One of most important missions that the
Brothers, Sisters, and Lay Associates (legos) do every week is called the
Street Mission. I have been fortunate to participate in their missions in
numerous cities in Brazil and Paraguay. My first experience with their street
work was in Kansas City, and it was the beginning of my road to South America.
In our metro, the sisters and anyone wishing to assist set out in groups into
in the city to give sandwiches and coffee or juice. I joined the weekly group
for the mission in October of 2012, and since then I have seen the number of
locations and the number of weekly helpers expand. A generous benefactor and
local business owner named Willy, I will omit his last name for now, donates
materials for the mission each week. This is no small amount of food and
supplies as once a week the sisters make about 80 sandwiches with ham, turkey,
mayo, mustard, and cheese. Included in each of the sacks are two sandwiches,
fruit, chips, snack, and bottle of drinking water. The sisters welcome clothing
donations, over the counter medicines, toiletries, and can food, all of which
are distributed at the same time as the mission.
Although the food is an essential part of
the mission, the primary mission is evangelism. Yes, evangelism – a scary word
for American Catholics and non-affiliated people. The image comes to mind of a
preacher yielding from stone steps while firing off damnation to cat calls and
rolling eyes somewhere amidst the street performers and hurrying business
people. Yet evangelism to the Order of Missionaries’ of the Poor of Jesus is to
engage the poor, the hurting, and the lonely. It is to be love, to be joy, and
offer the love and joy in a welcoming, personal, comforting, and thoughtful
way. That is the interaction on the streets of Brazil, Paraguay, the United
States, and soon other counties. I will attest to their evangelism because it
affected my life in a very personal way. I was both lonely and hurting at the
time I started to assist the sisters, and the way my life slowly changed was a
result of my experiencing and participating in those acts of love, in showing
others their worth, which is the evangelism I have seen.
I would like to highlight some of the
experiences in my time in South America on the street missions and other
related interactions. I will jump from different dates and cities all with the
purpose of showing the patient nature of their work and of their
evangelism.
City:
Manaus Location: The Brazilian Amazon Date: Feb. 2014
Tonight is Paulo’s birthday party and it
has been quite a while since he lived on the streets of Manaus. His story could be a full blog post in
itself, but I will explain briefly. Paulo paused from the drugs long enough to
make a decision to stay with the brothers, and then attend their nine month
rehab in the city of Belem, in the state of Para. Upon his graduation and return
to Manus he took employment, began acting in local stage productions, and
recently finished a course at university. He visits the men in their first steps
to recovery at the brothers’ house regularity and tells his story at events
focused on preventing addiction and assisting those currently addicted. He has opened himself to be an example to men,
and tonight they celebrate him with a party complete with Brazilian hot dogs
and a tall round white frosted cake topped with Choco Puffs.
Before the festivities began I walk into
the car port to go up the stairs to the chapel for a small amount of silence. A
son still living on the street is sitting behind a potted plant and waves me
over. I don’t know him, but he wants me to sit down. I am holding a guitar that
was jokingly handed to me in front of group choir practice. The player departed
the car port for some reason but before said, “Would you hold this?” I took it and the group giggled as he left.
Again the son behind the tree calls to me. I shake the son’s hand and remembered
the guitar is still in my other hand and quickly return it to the choir as they
laugh in a great burst while still refusing to take it, I lay it down, bow, and
walk off. The man’s name is Lyon and he
is obviously in the waning effects of whatever drug. He is dirty from the street, but smiles to show
me his t-shirt, which read in English AMSTERDAM, and the line under says, “I
saw your mother in the red light district,” he is very proud of the shirt and
laughs as I read it. I am impressed the printer spelled the words right, most
of the English on T-shirts here comically misspelled or disordered.
His feet are cut and the wounds bulge from
not being properly cleaned and dressed. I have seen this often, the cuts are
inflected, sore, and the bottoms of his feet are wet because the moister in his
leather sandals. It has to get that bad before they requested help and the
hospitals would be better, but those on the street don’t allow go to the med
centers. One of the Formandos joins us, he has a full long pointed beard but is
only about eighteen, he hands him a bottle disinfectant or rubbing alcohol for
the wounds. I ask a question, and he responds with a blank look indicative of
seventeen. I can tell Lyon is not part of his plans for tonight, but he is patience
and observant. He is hardly and ordinary Brazilian youth leaving his family’s
house (with their permission) to live a religious life, still attends school,
and working seven days a week with the poor. Tonight I imagine he wants cake,
and to celebrate. We all can get glassy eyed when the plans in our head change
quickly, even I confess to doing this. When I have an idea and it changes in
the past I have chosen to be racked with impatience.
In the common room everyone is signing
happy birthday and soon will be eating hot dogs and that giant cake. I watch
Lyon clean his wounds in a fruitless and painful way. I asked for a rag, water,
and soap. My request confuses the young formandos, that or my Portuguese pronunciation
is bad, which does occur frequently. I stand up and walk into the party and ask
Br. Sudario for those things and explain the situation. We walk into the
dispensary and find all of the things easily. Brother hands me gloves for me
and the formando, he pauses and looks to say please use them. I fill the
container with water and walk back to the car port. I hand the formando a set
of gloves and his body language is resistant, but his expression still blank.
“Brother asked you to wear them,” I use brother to simplify the process, but he
take them and set them off to the side. “I don’t want you sick, wear them.”
We have a lot of fears in the US that lead
us to over sanitize, over protect, and over react. We have been over mothered,
not by family, but by news reporters, advertisers, and the government into
thinking every public toilet or “mis-washed vegetable” has hepatitis and that
every microscopic organism is just waiting to sicken you, thank you Dr. House.
On the other hand, in South America unrefrigerated chicken or meat not a
concern, and there are times I wave off the chicken parts because I don’t feel
comfortable. Outside of a hospital most people seem to have a blasé feeling
toward sharing food, cups, or silverware.
I reflect that there are things on both sides that drop the scales to
one side or the other, but there certainly is a happy medium. Mine is any
contact with blood or other potentially tainted fluids.
I angle the formando out of the way and
start to help Lyon, and the Formando assists. Lyon’s feet are filthy and I
admit my impatience in washing his feet, because each time I try to avoid his
wounds he would winch because I found another one. I finally hand him the soap
and watch him clean. He finishes cleaning, I dried his feet, and more productively
we treat the wounds. We have no bandages, no tape to make the gauzes into
bandages, or good way to dress his cuts. This is not preferred, but in the past
I have seen both creative solutions and other times the realization that we
have to do without. We suggest he go to the hospital soon.
We move Lyon’s chair and he sits and drying
his feet. He hears the party inside and
asks for something to eat and drink. I pull up a chair and ask him questions as
I would anyone I just met.
I say, “Lyon, are you from Manaus?”
He smiles and rubs his chest with his
wrist, “No, I‘m from Recife.” Recife is a coastal town on the Atlantic Ocean,
and is on the list of Beautiful Brazilian Beach along with Rio de Janeiro.
“That’s a long way, do miss Recife?”
He smiles again, “I’m a surfer. I used to
surf the ocean everyone, so ya.”
I see him in the light, it may be the
surfer comment, but he does look like he could be from California. He is lanky
with a fair complexion, but it is hard to see through his tanned and unwashed skin.
He nervously waits for the food and combs his finger in his curry sandy brown
hair.
“You don’t get many good waves in the Rio
Negro, do you?” I smile.
He nods no, laughs in a muted blurt, and stops
to look up at the formando who silently appears with a plate of two “Ki-Caos
(kee-caowns)” or Brazilian hot dogs. The
buns are as big as the plate and are filled with chopped hot dog meat mixed
with tomato sauce, cooked onion, and garlic. The formando also offers him a
plastic cup of soda, and Lyon quickly sets his plate on his lap while chewing
on the first hot dog. He seems confused as he takes the soda and juggles to
hold the cup, eat the hot dog, and balance a plate on his seemingly uneven lap.
He is coming down, and asks to stay the
night. The young formando is standing without expression, but his tone is
sympathetic as he explains that they cannot allow him to stay tonight. He
explains simply and remains stoic, but Lyon presses until he sees no change;
the answers is “not tonight.” So Lyon looks at him and says, “Well can I have
some cake?”
Lyon, despite his state, is easy going and
likable, I can tell the conflict in him is building between him and the drugs.
It may only be him coming down, but I feel it is deeper. It is hard for the
formando to say no, and hard for me to hear him say no. There are a lot of
calls made by the brothers on who can stay in the house and who cannot. If
someone is still under the influence of drugs or alcohol that is an automatic
no. It is dangerous because changes in behavior could lead to augments or
violence. In this house decisions are made for the safety of the eight men
recovering from the street and the ten brothers. The men who want to stay must
start the process by not using drugs for a short time before entering and then
build a trust with the brothers. They are welcomed to the house conditionally
and remain with the brothers until they are ready for rehab. Those sons that
want to stay one night, like Lyon, are a judgment call and both safety and
fairness always considered.
Lyon stuffs the other hot dog quickly in
his mouth and wants another. The formando returns with another hot dog and
soda. Lyon gulps soda he had and sets
down the other, then devourers the hot dogs. I see in his eyes a dispirit look both
uncomfortable and impatient. I put my hand on his shoulder and say calmly, “Lyon,
relax, there is no rush, eat and sit back.” He smiles with big checks.
I pause, “How old or you?”
“Thirty one, but my birthday is in March.”
“When in March?”
“It’s this week.” He pauses from chewing
for moment and I see him drift into a thought.
“Well this is a good night for cake then.”
I look at the stairs behind me and a
visitor out of nowhere is eating cake. “See they just cut the cake.”
The visitor stands up to rejoin the party
and Lyon asks if he wants the rest of his cake. The young man hands him the
plate and Lyon pushed the half piece into his mouth. The formando returns with
a big slice of cake and I say in a firm and friendly tone, “Lyon, calm down,
enjoy the cake, just relax.” A spoon is standing up in his cake, he takes it,
and then lays it down. He stops with a full hand of cake near his mouth and shivers,
signaling a wave of sickness from eating too fast.
We relax for a couple minutes and talk
until he starts to pack up with a sudden urgency. He can’t stay and needs to search for a place
to sleep. We say goodnight and I tell him I hope to see him again.
When he leaves I thing about desperation
and reflect on the urgency people feel when they need or want help. At times
people ask for help and then their actions show the opposite. It seems for some
that convincing others of their need is only a step on the road of trying to
convincing themselves. I have also seen those who are miserable and totally
unaware of the reason for their desperation. They will only wake up when some
threshold is reached, but the difficultly is without help their depth may have
no limit. I have seen caring action
restore the feelings of worth in desperate people, to unsettle them enough that
the substances they use become less of a hiding place. Lyon hasn’t asked to
change his life, only to be assisted in the things that are most present – like
food, water, or medical help. He is seeing what help he can get from the
brothers to fill his immediate needs. The brothers will continue to help as
they are able, and those times of assistance are opportunities to listen, talk,
and affirm a different path – a choice.
***
I have
seen Lyon a couple times since that night and he continues to stop by the
house, because there is an interest. Also, he has been to the hospital and told
me about his painfully cleaning of the infected wounds on his feet and the new
dressings that are helping him walking more comfortably. The last I saw him I told
him how I feel about him, that I like him and seems to be thinking a lot. I
leave it at that… and I leave it to time.
No comments:
Post a Comment