Mission to Brazil: Profession of Vows

I awoke on the bus to the red hue of morning framed in the opposite side passage window. I felt wistfully at home as the sun warmed the colors on the easy hills, and watched intently as the light bore out the lands resemblance to Northwest Missouri in summer bloom. The country side around Cascavel in the southern state of Parana is filled with green crops. As we reached the outlining towns the bus spun around many traffic circles and highway on ramps, alerting everyone that is a few minutes we would arrive, after a thirteen hour bus ride from Sao Paulo.

I walked out of the bus station at 8:00 AM to wait for my ride. After a half hour on the bench outside the station I made a choice to wait a bit longer for my ride before calling, in part because of the peaceful surroundings and partly to see what may happen. In ten minutes Brother Junipero walked along the far parking lot parallel to the station; I stood to catch his eye. I picked up my things and followed him as he walked quickly along the sidewalk. He stopped to calculate and was looking off in a different direction when I caught up with him. I stood behind him and with force spoke, “Irmao!”

He turned, “Sean, Quanto tempo!” (It’s been a long time!)

“It has. Did you take the bus from Paraguay?”

“No, I walked here from the brother house to get my Mother, but her bus is late. Where did you come from?”

“Sao Paulo, I am working at the house for the elderly in Villa Natal.”

“That’s great! I am walking back to the house, I’ll come back later.”

“I’ll walk with you if that is ok.” (As if I had other options)

“Sure.” He reached down and grabbed my bag before I could and started walking quickly. We walked together for three blocks and I remembered the area from my past visit a month before. The station was only four blocks away from the Brother house in Cascavel.

Their house is two stories tall and set back from the road and its large front gate. The front approach has a green area with a little flower garden complete with gazebo and multiple seating areas. They always keep the garage door of building wide open as the main entrance to the house. This was an industrial or commercial building before. I could see the kitchen against the back wall under the rooms that were offices, now a chapel, and the work or showroom space in front serves as the dining room, recreation area, and to the side a set of four shared bedrooms. The residents of the house were heavy into lunch prep for themselves and the brothers, but I could see them hurrying because of the inflow of people for the Profession.

The Profession is one of the most important yearly events for the Order of Missionary of the Poor of Jesus Christ. As their anniversary in October celebrates the orders birth, life, and continuing mission, then the Profession is the celebration of its renewing strength to that mission. These men and woman have studied, worked, and prayed for many years in the process of this monumental vow of service. Both alone and unified, they have journeyed along the way dropping some things of their past lives that would be no help to them, or fashioned them into the crosses to they carry consciously in the knowledge of their own humanity and humility.

I arrived in time for mass which was going on in the converted office space above the kitchen. I was dreary from the ride and felt it as I climbed the stairs to the chapel. The priest celebrating mass was Father Rafael, he is built like an NFL Tackle and is all of 6’6. Father Gilson the co-founder and head, Father Rafael, and soon to be ordained Br. Seraphim are the priests on the order. In addition to their priestly duties they all hold roles of leadership in this flourishing movement.

The tiny chapel room was packed full and out into the hallway. I really knew that many had made the journey to this farming city, and I was excited to see many of my friends, some made in Brazil and some from the United States.

After Mass, I quickly showered and repacked to go to the next “wherever” on the trip. I stepped out of the bathroom with a toothbrush still in my mouth, wet towel under my arm, and my hands still wet from washing my face. Brother Gideao was standing right in front of me with a grin and his whole family. I lived with Br. Gideao in Governador Valadares for two months in September and October of last year.

He turned to his family and said, “This is the American I lived with.”

I put the toothbrush behind my back and he pointed to his father, his two brothers, and his youngest brother’s soon to be wife. His father was tall and had the same side mouth smile like Br. Gideao; his complexion was leathery from years of sun in the construction trade in Sao Paulo. I could see Br. was enjoying that I was unprepared for meeting this group, so he kept asking questions. His family reminds me of the stereotype of Italian New Yorkers; they talk loud, with a deep voice, and seem to be impatient.

After things settled, I found myself down stairs watching Brother Gideao and his family playing dominos with one of the sons. Brother was a good player, but his Father liked to approve of his play by breathing out words over his shoulder. Sister Imolatia walked down the stairs from the chapel and I walked quickly to see her. She is an American member of the order, who I know from my time with the sisters in Kansas City. I got up and was able to speak with her for a short time. I could see that she was excited to greet all her brothers as they started to rush into the building, so I said a quick good bye and Ate Mais (until later).

As more parents and family arrived a caravan was organized for us to walk the mile to the church we would be staying in that night. I meet Br. Ilumminatto’s family on the road and his father was draped in the flag of his home state of Para. We looked like a procession to a prize fight with all the brothers in hoods and our champion in a cape of red with one large white diagonal strip and a centered blue star fluttering in the breeze. This proves that parents are entitled to embarrass their children with their odd showings of pride even at religious Professions – not just relegated to graduations.

We reached the church’s activity center organized into male and female dorms. The kitchen was in full swing cooking for the families and friends of the forty one novices. I took my stuff to the dorm and two large rooms were set with empty mattresses for the night before the Profession. So many lay associates worked long hard days to make sure the events for the Order would run smoothly. They are regarded as a backbone of support to the religious members. Their work is indispensable to the success of the orders events and mission.

We took a two mile walk to one of the Order’s male drug rehab centers; they have many centers in Brazil both for men and woman. In April of this year they will add a new center for woman in Sao Paulo making three women’s centers. The one in Recife also houses the children of the women in treatment. It is a beautiful strength when the order asks someone to leave the street with the infrastructure to follow through with a 9 month program. The wonder of their work is they receive no government aid, and are able to exist solely on donation or providence as they call it. I have seen them make due with little and stretch what they are given to continue operating day to day on schedule.

The men’s centers are set up like farms complete with live stock, vegetable gardens, and grounds to maintain. The work is part of the recovery along with a balance of prayer, peace, and recovery. We walked through the pristine grounds of the compound and into the main building of the center. It is a white building with two large entrances, one to the chapel, and the other to the foyer adjacent to the bed rooms and the dining room. I walked around by myself and looked at the gardens and could see the one cow being milked before night. I made my way back to the house and found another door that faced the chicken coups. It held a roaring fire for the wood burn stove and their wood pile was enormous. The large pots used to cook for 30 men and the handful of Brothers were stacked on and around the stove. I cut past the inside kitchen, the laundry, and the TV/recreation room. My group had walked on to the corner of the grounds and after asking a couple of the brother that lived in the house where they were - I rejoined them. They were watched the pigs and the goats as they rolled in the dirt and mud to keep cool. A great big hog posed for me to take a photo as he stood against the pin wall. We returned to the house and loaded into a VW van and made our way to the women’s house 15 minutes away.

We turned from a neighborhood onto a country road and were among the rolling bean fields. Up a hill the little VW van had to take a run at to clear, we arrived at the compound. On three sides it had a grand view that made me a little home sick. The hills and valleys flowed into the distance where the City of Cascavel sat on the horizon.

I walked into the dining and living quarters and was greeted by two female legos (lay members) that I meet two months before when I lived two hours to the west on border of Paraguay. They lived in Cascavel and were excited to host the Profession and visited the women in this house regularly. A daughter cut by me and I said, “Oi!” She turned, smiled, and gave me a big hug. I meet her once on the 17^th of December when I returned to Sao Paulo. She was living for a short time in a house run by the sisters in urban Sao Paulo. She was on the way to Cascavel to start her nine month rehab and we shared the back of another VW van. She was eating all of her snacks meant for the 13 hour bus trip. She said, “I am getting fat,” and kept sneaking chocolate cracker from her bag. The sisters would chastise here lightly, but it became a joke as she kept eating. Only days ago she was using drugs and the sugar in the candy worked to aid her blood sugar that was for sure out of balance.

I looked around the dining room of the drug rehab with the long table and great number of doors to the daughters’ bedrooms. In rapid fire she told me she liked the house, missed her daughter, was getting fatter, worried about her brother still on drugs, and meet Padre Gilson and Sister Servant (the co-founders of the order). She also missed cigarettes. She wouldn’t let me take a picture because she wasn’t dressed for it, but I smiled at the life in her after only a month in the house.

We said our goodbyes and my group returned to the church to eat and rest for the Profession the next day.