What I Saw in Haiti: Chapter 5

What on Earth are We Doing Here?

Having arrived in Beau-Sejour, we were warmly welcomed with a wonderful meal of Creole cooking: fried chicken, plantain chips, caseroles of corn, potato, beets, peas, and other good things, and ice cold Coca-Cola, and beer. Everything was fantastic! Well, except the beer. They gave us Colt .45, which is American beer. It wasn't until later that they unleashed their award-winning "Prestige" Haitian beer--which was wonderful! I guess they were worried we wouldn't be able to handle it! After our welcoming lunch, our exhausted troupe took a siesta to recover from our long climb and proceeded to unpack.

Beau-Sejour is a remote mountain community. "Village" would be almost too generous a term. Throughout the mountains there are little huts and "gardens" that are almost like vertical farms, planted down the side of the mountain. All around are gorgeous vistas and Edenic scenery. The poverty of the residents of Beau-Sejour isn't like the poverty of homeless beggars in the inner city. These people are "poor" in the sense that they don't have running water, or proper toilets, or cable television. But they have food, if not in gluttonous abundance, and they have shelter. In fact, thanks in part to our parish's help, everyone's home had been rebuilt, except for Père Ronal's rectory and the Church itself, as well as the various schools. Père Ronal's rectory was under construction when we arrived. I'll talk more about the Church in my next chapter.

The strangest sight, I think, were the cell phones. It seemed everyone had a cell phone, and the Haitians are very proud of them. People would be walking around without shoes, but they had a cell phone. I suppose everyone needs their toys, and a cell phone would be a particularly useful thing in a remote mountain community where your closest neighbour might otherwise be an hour's walk. Nevertheless, it was often a startling juxtaposition.

Fr. Bill and Nassrin, being the priest and the only woman on the trip, were afforded relatively comfortable lodgings in Père Ronal's temporary rectory, while Dan, Mark, Michael our translator, and myself slept in a very large tent out behind the Church. This location did afford us close proximity to the one structure that our church helped build in Beau-Sejour that was not damaged in the earthquake: the washroom. I said earlier that the people of Beau-Sejour don't have running water--at least, not plumbing in the conventional North American sense. They trap rainwater in large reservoirs which also act as filters, and are tapped. Water is then carried to wherever it is needed. Carried, on the heads of the people! That itself is a sight to see: an elderly woman carrying a gallon of water on her head, without spilling, over rocky terrain, without adequate footwear, as if the water hardly weighed more than a couple pounds! When us young, strapping men had to carry our own water, on occasion, holding the buckets by their handles, and trying to nearly drag them up the hill from the reservoir to the bigger barrel outside the washroom, I can only imagine what was going through the minds of the locals! «Les blancs sont foux!»

The larger barrel, into which we dumped the water carried by us with such indignity, and by the Haitians with such grace, was used for washing and for flushing the toilet. One had to dump a pail of water into the toilet after its use to flush the contents down a pipe and out down the mountainside. It also wetted our toothbrushes, and theoretically, at least, was used to "shower", or, at least, to dump on top of us in lieu of showering. However, this didn't happen as such, at least not for the guys. Turns out, it rains every afternoon, and by rain, I mean, that being up in the mountains, the clouds rolled in around you, and then sort of "erupted" right above your heads. So it provided a nice effective shower!

When one enters "downtown" Beau-Sejour, after passing a few homes just outside of town, one enters into something of an archway and a low wall--at least, we entered the remains thereof--into a patch of level ground. It's more or less the highest point of "Beau-Sejour" proper, and as such, the Church is there at the back end of this level area. Well, what's left of St. Gabriel, anyway--bamboo posts holding up a large tin roof with some metal posts on the interior, and tarps strung up as "walls". Out behind the church, as I mentioned, was our tent and the washroom. The level area drops off sharply just beyond our tent with a wall of sorts, and right below was the framework of Père Ronal's new rectory. Out front of the Church, on the other end of this level area, was the clinic that St. Margaret Mary parish had helped to build, and which housed the medical and dental mission teams that we sent down. The earthquake, however, had entirely destroyed this building, and what was still standing was doing so quite precariously. Between the old clinic and the remains of the Church is a downward sloping hill of loose rock and earth, about four or five people wide, surrounded by banana trees and other thick vegetation (all around us was "jungle" it seemed). At the bottom of the hill was Père Ronal's current home, with his housekeeper and family, and the nurse from Léogane who tried to look after the needs of the people. It acted as a bit of a hub for the community. On the other side of the lane was the "Boutique", which was a sort of general store from which you could buy chips, candy, beer, and anything else you needed, which the proprietor "imported" from Léogane or Port-au-Prince. It too was the centre of life for the residents of Beau-Sejour. Further down the lane were more homes, and well off on the opposite hillside were the Petit Frères de Ste. Thérèse, whom I mentioned in a previous chapter. Surrounding all of this were steep slopes into luscious valleys, which would have been even more lush had they not been stripped of their trees. As it is, they're fighting to produce vegetation again despite the soil erosion caused by the denuding. In spite of this environmental reality, Beau-Sejour is a beautiful place.

As I mentioned, our purpose for going was ostensibly to teach First Aid. I say "ostensibly" because only Nassrin was actually equipped to teach it (and it's probably something of a stretch to suggest that anyone else on the team even knows First Aid!) So while Nassrin was able to get down to business, working out with Père Ronal the hows and the whos of the rest of the week, and began teaching on Saturday morning, Fr. Bill, Dan, Mark, and I were left wondering just what it was that we were supposed to do. We couldn't help teach First Aid. We weren't construction workers. We couldn't help build Père Ronal's rectory. We didn't have proper equipment to help demolish the damaged clinic and other buildings. To make matters worse, our translator, Michael, was helping Nassrin teach, so we could hardly even communicate!

I was discussing our dilemma with Fr. Bill, and I said, "I don't even know what I'm doing here anymore. What do I have to contribute? Nassrin is teaching First Aid. What do I do? I draw pictures!" Fr. Bill stopped and said, without missing a beat, "Why don't you do that?" I replied, "That counts as 'doing something'?" Father simply answered, "Why not?" He'd hit on the real reason we'd come--not to teach First Aid or to build buildings, but primarily to build relationships--and he saw my art as one very good means of doing so. So I ran back to the tent and got my sketchpad, and moseyed down to the Boutique, pulled up a chair across from the few villagers lounging under the veranda out front, and began to draw them. This, of course, drew their attention, and they tried to figure out just what I was doing. A few walked over to see my work, and started laughing and pointing (which is always good for one's self-esteem, when someone laughs at you in another language!) I understand people enough, thankfully, to know that they weren't laughing at me, but with joyous wonder, saying "Look! That looks just like Tijor!" Once everyone had caught on, they began asking me to draw specific people's portraits, of which I had time and opportunity to draw two (after all, despite their desire to be drawn, their desire to sit still and let me draw them was significantly diminished). So I drew the portraits of a lovely woman named Anite, and her daughter L'ovlis, which is actually pronounced "lovely". This was on top of the initial sketch of the Boutique's veranda, seated in which were old Tijor, already mentioned, as well as two youths, Willie and Pierre-Renaud, who eagerly inscribed their names (and ages) beside their likenesses. While I gave Anite's and L'ovlis' portraits to them, I kept this initial sketch of Tijor, Willie, and Pierre-Renaud as a souvenir of my own. It was, after all, the thing that I could do, which broke the language barrier and made us even more than family--it made us friends. And that friendship led to other wonderful events later on in our stay. But for those stories, you, dear reader, will have to wait.

We've gotten through Saturday so far. Up next, Sunday and Mass in Haiti! After which followed perhaps the scariest part of our journey, and, for some of us, our lives. Stay tuned!

Angels (Commissioned Painting)

Well, crap--when I was posting Tulips, it seems when I copy-pasted this post for the description, I somehow managed to post the edited Tulips description here inadvertenty, and then saving it! Just noticed it while I was working on the Reconciliation post. So I'll have to try to remember what I had here before the gaffe, and repost a reasonable facsimile...!

What I Saw in Haiti: Chapter 4

Not Exactly the Ascent of Mount Carmel

Having finally made it to Haiti, we were now about to commence our rigourous trek up the mountain--and I was going to learn a lesson in humility.

After two and a half motion-sick hours of insane traffic and death-defying mountain "roads", we arrived at the little settlement of L'Assyle, which was the end of the line for our "tup-tup". Once we had left Port-au-Prince, we stopped briefly at a gas station in Leogane, and picked up Père Ronal's cousin, and our translator for the trip, Michael (which he pronounced Mi-kay-el). Since the five of us were already crammed into the cab of Père Ronal's Hylux, Michael rode in the tail, seated on top of our luggage and holding onto the straps, literally for dear life. He did, however, inform us that his seat was the most comfortable of all of ours, which, after wanting to be ill for most of that journey, I had little trouble believing. This bit of information led us to each take a turn riding in the back on the way back to Port-au-Prince on our way home.

L'Assyle, as I mentioned, was as far as the pick-up could take us, and so we disembarked and prepared for the rest of the hike. All around us gathered curious and friendly Haitians, who unloaded our luggage from the truck and loaded it onto three mules. Then we began our slow, long, and hot ascent the rest of the way to Beau-Sejour.

When you see pictures of Haiti in the news, especially in the time since the earthquake, you end up having a difficult understanding of why this country is called "The Jewel of the Carribean." All one sees, primarily, is the decay and desperation of Port-au-Prince. Outside of that city, however, the beauty of Haiti really takes hold. The name of the country in Creole is "Ayiti", which means "mountainous"--and a more apt name could not be found. Every glance was breathtaking; every view was a vista. Though denuded of its trees, leaving the soil eroded, Haiti's mountains nevertheless had much vegitation, primarily banana trees and bamboo. How much more lush would this tropical paradise have been had previous generations been more environmentally-conscious? Nevertheless, I wore out my fellow-travellers with my continual exclamations of "I want to paint that!"

I already mentioned our three load-bearing companions, but there was a fourth mule who travelled with us. He wasn't for our luggage, but rather for us, if we came to have need of him. After my spell of exhaustion back home exercising with Nassrin (mentioned in the introduction to the last chapter), I was determined to not be the first person who needed the mule. I persevered up the hill on foot, trying to keep myself hydrated, but I could feel the tropical mid-morning beating down on me. I looked behind and realised that Nassrin herself, who had expressed doubts at my fitness to travel in Haiti, had been the first to succumb to the heat and mounted the mule. With smug self-satisfaction, I continued on for about another five minutes when I could feel the effects of the heat, and my pride, take its toll. I thus promptly asked (ordered, really) Nassrin to get off the mule so I could ride it. While she obliged, it was too little, too late. As I rode the mule, I began to feel nauseous. More, my hands began to seize up, and finally, my left leg went completely numb, causing my foot to come free of the stirrup! Père Ronal kept looking back at me and seeing me looking more and more ill, and asking, "Koumon-w ye?" Which is "How are you?" I kept replying, "Pa pi mal," meaning, "Not bad." But when I couldn't even pronounce the "l" in mal any longer, I knew it was getting bad, so I asked to stop in a grove of banana trees and lie down.

This simple request turned out to be more complicated than anticipated. First, when they asked me to dismount, I immediately began to climb off on the right side of the mule, since my right leg still had feeling, and my right foot was still in the stirrup. As soon as I made to go in that direction, a host of Haitians began yelling at me to stop and dismount on the left side (I never did find out why one should not dismount on the right side of a mule). Père Ronal started to guide me off the left side of the mule, and I slid sideways in order to get my left foot onto the ground, while still having my right leg slung over the mule's back! This is an uncomfortable position for a person in good health! Since I had no use of my seized-up hands, this ungraceful dismount caused me to spill my remaining water that I was barely holding on to. Once off the mule, I tried to lie down, to the protest of everyone present. But I didn't care--I had no choice! So I laid down in the red terracotta mud of which Haiti's mountains are composed, and all the concerned Haitians gathered 'round and looked down at me. I'll never forget one older man, concern for me etched in his wrinkled face, as two bright eyes peered at me from below a woollen toque! While I was suffering from heat exhaustion, this man had on Canadian winter-wear!

Nassrin had moved on ahead since my mounting of the mule, and one of the Haitians was quickly sent to bring her back. Meanwhile, blessed Michael began massaging my hands and working the muscles in my legs. When Nassrin rushed back, she nearly panicked at the sight of me on the ground, but kept her cool and instructed Père Ronal to make sure I too was kept cool. Water was brought out and they removed my shirt and soaked it. Then they tied it around my head. After about ten minutes, I had sufficiently recovered enough to resume our trek. One thoughtful Haitian man took his machete and cut bamboo staves for both me and Nassrin. I kept that staff for every hike during our remaining time in Haiti, and would have brought it home with me as a souvenir, but it was too long to pack away in order to get it on the plane. Nevertheless, it came in very handy throughout the week, keeping me from stumbling on the rough, muddy-clay mountainside.

Thankfully, this spell of heat exhaustion did indeed serve to make me stronger. It seems to have sped up the acclimatisation process to the warm tropical weather, because from that point on, the heat never really affected me in any extreme manner, though others on our team had their own difficulties later in the week. It seems a principle of life that suffering can be to our good. Perhaps "whatever doesn't kill me only makes me stronger" is a bit too glib to be a universal law, but there is truth to the adage, "no pain, no gain." The difference is in how we react to it--what we choose to do with the suffering. Had I continued to tough it out and ignore the symptoms, it could possibly have killed me. But being humbled and recognising my weakness and my need, I could accept the help required to recover.

What is true in the physical is equally so in the spiritual realm of life. Life often sucks. Just last night, my car was broken into, my GPS and several CDs were stolen, and I'm out a couple hundred dollars replacing the window. And that is just a small trifle compared with what so many people, like my friends in Haiti, go through every day! When we suffer alone, railing at the heavens in futility, then the devil steals our joy. Spiritually we begin to waste away, to die. But there is an alternative. We must choose to trust in God, to offer our suffering to Him. In so doing, He unites it to the suffering of His Son on the Cross. Our pain takes on a new, redemptive, healing dimension in the lives of others--maybe even others we'll never meet, and never know how our gift has influenced them; maybe our own friends and family. We can waste our suffering, or we can make it fruitful.

And in the end, we'll arrive at the top of that Mountain, just as I arrived with my team in Beau-Sejour.

Coming up, a taste of good ol' southern hospitality, as we meet the community with which St. Margaret Mary had twinned--our brothers and sisters in Christ.

Our Lady of Guadalupe and the Triumph of Life

We interrupt our regular broadcast schedule to bring you some seminal thoughts in honour of the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe

Edit:Added the image of Our Lady, and a comment regarding the title she revealed herself under.

In the December of 1531, the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared to a native convert to Catholicism, named St. Juan Diego, in what is now Mexico City. On the ninth of December, she told him to tell the Bishop that she wanted a church built on the hill where they were (called Tepeyac). The Bishop didn't believe Juan, and dismissed him. On the way home, Our Lady met Juan again, and he related to her what had happened, asking her to send someone else, who was more learned and sophisticated. She replied that while she had many she could ask to do her will, "It is necessary for every reason that you yourself solicit and help." So the next day, St. Juan Diego went to the Bishop again, who again refused to believe him, but, impressed by his forthrightness and simplicity, asked Juan to ask Our Lady for a sign of confirmation. So Juan left the Bishop and again encountered Our Lady on top of Tepeyac hill. He asked for the sign, and she promised him that if he returned the next day, on the 11th, she would provide one for him.

When Juan returned home, however, he found his uncle, Juan Bernardino, deathly ill. He stayed with his uncle the whole next day, but on the twelfth, his uncle sent him to fetch a priest to administer the Last Rites. While Juan was on the way, he remembered Our Lady, and went around Tepeyac seeking to avoid her, not because he didn't wish to complete her task, but because he wanted to take care of his uncle first. The Virgin Mary, however, came down the hill and met him on the way, asking why he had failed to come to her. Having explained about his dying uncle, she assured him that his uncle was already cured of the terminal illness, and sent him to the top of the hill to collect the promised sign. Later, St. Juan Diego would find out that Our Lady appeared to his uncle at that very moment and healed him. She also revealed to Juan Bernardino her title, Our Lady of Guadalupe. Why Guadalupe? Actually, it's a phonetic equivalent in Spanish of the Nahuatl word, Coatlaxopeuh, which means, "I smashed the serpent with the foot," recalling God's promise of redemption in Genesis 3:15.

Mary instructed Juan to go and pick the flowers he would find growing at the top of the hill--and there, in a barren, rocky place, in the dead of winter, he found beautiful Castillian roses growing, roses not native to Mexico, but very familiar to the Spanish bishop. After he had gathered them up, she herself arranged them in his tilma, a mantle made of cactus fibre, and told him not to open the tilma to anyone but the bishop. When he arrived at the bishops house, the servants, tiring of his frequent visits, refused to let him in until he showed them what was in his tilma, but because of Our Lady's instruction, he refused. Finally, the bishop was summoned, and St. Juan opened his tilma, letting the roses fall to the ground. But the miracle didn't end with the roses, for on the tilma was the image of Our Lady as she had appeared to St. Juan Diego. The bishop fell to his knees weeping in remorse for not having believed Juan immediately, and took the tilma to his own private chapel. He commissioned the chapel to be built on Tepeyac, and when it was complete, placed the tilma with the image above the altar. Within ten years of the chapel's construction, nine million natives had converted to Christianity!

This conversion brought about major changes to Mexico. At that time, the natives viewed the Spanish with great distrust, and the Spanish, for their part, had refused to acknowledge that the natives even had real human souls. With the appearance of Our Lady to Juan Diego, hostilities ceased, and peace reigned between the Spanish and the natives, forming a new race of "Mestizo", who still to this day consider Our Lady their Mother. Further, with the natives' conversion to Christianity, their fear-filled religion of human sacrifice was done away with. A culture of death, sacrificing tens of thousands of people to their gods in order that they would be blessed with prosperity, suddenly found themselves in the care of a loving God who Himself provided the only Sacrifice they would need, in His Son.

Now, nearly 500 years later, the cactus-fibre tilma still exists, and the image still is on it. It has survived the elements, accidents, and outright attempts to destroy it (such as a bomb blast by anti-clerical forces in 1921 which decimated the entire church, but the tilma remained intact). Miracles continue to be wrought at the most visited Marian shrine in the world, as healing was worked in the case of Juan Bernardino, and Our Lady continues to reveal that her Son truly is Emmanuel--God-with-us.

The image of Our Lady has been studied repeatedly, and found to have no human explanation. Moreover, there are elements that would have been unthinkable to portray by a human artist--such as the reflection of the bishop and servants in the eyes of Our Lady, as revealed by ophthamological studies. But the image itself is a message, having not simply the image of Our Lady radiating the light of God as Revelation 12 describes, but her garment is covered with Aztec heiroglyphs, among which is the symbol for the infinite, transcendent, all-powerful God, right over her pregnant belly. In other words, the image told the native Mexicans, as it tells us, that Jesus is the Infinite, Transcendant God, but that He loves us and makes Himself intimately Present to us.

Throughout the world, thousands upon thousands of people are brutally and savagely murdered in what should be the safest place in the world for them--all in the name of convenience and prosperity. Similar to that perpetrated by the Spaniards upon the native Mexicans, this mass murder is perpetuated with the excuse that these people aren't really people anyway--that they thus don't have the right to live.

They are the unborn. They are the human sacrificial victims of our culture of death's worship of the gods of lust, convenience, libertarianism, and prosperity. They are the victims of the lying gods whose names are "Freedom" and "Choice"--otherwise known as Moloch and Tláloc.

The children are not the only victims. No one is untouched by this travesty. The mothers, especially, are wounded incredibly. Often the "choice" they make is not a choice at all, but they are pressured by all sorts of sources, be it their husband or boyfriend, their parents, even their workplace. Abortion has been shown to lead to severe depression, reckless behaviour, accidental and violent deaths, and even suicide. The lying gods do not bring "freedom" through "choice", but only repay death for death.

Just as Our Lady crushed the serpent's head, and brought an end to human sacrifice in Mexico, she desires the end of the culture of death rampant in the world today. She calls us continually to turn to her Son in prayer and penance, and to speak out against the culture of death, with the Gospel of Life. Especially during this season of Advent, as we await the Birth of Christ, the Virgin of Guadalupe shows herself as a pregnant Mother, who herself was an unwed pregnant girl in a society where such a scandal could have cost her her reputation, her freedom, even her own life. Yet she gave her Fiat to God, "Let it be unto me according to your word" (Luke 1:38).

We too must respond in faith, hope, and especially love. We are not called simply to defend the unborn, but to aid frightened, hopeless mothers and their families in their distress. The Culture of Life reaches out to everyone at every stage of life, bringing God's promise of hope and help to their lives. We must each do our part to reach out in love to those trapped by the culture of death. Our Lady's words to St. Juan Diego apply to us today, as well: "It is necessary for every reason that you yourself solicit and help."

God bless,
Gregory
The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe

(For a more detailed account of the story of Our Lady of Guadalupe and the miraculous image, click here.)

What I Saw in Haiti: Chapter 3

True Religion...

In the last two chapters, I told you about various aspects of our preparations to travel to Haiti. The only other preparation was exercise, to be able to endure the two-and-a-half hour climb up into the mountains. But since describing taking the ten flights of stairs up to my apartment is rather boring, and can be achieved in this sentence, I'll bypass it and get right into the departure. Although, I suppose Nassrin would accuse me of omitting pertinent, if unflattering, details, if I failed to mention the one time we went hiking and running up a hill in preparation. After tackling the hill for the first time, my rather unfit self began feeling rather nauseous, and later threw up the blue lemonade I'd drank earlier, much to both the concern and the disgust of Nassrin. She feared that I would be completely unfit for the trip for weeks to come, but thankfully, I almost proved her wrong--but that's getting ahead of myself...

When the Earthquake struck Haiti, as with when other disasters befall, such as the flooding in Pakistan this past year, or the Tsunami in 2005, or Hurricane Katrina, or even the events of 9/11, these elicit in us certain responses, and make us ask certain big questions. In the wake of the quake, people tried to find an answer to "why?" On the one hand, many took it as a sign that there was no God, for how could He allow such devastation? Others reacted to this by trying to put a reason in God's mouth. One televangelist proclaimed on his "Christian" television show that the Haitians somehow deserved this tragedy--that is was God's judgement upon them for allegedly making a "deal with the Devil" for their independence so many years ago, despite the utter lack of historical veracity for that claim. And so the discussion went on.

Early on the morning of August 5th, we were set to leave for Toronto Airport. We'd planned to meet at the church and carpool down, and since Melissa didn't feel comfortable with me leaving the car in the church parking-lot for nearly two weeks, we decided that we'd take a cab up to the church, where she would see me off. It was this early morning cab ride where I would once again face the question of "why?" and hear some pundit's theories of an answer. This particular pundit happened to be driving the cab, so I decided not to engage in too strenuous of a debate with him. His Islamic faith led him to conclude that the apparently religious citizens of Haiti must not be very religious, after all, since if they were really following God, He'd never have allowed this tragedy. Because it's plainly obvious throughout all the world that those who really serve God get off scott-free in all of life's difficulties. Uh-huh...right. As I said, I didn't really get into it too much with the cabbie, since I didn't really fancy walking to the church, but I gently tried to give him an alternative perspective.

Having said our good-byes to everyone at the church, Fr. Bill blessed us, and we set out on our way. We managed to get through the Toronto airport without too much hassle, and were off to Montreal. Upon arriving at Montreal, five weary pilgrims found our departure gate for Haiti, and flopped down on the chairs to anticipate what we'd encounter in just a few more hours. Fr. Bill and I decided to practice our French skills by scouring the local paper, where I discovered yet another response to tragedy--that of the problem-solver, the man who claims to have all the ideas of how to fix everything. The present instance was the article about recording artist Wyclef Jean's bid to run for the Haitian presidency. According to the article, his "homecoming" was hailed as having almost Messianic undertones (or even overtones) as he billed himself, and many people were ready to receive him as, the needed change to their country's corrupt political system. This reaction (the term Messie, that is, "Messiah", was actually used repeatedly in the article) caused another reaction in me, namely, cynicism and worry. Any mere man who bills himself, or gets billed as, the Messiah is doomed to fail. I'm sure M. Jean doesn't see it this way, but he's perhaps lucky that the policy protectors down there rejected his bid to run. Even if it was decided corruptly, that decision will have likely spared him a potential crucifixion once popular opinion turned against him.

On the flight down to Haiti, I was able to bond more deeply with my priest, Fr. Bill Trusz, as we sat together on the four-hour flight. It turned out, we had both brought the same spiritual reading with us for the trip: the Confraternity of the Precious Blood's edition of Thomas à Kempis' Imitation of Christ. Upon our return, he had me as a guest on his weekly radio show to discuss the book. Good times.

The airport in Port-au-Prince had suffered some major damage, and so we were directed to a rather large warehouse that was acting as the luggage retrieval area. We had our first taste of good ol' Haitian chaos at this moment, as everyone scrambled for their luggage in a frenetic free-for-all. We five Canucks felt seriously overwhelmed by the lack of order as airport attendants and travellers willy-nilly grabbed anyone's bag and threw it on the floor to keep the conveyor belt from jamming. Thankfully, Père Ronal, the priest from Beau-Sejour, whom we were visiting, came at that moment and rescued us from the madness. At least, he gave us a bit of stability in the madness, because unfortunately, our luggage happened to be the very last that was unloaded off the plane, making us fear for over half an hour that someone had made off with it. This, we decided, would not have been a terribly bad thing--we'd packed precious little personal items, only the bare essientials--except that the vast majority of our 10 bags were gifts for the people of Beau-Sejour, ranging from clothes and shoes to schoolbags and toys! It was the gifts we were most worried about. Thankfully, though, just when we thought all was lost, one last carrier drove up and unloaded more luggage--with our bags, clearly distinguished by patches of red duct tape thanks to Nassrin's planning ahead, on the very bottom of the pile.

Once we'd collected our luggage, Père Ronal guided us through the airport out to his Toyota Hylux hybrid pick-up truck, which was paid for by a church in Germany so that he could get around in the cities and bring resources back to Beau-Sejour. That evening, we saw more than a few of the terrifying parts of Port-au-Prince. One sight in particular was the teenager security guard at the super-market that we briefly stopped at, patrolling the parking-lot with the biggest shotgun I've seen! The gun itself wasn't quite as scary as the thought that went through our heads: "Just why exactly does he need such a big gun?" The other frightening aspect of Port-au-Prince was the traffic. There is apparently only one traffic rule in Haiti, and that is, simply, if you get out of your lane to pass someone, and hit the oncoming vehicle, you're responsible for the damages. Based on this one rule, there are many a game of chicken on the streets of Port-au-Prince. One such feat of derring-do was when Père Ronal tried to pass some slow-moving vehicle and faced down a giant UN military vehicle (I'm comfortable referring to it as a tank) replete with UN soldier at the gun turret mounted on the back. Somehow, we survived that encounter, and several others, and after few hours made it to our lodging for the night.

Tonton Jan (Uncle John) is the oldest man in Beau-Sejour, and is also the most respected, holding a position of honour not unlike the mayor. He was not in Beau-Sejour when we arrived, however, but was down in Port-au-Prince staying with family, Jacques and Soulange. Jacques and Soulange had left Haiti for a while, and lived in New York. When they came back to Haiti, they were pretty well-off, and lived in the rich quarter of Port-au-Prince known as Petionville. It was to their home that Père Ronal took us that first night. These two saintly people took five tired and grubby strangers into their home, even giving up their room so that we'd have a comfortable place to sleep, and made us a wonderful Haitian dinner, the contents of which escape me other than to say it was fish, rice, and yum!

Having been so warmly received, Haiti began to become a less intimidating place, and when we set off for Beau-Sejour the following morning, we were in high spirits. While the four men squished ourselves into the back seat of Père Ronal's Hylux, and Nassrin comfortably situated herself at shotgun, Père Ronal gave us the whirlwind tour of the city. We saw the damage of the earthquake, the rubble lying as though it had happened only yesterday. We saw where the people still lived in tents, and the poor begging in the streets, or washing their clothes in the gutters. We saw dogs, goats, and pigs running around loose in the streets. But we also saw signs of faith and hope. The Haitians are very proud of their Catholicism, naming everything they can after Jesus, Mary, or the Saints. It was not uncommon to drive by "Immaculate Conception Bank" or "Jesus Saves Lottery". This was most evident in the crazy contraptions that drove around called "tup-tups". Haiti's "taxi service", a tup-tup is a pick-up truck with seating built into the tailgate, and painted the brightest colours, with images of scenes from Scripture or the lives of the saints (for the most part--we also saw the more "secular" versions with Bob Marley and naked women painted on them), sporting names like "Dieu est Amour" or "Merci Jesus". On a pick-up that normally would hold three or four people comfortably, the added seats made it possible to hold many, many more. I think, between the people in the cab, sitting in the seats, and hanging onto the sides and back, we counted 25 on one tup-tup! We decided that we should paint Père Ronal's white pick-up and convert it into a tup-tup, bearing the name "Fou et Fort dans Jesus", or "Crazy and Strong in Jesus", because honestly, that's what you had to be to get into a vehicle with him!

One other sign of hope that we saw was the graffiti. On the crumbled walls were signs that life was going to go on, or hopefully even improve, as "So-and-so for President" appeared throughout. But the most repeated and striking slogan was the phrase "Jèn kore jèn", roughly translated as "People standing together" or "People encouraging each other" or "People strengthening each other." In the aftermath of the earthquake, the people of Haiti did not abandon God, but continued to love Him and cry out to Him. As we left Port-au-Prince, we ruminated on the fact that, ultimately, that slogan summed up why we had come to Haiti--to express our solidarity with these brave people.

St. James tells us that "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained from the world" (James 1:27). Our Lord Himself so idntifies with the plight of the poor that He tells us we'll be judged on how we treat them, saying, "Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me" (Matthew 25:40). We'll never know the full reason for the tragedies in life, but in answer to those who think they prove that there is no God, and in answer to those who rush to assume God's wrathful vengeance, I reply that maybe, just maybe, He lets these things happen to remind us that there are other people out there--people who need our love and help. Tragedies bring us out of ourselves, out of our complacency and selfishness. They give us the opportunity to serve the Lord and each other, if only we can see beyond our preconceived notions of what He ought to do, and simply respond the way we ought.

I hope you're enjoying my narrative as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I've finally made it to Haiti; next up, the trek to Beau-Sejour itself!

I'm Still Here...

Howdy all.
I feel a brief apology and a slightly less brief explanation for my silence might be in order--in case anyone's still around who cares.

I do apologise for my lack of attention to my blogs lately. I've had a busy sort of year, between new a new shift at work, a new job/promotion, more responsibility, less energy, a mission trip to Haiti, running our recent Halloween for Hunger food drive for our parish, plans for a new Catholic outreach project here in Hamilton, as well as the general throes of life and marriage. On top of all of that, it seems that returning from Haiti, in particular, has caused certain unresolved issues in my past to manifest in a sort of depression, which has played out, by and large, through far too much sleeping and not enough desire to do any of the things I need to do, and that I love to do. This blog, as well as Barque of Peter, and my art, have all, unfortunately, become the main victims of my busy life and psychological malaise.

That was then,of course, and this is now. And hopefully now will yield something different. I have and am taking steps to put my life back in order. The step, though, that most concerns you, dear reader, was actually taken by my beautiful and loving wife, who as an early Christmas present, bought me an HP Mini laptop with a Rogers Internet Stick, for the express purpose of getting me back to blogging! Because she's just awesome that way! And it is on this very laptop (which even happens to be a wonderful shade of my favourite of hues), that I am currently composing this message to you.

So here's the plan:
As I mentioned, there are various steps I am taking to get my life heading in the way I think God wants it to go. Some of those steps are significantly more immediate than others, and some are significantly more personal than others. In a nutshell, I'm intending to pursue a vocation to the Permanent Diaconate, and will contact the Diocese regarding that by week's end. I'll be old enough to start formation for the Diaconate in May, so it seems an appropriate time to get those ducks in a row. Saturday, Melissa and I are getting formation on becoming Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion, so that we can serve more faithfully and purposefully in that most important aspect of the Christian Faith: the Eucharist. Over the next little while, I plan as well to join the Lay Dominicans, something I've been discerning for quite some time. On top of that, I mentioned a Catholic outreach above that I want to bring to Hamilton. I would love to see that kick off by Lent of next year, but it may wait until the following September, depending on certain details. Hopefully I can keep you more informed in the coming weeks and months.

So in all that hectic business, thanks to my new laptop, I'll have opportunity to blog during various periods of downtime previously unavailable to me: namely, break time at work! That's 45 minutes a day that I truly have nothing better to do than to write about the truth and beauty of the Church that Jesus founded! That's the sure thing, time-wise, on top of any other spare opportunity I get, like now, for example, while I sit in my car waiting for my wife to finish a tutoring session.

So expect new articles here and at Barque of Peter on a much more frequent basis! Next up for here, I'll continue to tell you What I Saw in Haiti. Over at Barque of Peter, I'll be returning to the series I'd begun on the Eucharist.

May God richly bless you as he has Melissa and me.

What I Saw in Haiti: Chapter 2

"Di Bonjou Se Lizaj."

I do apologise for the lack of updates to my Haiti adventures. It took a lot longer than I expected to get into the swing of things upon my return. One of the main factors for the delay was a cockroach infestation that was being dealt with after my return--and which, scheduling-wise, went a bit shakily. But the bugs are now dead or dying (I hope), and I again seem to have some time to continue. Thanks for your patience--assuming you're all still out there...Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?

In my first chapter, I mentioned Père Philippe, and his dream of twinning parishes in Hamilton and Haiti, and how in 2008 this dream became a reality when St. Margaret Mary, of Hamilton, twinned with the parish he founded, St. Gabriel, in Beau-Sejour. And now, I was planning to go and visit our twin parish with a team of five, including my priest, Fr. Bill Trusz.

In the wake of the earthquake, however, many saw this planned venture as a hopeless waste of time. After all, in the midst of such devastating tragedy, what could we really hope to accomplish? We weren't engineers, or doctors, or anything that seemed at all "useful". Wouldn't it be better, people repeatedly asked, to just send money? The logic of their question weighed heavily on our minds, and caused no little amount of second guessing. My own wife often wondered whether it would be better (and safer) if I just stayed home. But I felt a call to go, and I felt I had to respond. When we settled on the purpose of the mission as being to teach First Aid, we started feeling the first glimmers of actually having a legitimate reason for going. The snag, of course, was that of the five of us, only one of us, Nassrin, was qualified to teach First Aid. On the one hand, we couldn't just send her alone, but on the other hand, what would the four of us do that weren't teaching? We still felt useless, despite Père Ronal's insistence that he wanted us all to come.

Despite our doubts, we did feel God wanted us to go, and so we pressed on in our plans, hoping that God would reveal the reason that all five of us were travelling to Haiti, and what we could contribute to the mission and to the people of Beau-Sejour. Part of this preparation, and in turn, part of the answer, came again from Père Philippe, who graciously took time out of his busy schedule to teach us some basic phrases in Créole.

Language is an interesting thing. Not only is it our principle means of communication, but it can at the same time be our principle form of alienation. This is the lesson in the story of the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11. Common language and understanding can bring great unity to people--but when you take that away, the frustration and loneliness resulting from the inability to communicate can be overwhelming. This is the obvious fact about language. But there are subtler aspects to language as well, which serve to highlight not only differences in the words people use to express different ideas, but even differences in those very ideas. In other words, language is an important clue to what is important in a culture. And the little bit of Créole that the team learned from Père Philippe helped us to know that what was important to the people of Haiti, was our presence.

The first thing Père Philippe taught us was a Haitian proverb: "Di bonjou se lizaj." It means, "Saying hello is good manners." To the people of Haiti, especially in the rural areas like Beau-Sejour, everyone is family. Respect, love, and service are key aspects to their relationships--indeed, they are essential to their very survival. Every time you see someone, you stop and say hello--and not simply Hello, but that greeting takes on a dynamic expression. Recall my description of Père Philippe himself, when he would greet a person and make them feel like they were his brother, even if he had only just met them. It is not a particular good quality of Père Philippe's (though it does certainly make him a wonderful person and a wonderful priest), rather, it is a cultural way of life for his people. In fact, he told us that if you do not greet another person, you are considered rude, or perhaps learning delayed.

Père Philippe also taught the team a series of phrases about food and eating. Food is obviously an important and integral aspect of every culture, being a basic human necessity. However, how a particular culture approaches the issue of food says a lot about the prosperity of a nation, as well as the culture's understanding of the really important things in life. Whereas we in North America, with the availability, and indeed over-saturation of food, struggle with things like obesity and the opposite, eating disorders of various sorts, and so often need tragedies like the Earthquake to prompt us to share from our abundance with those who are less fortunate, another Haitian proverb reveals their attitude toward the little food that they have: "Manje separe pa janm fini"--"The food you share never ends." The people of Beau-Sejour depend very much on subsistence farming. Whatever they can produce from the mountainside is their dinner, and so this principle of generosity and solidarity is again a truth of survival and yet more--it is a truth about peace.

While we were in Haiti, we met some Brothers who truly lived this proverb. Les Petites Frères de Ste. Thérèse is a Religious Order uniquely Haitian. Their mission is in part to run the parish schools around Beau-Sejour, but it is also one of farming--trying to revitalise the soil denuded of trees, and eventually to re-tree the mountains in order to make Haiti a place of good harvest. In this venture, they encourage a co-operative gardening project among the residents of Beau-Sejour. Those who help tend the gardens may reap the harvest with the Brothers in order to help feed their families and others in need. In this way, this shared food really does never end, but through the tender hearts and green thumbs of the Little Brothers, the harvest of crops as well as the harvest of souls will indeed be plentiful.

Again, sorry for the significant delay. Coming up next, we get to the good stuff: the departure and arrival in Haiti!.