April 17, 2014
I have returned to Sao Paulo for the last week of my mission
here in Brazil. In the last two months I have been somewhat out of contact with
the United States. The houses of the Religious Brothers who I have stayed with
did not have internet; it is strange to be online again. It has also been a
long period of time without a new post and I am excited to continue talking
about my experience in Brazil. I may return next week, but will continue write
for whoever would like to hear about my mission until the I feel it is the
proper time to let it stand.
I spend the past month in Campo Grande, a city in the Metro
of Rio de Janeiro. It was in the 80’s in Rio, but in Sao Paulo only six hours
away by bus it is in the 60’s and rainy today, and it will hit the low 50’s
tonight. It is fall here and that fits well with my memories of when my good
friend Brother Gabriel and I parted for different locations last year in
September. For me, the bittersweet mood of departing seems to be wrapped in the
changes of weather, most often fall and spring. I feel the weather change again
as I depart Brazil for the United States and it is me departing.
***
September 2014
It feels like a Sunday in fall. The wind is chilly, the sky
is greyer than blue, and the color green in the trees is over shadow by the
browns in the hills and the sandy banks along the Rio Doce. The familiar tones
speak louder to me today, but it is spring here in Brazil. The threat of ran is
in the air, and the river flows quicker as upstream the rains did come.
Last night brother Gabriel was scarce in the crowd that came
to bless the chapel of the sisters. Normally a beacon in social functions he
was a ghost free to appear any place at any time. He chose as most ghosts to be
selective and scarce. I wasn’t even sure how he got to the Mass and party or
even how he left.
I returned to the house with the van load of the brothers.
It was stacked with amps and speaker sticks, a mixer, ornate candle sticks, and
a matching alter cross. We unloaded the van in front of the bar crowd that sit
perpetually under the metal roof that shoots out to the street. We wave, and
they wave from the one dilapidated table that hugs the bricks of the fire that
burns for evening heat. We unload the car into the into the store rooms that
resided in their chapel. Unloading the van is complicated by their practice of
removing footwear, normally sandals, because of weight for awkwardness of the
items.
I walk upstairs to see Br. Gabriel finishing up the dishes
from the lunch he prepared earlier in the day. He was at the tail finishing and
I walked into the kitchen to greet him.
“Hello Brother.”
“Hello Sean,” his tone friendly but thoughtfully distant.
I saw that the door to the closest sized bathroom was half
open. I looked in from across the room and noticed Paulo, a son from the
street, was in there hiding. Paulo had started taking refuge in the bathroom
earlier in the week and was becoming very obstinate about leaving – even to the
point of muttering in angry drones. He saw me as I faked a cough to turn from
his gaze. I turned back and he was still looking at me, so I smiled and he
pointed to me and then motioned his thumb to his mouth, shaking his pinky in
the air. “Agua Paulo?” I speak loud and
with diction. He shakes his head and points to me. “Oh, I need Agua, is that
right Senior Paulo!” He acknowledges me and pushes his forehead into his folded
arms.
I walk into the kitchen. Brother and I talk for a while
about many things. I take full advantage to speak with him as he is leaving the
house at 1:00 PM tomorrow and leaving me without a translator. It is not
important at this time to give the specific of are conversation. He was
returning to his home town to see his parents, family, and friends that he had
not seen in five years. That is a long time to be away, and hometowns seem to
never forget us as who we were before we left, and most often why we left. I
could feel the deepness of his thoughts in his reflections over cleaning the
dishes.
We also talked about the true reason I was on this journey.
It was a continuation of previous talks, but I knew he was reaffirming the
points that had marked my time thus far in Brazil. The greatest one to speak of
was his answer when I asked him how to be silent and listen to God with
patience in a busy world. His home town was on a beach and that was the
metaphor he used to explain. (I suspend the need to quote directly from dialog)
“It is like the breakers and the waves at the shoreline. They
are loud, fast, pulling, and pushing. You may never feel about to break out of
that force, but on the other side is the peace; the peaceful place where God
speaks to your heart. It is there all the time, even when you are in the hectic
surf.”
I could see his eye lighten and that very peace manifest in
his form, as he imaged that loving and quiet place.
“Thank you for being my guide for this leg of the journey
Brother.” I embrace him and back away.
“You will see a lot in Brazil, but the real journey is not
the culture or the language. It is a spiritual one for you. Only one part of
this whole journey is Brazil.” He outlined a box shape on the counter top and
pointed at areas in it. These are just parts,” he furrowed his brow at me as a
question. “Parts?”
I nodded, “Pieces, pieces of a puzzle.”
“Yes, and you need to look out for them, and then you can
arrange them.”
It was getting late and I paused in thought. “Boa Noite
Brother. I will see you tomorrow.”
“Yes maybe.”
“Why are you planning to run out of here before I wake-up?”
He spoke in a not quite correct phase. “No, we will awaken
you,” he paused and then laughed.
***
I awoke to the bell at eight in the morning. I was nice to
sleep late with no mass until Sunday night. Already I could hear brother packing
as he would walk up and down the stairs to gather things. I cracked the window
and reflected on the day. It was a good Sunday morning panorama; the sun was breaking
the clouds.
Tainia and Ana from the sister house arrived about 10:00 AM
to deliverer an envelope. I walk down to the main level to greet them and the
full kitchen of cooks. The smell coming from the kitchen is savory and oily. A lay
associate named Andrea` orders the Formandos around in the kitchen, but he smiles
in a playfully rye way. He is a round bellied and light featured young man standing
beside Caio, who is thin, and 6’3.
In Tainia’s hand is a red flower. The flower is very
tropical looking with four petals that start at the stem wide and thin to
pointed hairs at the tips, from the middle of the flower are thee ruby red
insect feeler like stamens poking up at a unified crook.
“Irmao Gabriel?” I point and she smiles and shakes her head
yes.
So much of this house is buzzing and when Brother appears from
packing he is playful and calm. I can see he is ready for the trip to the point
he can relax a bit.
A few arrive to see brother and enjoy lunch. They are
excited to have a yellow cola on the table that is native to Brazil, its tastes
like ginger ale, but is made from a fruit only here call Guarana. They have completed the lent of St. Michael
the Arch Angel; it is like the lent before Easter only it takes place between
August and September. This year those participating gave up soda, sweets, and
candy. In addition, they prayed a devotion every evening in that forty days,
and keep a status of the saint in their house.
The sun’s fight with the clouds is lost and it becomes very
gray as we pray and begin eating a meal of baked pasta noodles mixed with lightly
sautéed vegetables and potatoes. It now feels a little sad that Brother is
leaving, but we laugh frequently as we sit on the ground eating. The Brazilians
love to pick on each other and play jokes, but one favorite is pointing out if
someone is too big, too tall, too fat, or their particular mannerisms. It seems
that everyone takes and gives it, yet it is a bit juvenile and they do stop
most of the time when someone turns red.
As we finish lunch, Brother Gabriel walks up the concrete
steps and refuses the chocolate and fruit desert on the table that everyone is
ripping apart. He trips and falls into the stairs, he pauses and starts to
laugh. I can see he is no longer uneasy, just in the place in packing were you
get clumsy and forgetful.
He returns wearing a backpack, and has a brown army like
duffle bag santa claused over his shoulder. Everyone moves in for a hug and a
goodbye as it will be five weeks before he returns to the house. Brother Gideao
rushes us to the train station and cuts into traffic with our Volkswagen van
like it was a motorcycle. We turn the corner of a street and I notice the
brothers talking seriously in the front seat. The van turns back east and Br.
Gideao jams the gas.
We are back at the house and he honks the horn and yells to Weaverton
who comes down quickly. The van takes off as Weaverton is still standing blankly
alongside. I asked what brother forgot. And everyone irrupts in to laughter.
“What?” I say looking around.
Br. Gabriel turns with all of his travel money and paper
work in his hands, “My tickets,” everyone laughs again.
We arrive as the train pulls into the station, I will never
forget the sight of two Religious Brothers in the front seat of a VW van
cutting off cars and honking around corners. We take one final picture with the
group and we wish Br. Gabriel a good trip as he walks onto the platform for the
train.
In all my time in Brazil, I have not been far from Br. Gabriel.
He guided me in Sao Paulo, on a two fifteen hour trips, one on and train and
one on a bus. He introduced me to Governador Valadares and to the great people
who love him there. I watched him organize two large events for the church and
youth, and together we missioned in a troubled remote town called Aimores. Yet
it will always be Governador Valadares, a city he touched in many ways, which
will miss him for the time he is gone in October, and when he leaves for
another post in January 2014.
On this leg of my trip he kept me on track as my spiritual confidant,
and my Portuguese professor. I will see him again, but not for months and I would
like to say thank you personally.
“I can only attest to the grace of God that you welcome me
to The Fraternity of Missionaries in Brazil. A guide and a friend whose words
and example still helps me remember what a beautiful experience this has been
for me. I will always be grateful.”
Hugs Good Bye.
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