— Midweek Meditations:
thoughts, inspiration and encouragement
from ACF community members —
During the period of the novitiate in Jesuit formation, every novice lives an experience of pilgrimage that emulates the journey of Ignatius of Loyola, the founder. The purpose of this experience is to place one’s trust in nothing and no one other than the good Father–Mother who gives all. That is why nothing is to be taken for the journey: “no staff, nor bag, nor bread, nor money …” (Luke 9:3).
Our experience took place in Nogales, Sonora. I say our because three Jesuit companions were sent together. We had to live as maquiladora workers, without presenting our degrees or qualifications; moreover, no one could know that we were religious, since—at least in Mexico—preferential treatment is given when that becomes known.
The Fofo, Genarito, and I set off for Nogales. The Lord’s goodness began to be strikingly palpable on the second day after our arrival, as we were looking for somewhere to sleep. In one of the shared courtyards typical of the stacked apartment tower complexes known as pichoneras, we saw a family and approached them to ask whether they knew of a place where we might stay or rent a room. Juan, one of the neighbours, quickly warned us against looking elsewhere, since in that part of the city migrants were being loaded with drugs and forced to cross the border carrying the shipment. Such was his concern that he offered to help us look for a place. He put three strangers into his car and drove us from one place to another. We visited seven places until we found a small duplex house, which turned out to be for rent by one of his cousins. During the search, Juan’s mobile phone rang repeatedly, as his family was worried—as is only logical in a country with more than 111,000 missing persons, at least according to official figures.
Throughout our entire stay in Nogales, Juan, Selene—his wife—and their daughters were like family to us. They invited us to eat at their home because, as they told us, “it must feel awful to be far from the people you love”. They also helped us find work at the same maquiladora where they were employed, and at weekends they even invited us to their celebrations. They were Christians from a Protestant tradition. We, in turn, transformed those Sunday celebrations in their own way into our Eucharist.
However, the most intense moment came at the end of the experience. So much good had been shown to us, so many moments and so much love had been shared, that it seemed unjust to leave without more, without telling them who we truly were.
One day, as the experience was coming to an end, we decided to buy some roast chickens to invite them to lunch and tell them about ourselves. Genarito began to explain, little by little: “We have to confess to you that we are Jesuit religious, that we met in Ciudad Guzmán, that we do not want to go to the United States, that we came here for an experience as part of our novitiate …”
The expressions on the faces of the family began to change, moving from surprise to compassion, to sadness, to anger.
“What saddens me most,” Juan said to us, “is that you belong to that Church and that you will also lead others to hell, because it is written in the Bible … Catholics worship the Virgin and that is blasphemy … You lied to us! Yes, yes, that’s what Catholics are like.”
For several minutes we tried to clarify the matter, to debate doctrinal points; we tried to argue, explain, detail, analyse, specify, name—and the further we went, paradoxically, the more we ran into insurmountable issues that cast doubt on both our reasons and theirs.
But the truth was that we had loved one another, that they had helped us when we needed it, that we had felt like a family despite having known each other for only three months. What was undeniable was that they had opened the doors of their hearts to us and had let us in.
Faced with that apodictic evidence, there was nothing left to do but remain silent; there was no need to continue specifying, qualifying, adjudicating. Silence was enough—simple assurance of the certainty of having found the pearl of the Gospel.
Many years later I married a woman who is also Protestant. “How is such a marriage possible?” people ask us. “Don’t you have arguments over doctrinal issues?”
I reply that where we converge every day is in silence—whether by counting the breath, repeating the name of Jesus, or reciting the ninety-nine names of Allah. In silence we meet.
On the basis of these experiences, it seems to me that the path of silence is a way towards encounter between what appears, at first glance, to be irreconcilable. Zen, by its very nakedness, quickly leaves the practitioner exposed to the elements and leaves them there; this strikes me as a direct—though not easy—path towards self-awareness that opens one to encounter with others, and allows human beings “to see people like trees walking, and then to see everything clearly” (Mark 8:22–26).
The ACF Midweek Meditations
are written by a diverse group of our church members with the intention to seek God’s fingerprints in our lives. They range from somber to humorous and are inspired by all facets of live and faith. Written by ordinary people from all walks of life, they reflect a wide range of Christian backgrounds and spiritualities.
Each week’s text portrays the individual viewpoint of its author. They might not always resonate with everyone, and are not meant to be understood as representing the Anglican Church Freiburg as a whole. Yet, as a church that is aiming to ‘Build a Community of Grace’ we seek to practice learning from and listening to one another.
We pray that these humble ponderings add a small spark of blessing to your week.
Freiburg Anglican Church 