Storming Crackland

There are very few things that are not a surprise in Brazil to an American. I am blessed that most of them have been great or a least timely learning experiences. I was welcomed on a mission last night that returned me to Crackland with a purpose that was very different in appearance than the first time I was there in the winter. The winter in Brazil is in August when it can dip to around 40 degree at night.  Before a hail of snow ball comes my way from the US remember that for Brazil that is cold. When I first came to Brazil I was told of 7 men who died of exposer when the weather turned to near freezing with rain and winds. Those are the surprises that teach you not to always think as an American. Now, it is summer here, which yields temps in the 80’s and 90’s with a couple days in the hundred.

I am on my way to Cascavel in the state of Parana for the Profession of this year’s class of novices. Novices are those who are progressed through the testing phase of their discernment to holy life. In The Fraternity of Missionary of the Poor of Jesus Christ they are marked with differences in their habits. This shows that they have not taken their full vows and are studying, taking formation classes (instruction on being fully professed religious in the order), and praying for guidance throughout the year of discernment. In addition they all have their various jobs in the order that requires their attention.

The Sisters “not fully professed” wear white veils and a white cotton rope belts around their waists. The Brothers in this stage wear the white belt also, and both have the same brown Franciscan habits of their respective genders. I will explain in more detail about the Profession after the event, but I am very excited to see the ceremony in which a number of my new and old friends will be a part.

Back to yesterday’s surprise, I was set to pack at the Casa Madre Teresa and spend Friday as a normal day assisting the elderly men with showering, dressing, meals, and cleaning their quarters.  But that was shocked out of existence when, as it happens often, a conversation changed the assumption in my head to what was just decided to happen for real. I was to pack immediately and depart with a small group for the house in Luz, which was having a late night Mass and 1 o’clock Adoration of the Body of Christ. For non-Catholics, Adoration is when the consecrated bread – the Body of Christ – is place in a tall metal stand with a glass enclosure and placed on the Alter. Those present meditate in the presence of Christ in communal and individual prayer.

We set out after dinner and the flow out of the city was great than the flow in, which allowed for a quick set of metro transfers to the door of Brothers’ house in Luz. I walked in and was greeted by a full house of people waiting for the events of the evening. Kawan who in the recent past lived in the streets in a different part of Sao Paulo, gave me a big smile and asked if I was ready for the whole night of activities. I felt a resistance in my mind, maybe I said. He laughed as went to stow my backpack.

I had been cloudy for a number of days, inundated with strange dreams and a lack of sleep was jagging my edges.  I could feel small waves of irritation when I called on my mind to assist me and only heard the crashing dial tone of a dial up modem. I paused to reassure myself that I had been pushing myself and some uneasiness and needed down time was part of my experience, but a strange ache was building in my lower back and up my neck, this too is all part of the ride. The more I jumped on the rollercoaster the more it jostled me around, and what I was feeling was when you think you know the ride too well and exhaustion builds from tensing in the turns. I will give a great deal of respect how the Brother and Sisters sleep every night. Like our sons and daughters in the streets all religious in the order rest on a pad of cardboard, two or three blankets, and some the luxury of a pillow. It is a small act of presence to remain understanding of the poor, who rest in the same way each night.

A part of me wanted to bypass the evening and rest, but Roque and Brother Beno, both from the house in Natal, started out the door and I followed.  Along the way I meet a man who lived in the United States and was back in Brazil for a time. He wanted to visit the houses of the order in Sao Paulo because he knew most of the Sisters and Lay Associates in Kansas City, New York, and Boston.  We had a good conversation as we walked to the Luz Tran Station. The station is a beautiful and grand building with European columns a little like Union Station in KC. It was the primary building to which most of the surrounding buildings modeled themselves and was constructed in a time when this was a busy and commercial area.

In the main plaza around a hundred assembled and half danced to popular catholic guitar music. Yes, the Brazilians like to dance at any opportunity and most of the “sacred music” has a good beat. I saw Brother Agnes and smiled as he descended on me. “Brother, great to see you!” We embraced and he looked at me with a breath, “So I am like a mosquito, you say that in your blog. That I buzzed around.” He rapped my hand, so I would feel it and walked away. He turned quickly and smiled at me from a different group in front of me.

The event was organized by both the Fraternity and another religious and lay hybrid call Mission Belem.  The organizers explained before Mass we would walk as a group into Crackland to invite all to attend. Unlike the last time I attended, we would have no food or drinks, but instead came with a welcome message to the inhabitants of the area. We walked in force as someone would yell out a chant to anyone to join into. The chant would build and drop off, but always rebound into another. The crowd was able to hold an echoing “Jesus Te Ama!” Which is Jesus loves you, and on return to the station it was “come to the Mass, it is now”! During the march many stopped to talk or asked personally.  I at first was sheepish about walking into someone’s home and being loud, then I remember the car blasting carnival and American pop country music for 4 hours at the my bedroom in Madre Teresa one night. Noise is a common thing at all times here, and there are no noise police to play catchpole. I guess that goes for partying Brazilians and Catholics.

What changed my feeling was the smile from a woman maybe in her forties. She was standing still against the flow of the sidewalk as I pasted her on the street, but we both looked at each other and smiled. It was a genuine smile that holds no guile, and does not recoil fearful of too long a glaze. She was a humans being and so was I, a quiet truth in the clatter of the night.

After the Mass, the priest took up the Blessed Sacrament (Body of Christ in the medal stand) and marched us forward for what would be an hour and half long procession into a number of neighborhoods. At times I could see the resistance on the faces of those in the street, they didn’t want to be seen, greeted, asked how they were, or if they have a place to sleep that night. But keep in mind that one or two in the morning is very active in these areas. Bars, vendors, red towel markets, and drug dealers are up the same hours as those living here. The resistance in some could not overshadow the smiles of others. The priest would stop in the street and like the ending battle scene the lines would break and combine into one. Only in this case conversations were happening and hugs were being exchanged. We would linger for a good amount of time and give a chance for the conversations to end naturally. Many of the sons and daughter are drunk, high, coming down, or shaking without the drugs, but still some word maybe heard. “You are loved”, “you can come off the street”, “We are here.”

A couple times we were met with fireworks in our path, but the group would just walk around. It was powerful to see the priest with a standard in the front of the line. It stands as peace and love, it stands again the pushing away of the poor, the “unneeded”, or the “issues” for the Government. An issue that the Government wishes only to box up and distract you from long enough to come for the World Cup.

We returned to the house at Luz at three in the morning. It was nice to sleep in a bed that night. It was good to rest after see the night.