postcard from Chile, the final one...#5

landscape of Santiago de Chile, from the top of the Cerro de San Cristóbal

Spanish is the language of my soul. I don’t mean this in a romantic, esoteric way—but rather as a profound, eucharistic reality.

I’m not idealizing Chile. And I do acknowledge that I’ve been extra emotional remembering and mourning my Dad on his six-month anniversary. But what I’m addressing and trying to put into words is about more than that.

Being in Santiago de Chile this past week has been a deeply spiritual experience for me, and being immersed in Spanish is a huge part of the reason why.

I hear a prayer or a song that I learned in Spanish as a small child, for instance—and in spite of the fact that I haven’t said it out loud in decades, the words burst out of my mouth without hesitation. 

Just today, kneeling before the altar inscribed with the words: “Yo soy el Camino, la Verdad y la Vida,” just reading the words brought spontaneous tears to my eyes. I hear the word “Camino” in all the levels of meaning that it has: Literally, the word means, I walk. It is also the way, as in el Camino de Santiago. And ultimately, it is my profession of faith that Jesus Christ is the Way.

In a much more mundane way, I am so very comfortable in a culture that starts the day later (than I am allowed to do without guilt in an American culture), then serves lunch around 2 pm, and dinner after 8 pm!

And finally, there is the issue of my name.

Every time I am addressed by my full name here, what I call my real name—María de Lourdes and not “just maría,” it’s as if the real me is acknowledged. I am known, in the deepest sense of the word.

One more thing. Clearly, my experience in Chile has been enhanced by the fact that in this profoundly Catholic culture with churches, chapels and shrines all around me, I’ve been able to pray, sing, and celebrate Mass in Spanish every day but one during our seven-day visit. And that one travel day, we stopped to pray at a national pilgrimage site for Chileans, el Santuario Lo Vásquez, where I discovered a new (to me!) Marian devotion to La Purísima.

Never ceases to amaze me how much attention our God pays to details! What a grace to be allowed to mourn in a Latin culture--with everything that means to me.

Just for fun, here's a few other things I have loved about my week in Chile:

the feel of being in a major city:

Stunning, colorful street art! 

As my daughter Michelle would say, food from the gods! 

And in keeping with all things Catholic AND good food--a cooking show by a nun!

Sor Lucía's cooking show

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“Long before I could grapple with the theology of transubstantiation--or even try to pronounce that word!--the Eucharist had a special meaning to me. My heart understood that the Eucharist was a special and unique gift that Jesus Christ left for us, a way for every Christian to get to know him intimately. I have somehow always “known” that this type of food could nourish something in me that even now I struggle to name. The Eucharist also reminds me that I belong. In a real, even if mystical way, the Eucharistic celebration heals and answers our inner need of “belonging.” “I have called you by name... You are mine!” says the Lord. And in Christ we are, literally, one with Him and with each other.
          
Perhaps as pilgrims on our journey home there is no greater compass than the Eucharist. As a Protestant friend once said to me, “I wish I really did believe in the Eucharist, because then I would run to receive Jesus every day.” And I do want it and hunger for it every day. As I struggled with nowhere to call home, it was being Catholic, being claimed by something bigger than myself, and the communion I felt with Christ and his people in the Eucharist that gave me that much needed security growing up…          
It was at Mass that I could go and claim to belong, even when no one there knew me. This was the one “place,” regardless of the particular church we attended, where I felt that I “fit.” Together, we stood and professed our faith as believers in one and the same God, and we received in the Eucharist the gift of Christ’s presence right here and now. I “knew,” even when I couldn’t understand these abstract concepts, that the community of faith that claimed me became one Body in our one Lord, Jesus Christ. My heart understood what I even now struggle to explain in words.”

~from my book, "The Journey: a Guide for the Modern Pilgrim"

postcard from Chile, #1

view from campus, Universidad de los Andes

“¡Bienvenidos a Santiago de Chile!” 

From the moment I heard the Chilean flight attendant’s welcome, something deep in my heart stirred and smiled.

In case you’re a bit geographically challenged, like I can often be, Chile is that peculiar, long, skinny country that runs up and down the west side of South America, between the Pacific Ocean and the Andes Mountains.

This week marks my second time visiting this remarkable and impressive city of seven million people.

Nine years ago, we came “down under” to visit our oldest daughter, Anamaría, who was half-way through a semester of college study abroad here, a program of her University of Notre Dame.

On that first eye-opening visit, it didn’t take long for me to realize that Chile is like no other Latin American country I had ever known—beginning with the outrageous fact that they don’t drink coffee! Yes, you read that right.

More influenced historically by Britain than by Spain, the hot drink of choice here is… tea. And as my daughter tried to warn me over and over again, even in the fanciest of settings, it is all Nescafé instant.

Unlike the blended variations of race and ethnicity that I grew up with in the Caribbean, something else that makes Chile different is that many of the indigenous groups here have remained isolated and separate throughout the country’s developing history.  Whether Spaniards, French, or British, all travelers in colonial time had a hard time navigating a very difficult geography to get here. More often than not, even travelers who made it across the colossal Andes Mountains simply could not journey very far south on its arduous terrain.

I hope to write more later on what makes Chile unique and different. But what I’ve been chewing on the past couple of days is how remarkably at home I actually feel here, despite how dissimilar it is from so much of my Latino experience and background.

How is it possible that after almost 40 years living in the “American” culture of the continental United States, being here touches my heart and renews my spirit in a way that remains indescribable and inexpressible—even to me?!

 

hotel window, Santiago de Chile

Like a sculptor eagerly awaiting the beautiful image that wants to be birthed from the plain slab of stone, all of us have a one-of-a-kind spirit created by God that is waiting to burst out. God created this unique spirit inside each of us for a reason. God needs us to live out who we are in the world in which we live. He needs me to be me, fully me, truly me––for my family, my neighbors, my work mates, my parish community, my city, my state. There are no coincidences, so everything about who I am––even my past, my experiences, my family––was given to me for a reason. And I have been placed within this reality for a reason, too.

           

Living with the heart of a pilgrim requires that I allow my spirit to be birthed into my world. And it demands that I trust the map that God has created for the pilgrimage of my life.  My pilgrimage is not random or generic or communal, but personal and specific. I was birthed into this moment by a Creator whose vision for the world not only includes but requires me. I am an explicit part of his plan!

~from my book, The Journey: a Guide for the Modern Pilgrim

los tres Santos Reyes

I grew up in Puerto Rico, where everyone celebrates los tres Reyes--today's feast of the Epiphany.

On the eve of the día de los Reyes, my brother and I would fill a shoe box with grass and a container with water and set it under the Christmas tree for the camels that would bring the Magi to our home that night. In the morning, the grass and water were gone, and in their place we would have gifts, just as the Magi brought gifts to Jesus in Bethlehem.

In Hispanic countries throughout the world, in fact, January 6 is the day that children receive their Christmas gifts, in commemoration of the Magi's visit.

In our own blended family (Cuban and Texan!), Michael and I seriously considered making January 6 our family's sole day for receiving gifts. Ultimately we opted to join in the Santa tradition of December 25, and in addition, to pass on the Puerto Rican style Epiphany celebration--with shoe box and grass, gifts, a special Epiphany meal, and of course, the traditional song de los tres Santos Reyes:

Tuna estudiantina de Cayey singing

 los tres Santos Reyes

(see lyrics below)

Los tres Santos Reyes, los tres y los tres, 
los tres Santos Reyes, los tres y los tres,
Los saludaremos con divina fe,
los saludaremos con divina fe.

Los tres santos Reyes, yo los sé contar,
Los tres santos Reyes, yo los sé contar,
Gaspar y Melchor y el Rey Baltazar.
Gaspar y Melchor y el Rey Baltazar.

Llegan con cautela, la Estrella los guía
Llegan con cautela, la Estrella los guía
se sientes sus pasos, en la noche fría
se sientes sus pasos, en la noche fría

Señores, adiós . . . doy la despedida
al corazón santo, dulce de María
Señores, adiós . . . doy la despedida
al corazón santo, dulce de María

Señores adiós porque ya nos vamos
Señores adiós porque ya nos vamos
todos los presentes pasen feliz año
todos los presentes pasen feliz año