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For six months in Guatemala in 2004-05, and then for nine months in Ecuador in 2005-06, I was nevertheless “at home” in our universal church—the Catholic Church, where each community expresses itself within its unique culture and spirituality. The familiar Spanish phrase “mi casa es su casa ” meant that God's house in Quetzaltenango and in Guayaquil was my house, too. I grew to “feel” the spirituality that surrounded me in the people with whom I prayed. Guatemala The colonial Catedral Espíritu Santo in Quetzaltenango became a home place with home people, especially at the 8 a.m. Sunday Mass. Week after week I saw the same faces in many of the pews, smiling as we exchanged the greeting of peace. Gradually the Spanish language hymn melodies started to sound familiar, and of course the universal ritual of the liturgy transcended the language difference. One Sunday morning after Mass, I had a chance meeting with a Japanese woman. We made eye contact and began a conversation—she was a member of the Congregation of Notre Dame, studying Spanish like me. That our paths had crossed so many miles from our respective homelands seemed indeed a gift of the Holy Spirit, and from then on our mutual spiritual “home away from home” added the nuance of friendship for Makiko and me. As a guest in the Guatemalan Catholic culture, I found myself moved by the spirituality which manifests itself in a variety of public celebrations. The Virgin of the Rosary is the patroness of Quetzaltenango, or Xela, its indigenous name.
The first Sunday of October there was a huge procession around the central park square on which the cathedral is located. Alternating groups of perhaps 30 people, men and women, carried on their shoulders the heavy wooden platform with its elaborately dressed image of the Virgin. There were children in First Communion dress, altar servers in cassock and surplice, men and women in indigenous dress, parishioners carrying banners which denoted brotherhoods and sisterhoods, uniformed bands, clergy. Those who weren't in the procession itself were thronged along the streets as incense ascended skyward, and fireworks exploded. At month's end, a similar procession occurred, this time with everyone treading over huge, colorful alfombras which decorated the street on all four sides of the park. Early that morning groups of young people had designed and created each alfombra or rug from colored sawdust, a project which took hours of work in honor of the Virgin.
She was returned to her special chapel in the cathedral, facing outward toward the city in a final gesture of blessing. Early on I had referred to the “statues” in the cathedral, and was corrected—“ no estatuas, imágenes.” Certainly “image” holds a more apt description of just how real are Mary and Jesus and a whole host of saints to the people of Guatemala. Ecuador
My more recent experience in Ecuador held some contrasts. The modern parish church in the modern city of Guayaquil was physically similar to its counterparts in a U.S. suburb. For me, it lacked the heterogeneous and participatory feeling of the Xela cathedral, yet I could appreciate that I was surrounded by a worshipping community whose faith I shared. But the place where I really felt “at home” on Sunday was in the chapel at Fundación Padre Damián, the residence for those being treated for, and those recovered from Hansen's disease (leprosy). Usually there was a priest chaplain for Sunday Mass. However, for several months, and especially during all of Advent, the residents had no Eucharistic liturgy. So, our local BVM community of four—Ann Credidio, Judy Callahan (Eugene Mary), former novice Alegría Chunganá, and I—planned and participated in a weekly Sunday morning prayer. We joined with the majority of the 45 men and women residents, Catholics and Evangelicals, among whom Ann has ministered for some 18 years. It was a small, intimate gathering for the Sunday Scripture readings and homily, prayers of the faithful, a blessing and sharing of bread.
And how the congregation participated, especially in adding to the homily, in praising God through multiple song verses, and in verbalizing their prayers at length—all with no sense of hurry! After the Lord's prayer, the greeting of peace was a joyous exchange of a personal wish for and by each person. Small, usually still-warm breadrolls from a local bakery became our symbolic way of remembering how Jesus frequently shared meals with friends, and how God provides for the needs of all people. With hands extended, we prayed a blessing and a thanksgiving for being able to share our bread among the group of friends that we were in that small, sacred space of the chapel. “Where two or three are gathered, there am I in their midst” took on a special meaning for our ecumenical congregation during our worship time together. In Ecuador, as in Guatemala, I was still a guest—but never an outsider—in a culture and language not my own; and I had a wonderful opportunity in both countries to recognize the multicultural faces of Christ in a church that is truly universal. About the author: Mary Martens, BVM (Loras) currently teaches in the language and literature department at Clarke College, Dubuque, Iowa. Return to Table of Contents. |
At Home in Another Culture and Spirituality
