Como Hijos y Hijas de Mismo Padre – The privilege of being with the poor.

When I told one of my friends that I would be in Peru in one of the Vicariates of the Amazon this summer, I remember her sharing how, in places like these, the voice of the Lord is so clear. I can say that this is true here in Santa Clotilde in the Peruvian Amazon, as well as from my little experiences in the past on being on mission. The voice of the Lord is so clear here in prayer, in the people, in the Amazon River, and in the surrounding nature. I can look out and immediately recognize the Lord speaking to me here. I have thought about this - Why is the voice of the Lord so clear here? What is unique about these places? I recall thinking in the past it was probably my disposition in other places that made the Lord’s voice not so clear – meaning I thought it was something in my own disposition that made the Lord’s gentle voice so clear in some places and not so clear in others.

Parochia Nuestra Señora de Ascuncion

There are many things I have loved while being here, but the experience of Sunday Mass has been so beautiful. The parish here, Nuestra Senora de la Ascension, is literally a large rectangular shed. On Sundays here in Santa Clotilde, there is no electricity until the evening. So, the parish has solar power for Sunday Mass to run one speaker and two microphones. The choir microphone is shared with the lectors; the other is for the priest. There is no electricity for lights. The Franciscan order runs the parish. One of the experiences that stays with me during Sunday Mass is when right before the Our Father. The priest says, “Como Hijos y Hijas de Mismo Padre,” let us call upon Him and pray - leading to a chant of Our Father. And as we chant/sing Our Father, the chorus fills the church precisely as sons and daughters of the same Father.

Parochia Nuestra Señora de Ascuncion

This past Sunday, as the priest said, "Como Hijos y Hijas de Mismo Padre” I remember being moved to tears. For a while, I didn’t know why this overwhelming emotion was within me. Later, as I prayed about this experience, the Lord gently helped me unfold this experience. The experience of overwhelming emotion was me realizing how Christ holds the people of Santa Clotilde so close to his heart. These are His people – Christ knows their suffering and joys, sickness and hopes, dreams and tragedies, and in all of this, He is so close to them. In a way, the Church, through her preferential option for the poor, expresses this sentiment. I believe in my experience of Sunday Mass here; I was able to encounter this closeness and intimacy of Christ with those he holds closest to his heart. In me being with the people here, I encounter the same closeness of Christ with his people. Through this experience, I encounter Christ’s affection for His people and how he keeps these people so close to his heart. In me being present here with the people of Santa Clotilde, I have become one of those children whom he holds so close to his heart. This is the privilege of being with the people of Peruvian Amazon; this is the privilege of being with the poor; this is why the voice of God is so clear among the people here because these are the people whom he holds closest to His heart – Como Hijos y Hijas de Mismo Padre.

As Christians called to missionary discipleship, our closeness with the poor is integral to our identity. Our closeness with those considered least expresses Christ's closeness with those he considers so dear to him. In living this out, we also realize how close Christ holds each of us to his heart. This is the privilege we all experience when being with those considered least in society. In each of our encounters with the poor, the sick, the suffering, the elderly, and the forgotten, we each have been given this privilege to experience this unrelenting love of the Father for His children whom He holds so close to His heart and thus for each one of us as well. One way we can rekindle and be intentional about living out this privilege is through building a culture of encounter. Very early in his papacy, and numerous other times, Pope Francis has spoken about being builders of a culture of encounter.[1] Drawn from the very actions of Jesus, in the culture of encounter, we are intentional about who the person in front of us is. This intentionality is realized through our senses, actions, and words. In a culture of encounter, we do not just hear but listen; we do not just talk but speak; we do not just look but see, and through all this, we see, listen, and speak to the person as Christ. In a culture of encounter, I am aware of the privilege of who is in front of me, a person Christ holds so close to his heart, whether that’s the poor, the sick, the suffering, the elderly, the homeless, or those forgotten by society. For me, I know that in the patients I see, in the pastoral visits I make here, and in my daily encounters with the people I meet here, I can fall into the trap of making it a task to be accomplished. But in the culture of encounter – I look into the person's eyes, listen to not just his words but his heart, touch his hand, and ask his name. This allows me to realize the privilege of who I am with and recognize the love that Christ has for each person. In doing so, I realize how much Christ loves me as well. The culture of encounter allows me to see the person in front of me not as an object of a disease but as a subject of an illness. The culture of encounter helps me conceive the burden of the illness that the person is carrying, allowing me to be with them in their burden just as Christ would. However, this culture of encounter requires concrete gestures. Whether that be intentional actions of listening or empathy or any other gestures, these gestures every day allow us to be promoters and builders of a culture of encounter. These small acts of love everyday help the other person realize their inherent dignity and value, as well as ours – Como Hijos y Hijas de Mismo Padre.

I recently read about St. Francis of Assisi’s encounter with a leper right before his conversion, of how he moved toward him and touched his wounds instead of riding away on his horse from the leper. What happened when he moved towards the leper and touched his wounds? We don't know all the details of that experience, but we know shortly after St. Francis had his conversion. I believe at this moment, as St. Francis drew close to the leper, touched him, and embraced the person in front of him, St. Francis encountered Christ’s unrelenting love for the leper and, through that encounter, Christ's love for himself. The meeting of St. Francis with the leper is the transformation that happens in the culture of encounter, in moving towards the leper, in seeing him and touching him– Indifference is transformed into love. In the culture of encounter, we become aware of the person in front of us is, how close they are to Christ, and thus how close Christ holds each of us to his heart – Como Hijos y Hijas de Mismo Padre!




[1] Pope Francis, Morning Meditation, For a Culture of Encounter, Domus Sanctae Marthae, Vatican. Sept 13, 2016. https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/cotidie/2016/documents/papa-francesco-cotidie_20160913_for-a-culture-of-encounter.html

Pathways to Hope

Santa Clotilde is a town of around 4000- 5000 people. Located in the northern part of Peru, along the Rio Napo, Santa Clotilde falls within the jurisdiction of the Apostolic Vicariate of San Jose de Amazonas. Within Peru, there are eight Apostolic Vicariates for the Amazon region*[1] One of the eight Vicariates in Peru is San Jose de Amazonas. (I hope this gives an idea of how vast the Amazon region is). The Vicariate of San Jose de Amazonas has 21 mission sites/posts (www. Sanjosedelamazonas.org). One of the mission posts within the Vicariate/Diocese is Santa Clotilde. These 21 are established missions by the Catholic Church of the Vicariate here. Santa Clotilde is one such established mission post. The Amazon region's vastness, marvelousness, and beauty make it so unique. Along with this vastness and beauty comes its own challenges. Coming here made me understand the wisdom of the Church in having a Synod just for the Amazon region. The Church in the Amazon, just like the region, is extensive and beautiful, but its immensity presents its own pastoral and practical challenges. Reaching from one end of the Diocese/Vicariate of San Jose de Amazonas to another will probably take 4-5 days by boat. There is a hospital here in Santa Clotilde, but the next major hospital is 9 hours by boat one way. (You travel by boat everywhere in the Amazon.) Santa Clotilde is probably the only hospital in the other direction for the next 14 hours. Therefore, the patients you see here come from different parts of the region to seek attention.

This past week, I had the unique experience of encountering this. In my outpatient consultation, I had one older woman in her 60s who traveled one day by boat to be seen by a physician because she had been having chronic abdominal pain. Another lady, 70 years old and half blind, came with her family after walking for 2 hours because she had been having an intense rash on her back. When I asked them where they were from and heard that I had traveled a day to be here or walked two hours to be seen by a physician – I didn’t know what to say. Sometimes, you get stuck and run blank when you hear certain things. This was one such moment. As I tried to continue the conversation, I remember thinking of the different things we take for granted or the privilege of being where I am. It also made me think about how I respond in these situations. What is my calling or response to the person in front of me who has traveled a day or walked 2 hours to be seen by me? I know I don’t deserve this, but this is the situation I am in.

Recently, a kind and gentle-hearted friend reminded me of one of Br. Roger of Taizé’s last writing, “Pathways to Hope,” which is about how hope is – what is but is not yet. I remember praying about my encounters with these two patients and thinking, what was it like for their travel? What were her thoughts as she traveled for a day in a boat to be seen by a physician? What was the mother thinking about as she walked for 2 hours? Their journey, both physical and emotional, deserves our utmost respect. But why did they take all this effort? Is it just the physical suffering to be alleviated that made them travel all this way? I don’t know. But I think maybe something that allowed them to journey forward, to keep going, to take all this effort is hope. A hope that there is something more to my life than the physical suffering that I am going through, a hope that there is much more to life than a long-standing abdominal pain and an intense rash, a hope that I am longing to be healed, a hope of what is but is not yet. This is not a drive from within or sheer willpower. This is Hope, a theological virtue that God gives to us.

During my time here, the accompaniment of the Holy Family has been close to my heart. I was reminded how the journey to Bethlehem must have been filled with uncertainty. Questions like where would they rest in between? Or where they would finally find a place to stay? must have been running through the minds of Joseph and Mary. But what kept them going? The promise of an Angel and a dream allowed them to begin a journey, but what sustained their journey, the road which they traveled on, was a pathway to hope of what is but is not yet. I believe all of us, in a way, are led forward every day by this pathway to hope. It's not something we create; it's not something that can be willed. Hope is something that is given to us. If it was willed or made, I believe it would dry out or change, but this hope given to each human person cannot be taken away or removed. It can be evoked or dampened, but it cannot be taken away.

The journey of these two patients and the Holy Family made me realize the hope given to each of us, including myself. Each patient encounter can be a place where I can awaken hope in the person in front of me. Therefore, my response to these patients must be to acknowledge their hope- not just sympathize or feel bad for the person in front of me. The patient in front of me is here to be healed, not just here to receive my sympathies. Every encounter with a patient is an opportunity to evoke this hope given to them, that their bodies and souls are meant to be healed. As a physician, my actions, thoughts, words, and deeds play a crucial role in arousing this hope. How I respond to each patient in front of me makes a significant difference. With each encounter, through my chosen actions, I can empower the person in front of me to continue on their pathway to hope. Through their lives and witnesses, the two women I encountered opened a path to hope for me by helping me realize the hope given to us. In our calling as missionary disciples, choosing to bring the joy of the gospel every day to the people around us, we can ask ourselves how we can make each encounter a place to awaken the hope given to us.

*[1] The geographical region of the Amazon region includes Brazil, Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador, Guyana, Peru, Surinam, Venezuela, and the territory of French Guyana. This eight vicariates of the Amazon in Peru do not include other geographical areas, but only those in Peru

The Fragrance of Christ

This past week, I had the opportunity to visit the house of one of our patients here in Santa Clotilde for home visits. The visits were inspired by the local sisters of St. Camilus and another vibrant missionary physician, Dr. Andrew Vincent, who wanted to see how we could best care for this one patient. The patient developed wounds and sores on her back after being bedridden. The patient, a teenage child, has been bedridden for many years after a fatal accident. Although she can talk, she needs complete assistance with everything else.

For the past week, the patient has been having home visits to change the wound dressings that have developed due to being bedridden. The first time I visited the house was in the afternoon. Usually, in Santa Clotilde, there is no electricity in the afternoons. So, as I walked into the dark house, along with Dr. Andrew, we were greeted by the mother. The house has just two rooms with a kitchen. A very humble home, to say the least. As we were led to the patient's room, I could barely see anything as the patient lay in a dark room on the bed. There was a window, but scarcely any light was coming through it. As we began to do the dressing changes with a couple of flashlights and trying to keep the environment sterile, all the smells started to hit me. The smell of the wounds, urine, feces, the smell of our sweat, all of it began to hit me. I could barely keep myself together to get through this. I said a prayer and kept going.

I remember the next day, Sunday, I was able to assist during Mass at the Parish as an altar server. The parish is pretty bare-bones in terms of what it has. One of the tasks of the altar server is to hold the microphone for the priest during the Eucharistic Prayer (as there is no mic stand). I love the sacraments and always love being close to the altar, so I was happy to help with this. As the priest elevated the host and said “Tomen y coman todos de él, porque esto es mi cuerpo, que será entregado por ustedes.”. I looked at the Eucharist and heard, “My body was in the house you visited yesterday.” These words, which I could hear as a whisper in my ear, moved my heart.

In Baptism, Confirmation, and Ordination, we receive the Chrism oils. The oils are intentional with their fragrance. The fragrance of the perfumed oil signifies the sweetness and the newness of the person that comes with encountering Christ in the Sacraments. The oil stays on your skin, unlike water. It doesn’t flow off; it sticks to your skin. The fragrance marks the person and signifies a distinctness or uniqueness. In the sacraments, the more we use our senses, the more we dwell on the fragrances, the more we draw closer to what is unseen through the fragrance. It is through the smell of the Chrism oil in the Sacraments that we see what the fragrance means, whether that be a new person in Christ, the gifts and sealing of the Holy Spirit, or the fragrance of the person being set apart for Christ undividedly. This is essentially the sacramental principle of St. John Henry Newman. The more we engage in the material world of what is seen, the more we can encounter the immaterial of things unseen.

As I walked into the house again on Sunday with Dr. Andrew (who is overjoyed to see this child daily), I walked, remembering what Christ spoke to me during Mass – This is my body. As a Catholic physician, you know this; it’s part of your calling. You know that Christ is present in every patient you see. But to believe this and encounter this every day in every patient is a grace. We walked into the room and began dressing changes. As the smells of urine and feces hit me, I remembered Christ again telling me – This is my body. To embrace the body of Christ in front of me is to embrace everything that comes with the body: the smells, the touch, the wounds, the dressings, and the sight of everything in front of me. As I embraced everything in front of me with the help of incredible grace and prayer, I could see how it was Christ in me who allowed me to take care of the patient in front of me. The fragrance I experience of the person in front of me is the fragrance of Christ himself, who himself aches to be cared for and loved. This was another beautiful revelation for me; it was not just that Christ himself was in front of me, but he longed to be loved by me. He desired that I love him and that I love him with my hands, my touch, and my senses. In doing so, Christ is overjoyed, and I experience the joy of encountering Christ. It is this longing for Christ to be loved that draws me to Christ in the sick and the suffering and the poor and the forgotten.

As I continue to be with this child, there are so many thoughts that come to mind, whether it be empathy for the child or the things I take for granted, like being able to move around by myself and not depend on others or even the place and house I live in. I don’t have an answer to why this patient and not me? Or why did God allow this to happen? But all I know is that as a Church, as a missionary disciple, we are called to love the life of the child in front of us. To love the child is to embrace the sight, smell, and touch of encountering the child in front of me.