatest crosses was the fact that she was such a public figure; good for her work and her sisters, but trying on her soul. Most saints are ones that Catholics would never guess in a Jeopardy game, unless their parish or school was named for that saint. Yet their personal stories are fascinating, even appealing. For years, I would read a short bio of the saint of the day to my students. Some were fascinating (think St. Joseph of Cupertino, patron saint of pilots) and others were dramatic (martyrs, mystics, miracle-workers). Most were simple folks who became known for their piety and goodness; quite sufficient for sainthood. Students were drawn to these stories and would remind me if I’d forgotten to read one to them in class. Through these stories, they experienced, perhaps for the first time, a deep resonance with a mystery that lay beyond their ken, a connection with something vaguely but solidly true, even good perhaps. All they could tell at that point was that this was deeply appealing in a way that popular entertainment was not. The apparently boring had become both familiar and fascinating in the real stories of real people paying close attention to the really important things.

The reason for this reflection comes from thinking about St. John Baptist de La Salle and his life. Having just finished reading, along with most of the novices with whom I had a class this year, a heavy tome about De La Salle by Br. Alfred Calcutt, I’m left to wonder where his genius, his charism, his sainthood lay. Yes, he was a great organizer, a talented writer, a visionary, and a theologian with a practical streak. He seemed to require little sleep, virtually no ego stroking, and very few personal comforts; in fact, he seemed to relish the opposite. He was sometimes stubborn, often kind to a fault, and increasingly bore a radical trust in God’s Providence – dangerously so, in the estimation of many.

So why was he so loved by his Brothers and by many others? Why does he continue to fascinate us, inspire us, and draw us forward in our ministry? I can only conclude that his human adventure, as it is reflected in his story and in his written works, bears eloquent testimony to the important things that draw us all forward. It opens the curtain just a bit to that which lays behind the Gospel story, if we but pay attention and step into it, as he did. His story, boring in some parts and dramatic in others – as was that of Jesus – invites us to touch that same living mystery, to live in and towards the ongoing mystery of God's presence in our midst, to meander quietly among local paths and make the ever-pregnant mystery of God alive for others.

How can you play pinball when that adventure awaits?

A Lost/Last Brother in Florida

During this last week I've been in St. Augustine, Florida, where LASSCA (Lasallian Association of Secondary School Chief Administrators) and the RCCB (Regional Conference of Christian Brothers) had their meetings, which I attended to give a workshop, a short talk, and also a regional vocation ministry report to the Visitors. The place is a sort of Santa Fe / Carmel combination, with the Atlantic on one side and a whole lot of flat land, filled with tropical-like vegetation, on the other; plus the warm weather to match. During our time here and at this time of year, it was quite nice, especially when compared to other parts of the country. There even was a chance to take a walking tour of the city, primarily featuring the contributions to the city by one Henry Morrison Flagler, the Bill Gates of his day, whose fancy 19th century hotel is now Flagler College.

The thing that was really surprising and memorable, however, was the discovery that the Brothers had been here from 1859 until 1864, when the Civil War led to their departure. Plus, it was said, there was a Brother buried in the old Catholic cemetery somewhere around here. And so during a brief respite from our meetings, Br. Tim Coldwell, Br. Larry Schatz and I set out for a walk-about and eventually found the old Catholic cemetery, closed in 1884 and now called the Tolomato cemetery, because it was located on the site of the original Tolomato Indian village. It was surrounded by a significant fence topped by barbed wire. Apparently, the place had become quite the destination for an evening visit, perhaps by one of the many "ghost walks" that were advertised along the tourist lanes of the town, and so the cemetery was made inaccessible except for every 3rd Saturday when docents would be present.

While Larry was quite willing to jump the fence, we persuaded him to desist and instead stopped by the Catholic cathedral downtown. Walking into the small bookshop inside, we introduced ourselves as Christian Brothers to the ladies behind the counter, and one of them exclaimed: "I wrote you guys a couple of years ago!" She was one of the cemetery's docents and had written to tell us about the grave of the Brother who was buried there. Finding out that we would only be there another day, she contacted the lady with the key to the cemetery and a couple of hours later Tim and I were at the cemetery for a 45-minute tour of the place, complete with a full history. Of the 1000 of so people buried there, only 105 headstones remain, one of which is the one for Br. Louis Gonzaga, aged 35 years and 9 months, who died on July 17th, 1861, and whose headstone was "Erected by the Catholics of the city of St. Augustine as a Tribute of respect for the memory of" him.

Elizabeth, the cemetery guide, also told us about a Sister Thomas Joseph at the Sisters of Saint Joseph convent in town, who wrote a history about their order in the area and who had written about the Brothers who had been there as well. So on the following day, prior to our meetings, I wandered my way over to the convent, rang the bell at 8:15 AM, and ended up spending some 20 minutes with the 84-year-old nun. At the end of our visit, she provided me with a copy of her book. The information in it about the Brothers is sketchy but precious.

The Brothers' house was located on the edge of the Sisters' present property, "where the dumpsters are now", and the Sisters lived in that house for about ten years after the Brothers had left. Apparently there were three Brothers, thought to have come from New Orleans, although Br. Tim Coldwell (the Visitor of the NOSF District) can't quite figure out how that could have been possible, since the NOSF District was officially started later than 1859. Or perhaps they had come from Canada. Elizabeth and Sister Thomas Joseph couldn't understand why they hadn't gone to Savannah instead (a couple of hours away), but Tim and I think that it's because the bishop of the area had come from Le Puy in France, where both the Brothers and the Sisters of St. Joseph had been located. Certainly the bishop would have invited the orders he had known from his home town and located them in the place with the greatest concentration of Catholics.

Once the Civil War began, according to Elizabeth, the Brothers took their boarders to Jacksonville in order to put them on a train back to the Northeast, from whence they had come, and in Jacksonville they stayed with a gentleman "of the Protestant persuasion" - according to

the records, although which records I don't know - whom they impressed with their piety. There's precious little else that we know about it all. But I think it's all quite fascinating.

So consider this entry as a bit of history, boring or exciting depending on your point of view. Here we have a Brother who was relatively lost to history, except in the memory of those whose lives he had touched and who erected a headstone as a tribute of respect. A last and lasting memorial.

It seems that age brings a greater appreciation of history, especially when you find a little informational gem like this in an unexpected place like St. Augustine. Sort of makes you wonder what other gems are lying about in our lives, all within reach but for the want of curiosity. Reminds me of the title of a little favorite book of mine, the collected gems from the writings of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, entitled "I Asked for Wonder."

What more could you want?

Our Lady of Lourdes

Today the church celebrates Mary, the mother of Jesus, and her appearance to 14-year-old Bernadette Soubirous in Lourdes, France, on this day in 1858. Much has been written about these events, and like most publicly fantastic events there is a wide range of opinion as to the veracity of some or all of the details. But to my mind, little of that matters.

The point is not found in the details of the event but rather is to be found in the details of the reactions. The event is history, in the past, gone except for the memory. What remains - more clear to some and less clear to others - are the effects of the event, primarily found in such ephemeral things as recollection, imagination, attitude, context, faith, and feelings. Yet in many ways, such things are the more important pieces, if we really think about it for a minute. It's as if God trusts us to be able to respond in ways that will move us forward in our relationship with Him and with each other.

This idea is one that Anthony Bloom brilliantly explains in a short video (one of the only ones of him that I've found) where he answers a question about suffering for the BBC.

The point is that the same is true of Mary and her role in our life, our history, and the Church's history. In her, we have one who is like us in almost every way that we might imagine. And she is a wonderful model, in the details of what she did and how she did it, of how we might also respond to God's direction in our life. She was open to God's guidance, responded in the best way she knew how, and trusted that God would show her the way each day. Nobody told her that it was easy; but she knew that it was good.

De La Salle says that "she is indeed a star which enlightens, guides, and leads us to a harbor in the stormy sea of this world... She will enlighten you and help you know God's will for you because she shares in the light of Jesus Christ her son." (Med 164.1)

This morning, at Mass in the Provincialate Community, and during the Our Father, I looked up and was literally blinded by the sun streaming into the chapel window shown above, the one of the Annunciation. The sun was streaming in through her face and struck me full on. After being taken aback, I took out my iPhone and took a quick picture (below). I don't quite know what to make of it - the historical event - but I sure was touched by it and continue to reflect on its effects in me - like a seed in my soul.

No need to be overly dramatic about it. But there's a quiet depth here that won't easily or quickly go away. And I imagine that this is the case for many of God's actions in our lives: quiet, deep, and full of potential (by us).

Prayer & Stress Management

"What good does it do to pray?", people ask. "There's nothing practical that can come from it; you're just deceiving yourself." This must sound familiar to those among us who work with young adults, or high school kids, or who have friends that have lives filled with self, stuff, and stress.

And actually it's not a bad question. There are those who wouldn't even bother with the question, dismissing prayer and the spiritual life outright. As it is, the capacity to ask the question reveals a potential for hearing the answer. You can only "get" answers to the questions that you have, not to the questions that you don't have.

This afternoon I read an article on "Psychospiritual Stress Management." The key to dealing with stress, according to the author, is hardiness or resilience, defined as "Being committed to finding meaningful purpose in life, the belief that one can influence one's surroundings and the outcome of events, and the belief that one can learn and grow from both positive and negative life experiences." Such beliefs lead to active coping measures and the perception of difficult situations as less threatening, even as learning opportunities.

For those with belief, spirituality is part of the coping process. "As spiritual beings, the act of finding meaning in adversity, of facing difficulties with courage, becomes a spiritual endeavor." I can't help but to think of the saints, and especially St. John Baptist de La Salle, when I read those words. From the time that he made a commitment to the education of the young, especially the poor, stress flew at him from all directions - opposition, disappointment, lawsuits, failure, physical pains, abandonment, and so on. Yet despite all that, or perhaps because of and through it, he grew into a spiritual giant, with enough resilience for ten people, with enough resilience to lead his Brothers for some forty years. And at the end? As he lay dying and the Director asked him whether he accepted his sufferings, he said: "Yes, I adore God working through all the events and circumstances of my life." The more difficult things became, the more resilient De La Salle became. Not in a weird, self-deceptive, or pie-in-the-sky-when-I-die way. Just the opposite. As he engaged real life, dealt with the challenges, and responded as positively and faith-filled as he was able to, the depths of that life opened up to him in ways that most of us probably cannot fully appreciate. It's one of those things that you just have to do in order to understand - like getting married, or joining religious life, or even as simple as doing something good for the person in front of you. Jumping into something with faith, with others, with resilience, makes for a whole new definition of success. De La Salle is pretty good proof that a spiritual life context is transformative, really and practically.

Research seems to support this. Recently, a study of men over 55 who had heart surgery showed that 25 percent of them died in the six months following the surgery if they had no social support and no religious beliefs, as opposed to 4 percent of those who reported both social support and strength from religious belief. In addition, there was a 25 percent "reduction in mortality associated with church/service attendance after adjustment for established risk factors such as healthy lifestyle, social support and depression."

One only has to look to Viktor Frankl's observations during World War II for confirmation. He saw that survival in the concentration camps "was based on finding meaning in the suffering. He noted pointedly that, when a prisoner lost faith in his future, he seemed to lose his spiritual grip and to sink into a psychological and physical state of decompensation." Frankl wrote that "Among those who actually went through the experience of Auschwitz, the number of those whose religious life was deepened - in spite of, not because of, this experience - by far exceeds the number of those who gave up their belief."

Paying attention to one's inner life, to what's going on during the quiet times, is eminently practical, especially when things are tough. You have to feed the soul. Our grandparents could have probably told us that. But by the time you discover something like this, you also realize that people have to learn it for themselves, and the best thing you can do is to lovingly support them as they do so. Sounds like God work.

What good does it do to pray? More than we can possibly imagine.

Really!