A Letter From Father Ruse

Cochabamba, Bolivia

Maryknoll Language Institute

My St. Matthew Family,

More and more I find that a significant part of language learning happens outside the classroom, the "street life" of the classroom if you will. One such occasion for me was a Lenten Friday Stations of the Cross in a small mission located up the mountain side here in the city. It was staged as a pilgrimage (3 hours long) through the barrio (neighborhood). Fourteen different households prepared street-side shrines dedicated to each Station. Beginning in the fading light of early evening and ending in the late evening of darkness, we walked through rough, uneven cobblestone streets.

While waiting for the Stations to start I had the chance to meet some of the families, among them a little fellow named Eric. At one point in our walking from Station to Station, with Eric at my side, he began to tell me that the next day was his birthday. Asking him how old he was going to be he told me "Diez," (10) and that there was going to be a party. He then asked me, "¿Puede venir?," that is, "Can you come?" (I am still excited recalling that I was really able to understand this conversation - in Español!). I responded, "Tal vez," meaning, "Maybe." I told him we'd talk to his Mother after the Stations. However, the Stations ended very late by which time Eric and his family had already gone home.

The rest of that night and all the next morning I stewed over that conversation and what to do: his invitation and my response suggesting that maybe I'd be there. As for where "there" was I had no clue! I finally decided by noon the next day to try and find Eric and his family.

Once I got to the barrio I asked several people if they knew an "Eric" who was having a birthday. Eventually one person thought she knew a woman named Basilia who might have a son named Eric. I waited a while before finally a little girl came running around the corner that I recognized as Eric's younger sister. Off we went and I found Mom, Eric, sisters, an Aunt and cousins (all the children had wet hair obviously just coming from a hurried bath). I told Eric I had not forgotten his invite. He beamed with a great smile. I was only able to stay an hour but had brought him a gift of "marbles" and treats for the others for the gathering planned later that evening. I found they were a family just waiting to be my family, as if I was the long absent "uncle" or "brother" who finally comes home. Mom quietly and quickly disappeared to buy a 2 liter bottle of Coke; the children brought out an atlas of Bolivia; then I was looking through family photo albums and "meeting" the rest of "our" family; they helped me with Spanish vocabulary (Boy, do I need help!). We shared singing our respective national anthems; at one point the 14-year old cousin moved me out of the strong sun into the shade; and finally, upon leaving, in Spanish and English, we all laid hands on Eric to offer a blessing to thank God for the gift of his life and his family.

This encounter was for me a gift which I came so close to dismissing as of little significance or obligation. I was struck with how the power of giving and receiving a gift is so transforming. In this instance I know it served to tame my rough side a bit more, to make me a bit less the child of cynicism, suspicion, selfishness and fear. More and more I see this as a kind of parable of the encounter we are being offered throughout our own Diocese of Orlando and in all our parishes as "north" meets "south" through the lives of Spanishspeaking and English-speaking Catholics. The ministry of the Church is the ministry of gift, which is the story of the Eucharist.

"¿Puede venir?" -Fr. Ruse