Let me begin with an apology for having neglected writing on this site for over a year; I guess that happens often enough...people start things, run with them for a while, then lose zeal for the task. So let's begin again...
I have now been residing in Cuenca, Ecuador for about 20 months, mostly tending to our flock of Catholic expats by offering them Sunday Mass as well as ocassional anointings of the sick, confessions, and helping us build a strong and familiar community. But I have also been a willing participant in more and more Ecuadorian liturgies. Several times a month, I preside at small indigenous community Masses in the outskirts of the city, which I love doing because of the humility of the places we gather, so far from the ornate colonial churches of the city, and even more by the inspiring devotion of the people themselves. I also am being asked to help out some of the priests here when they are on vacation or traveling elsewhere so both in our "home parish" of San Francisco de Asis and in a few others, I sub in for the pastors at their regularly scheduled Masses.
Yesterday, was one of those days. Our pastor at the Iglesia de San Francisco, Padre Joffre, asked me to cover his 4:00 pm Sunday Mass, which I was happy to do for him while he is in Quito for an international Eucharistic Congress being held there this week. The church was full, (not a North American in sight), and so with two young monaguillos (altar servers) leading the way, we entered the sanctuary and began as always, En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo... The nervous part for me always is the homily; preaching in Spanish takes three times the energy that it does in English and even as I am speaking, I am hearing my mistakes in grammer and find myself searching my vocabulary banks for the right word for this or that thought. Somehow, they understand me and I appreciate their great attention to my reflection on the Gospel story, even with its linguistic hiccups.
The Gospel yesterday (23rd Sunday, Year B) was taken from the seventh chapter of Mark and tells the story of Jesus' healing of a deaf-mute man. I adapted my English homily from the morning to a quite different culture, and mostly did it on the fly even as I was speaking. I emphasized that this was not just another miracle for Jesus, but an encounter of great intimacy between him and the deaf and mute man. Jesus' healing of the fellow was a gift to him of his own spit, his own spirit, his own breath, his own word, his very being. In less than fifteen minutes, I had wrapped up the homily, breathed a sigh of relief, and continued with the rest of the liturgy. I used the Fourth Eucharistic Prayer for Special Needs and Ocassions because of its tender portrayal of Jesus that seemed so appropriate to the Gospel story: He always showed compassion for children and for the poor, for the sick and for sinners, and he became a neighbor to the oppressed and the afflicted. After the Lord's Prayer and the Lamb of God, I proceeded to the nave of the church to distribute Holy Communion to the community. The body of the church typically comes alive at that moment in a swelling kind of way as the people rise, move towards the central aisle then liquidly flow towards the front to receive, one after another after another. I try to focus on each of them, making eye contact if possible, trying to say the words with the intention they deserve: Cuerpo de Cristo. Cuerpo de Cristo, Cuerpo de Cristo... Amén, Amén, Amén. Those faces I see in that moment are a vision into humanity in all its complexity: children, teens, parents, elderly, very elderly. Wealthy, poor, very poor. Healthy, infirm, very infirm, and those many clearly just broken down by the burdens of extremely difficult lives. It is beautiful. One after another after another after another....
And so it goes until one face suddenly appears from the clumsy file of folks coming forward; it is the face of a very old woman, small of stature, bent of spine, slow in step, unbalanced to the point of falling over except for the supporting arm of a daughter or granddaughter to which she holds tightly. She lifts her head slightly towards me and then I see it. Her face is disfigured by a large flabby fold of skin, a tumor perhaps, hanging down from her forehead, covering her right eye, and resting loosely on her cheek. Then I see the other: a similar fold hanging off her left jowel. It is startling to see and my first unthinking reaction is revulsion. But there she is looking up at me with clear and perstistent desire to be nourished this day by the body of her Jesucristo. She has worked hard to get up here and her face says it all: just give! Presenting the host to her, I say: Corpus Cristi. Her amén is clotted by age and infirmity, but it is firm. She opens her mouth and on her tongue I place the host, her daily bread, her pan de vida. Her saliva slightly dampens my fingertips. That initial revulsion is by now long gone and I am sorry for it and it does not return as a bit of her spit is given to me. This is now the very person in today's Gospel whose ears are touched by Jesus so that he might hear, and his tongue anointed with Jesus' spit so that he might speak...his very life turned new by Jesus' compassion, healed so that they he might have at least a small taste of the Kingdom of God in this rough world of ours. The woman with the bumpy face turns away sated and on the arm of her daughter or granddaughter hobbles back the way she came, slowly, unbalanced, bent over by life, disappearing finally into the People of God, the Body of Christ.
Even before the next face came forward, I realized, it was not I who touched her tongue with my spit as Jesus had with Mark's mute; it was she who touched me with hers, and with it, her spirit, her breath, her word, her graced face. She was Jesus to me and I, as evidenced by my initial revulsion, was the burdened and broken one being made whole. In just the briefest of moments, this very old lady with the bumpy face opened my ears, untangled my tongue, and gave me a small taste of the Kingdom of God in this rough world of ours. She was el Cuerpo de Cristo given to me. Amén.
(The audio of my Sunday homilies, including this past Sunday's on the deaf-mute, are available elsewhere on this website.)
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