Well, I am back once again on U.S. soil. After returning from the Russian Far East, I had no plans to go anywhere for awhile. I figured I’d take some time to recoup, readjust, and yes, relax! I knew I’d have to of course make it through the always crazy but blessed Mercy Sunday at the National Shrine, and then the new filming of the Chaplet for EWTN, but then…well, the road to rest was free and clear.
What happened, however, was that the Blessed Mother had other plans and made them extremely clear…which doesn’t happen to me that often, trust me! Through a very quick series of events, I found myself booked for a mission trip to Bosnia and on yet another international plane ride 6 weeks after I flew home from Russia. I wouldn’t recommend this course of action to anyone unless it’s a must. For me it was a must…can’t say no to Mary:)
We worked within the refugee camps there that still remain from the war, as well as distributing supplies to poor families in the area and to a hospital in Mostar. It was unreal to see bombed out buildings with vegetation growing out of what used to be windows and roofs. There was a church we visited though that, while still riddled with bullet holes, was a sign of hope because of the extensive restoration that had taken place over the years and is continuing now.
It was a hard trip for me on top of what I had experienced so recently in Russia, but I was also prepared in a way I would not have been otherwise. I found in Bosnia the same hard conditions of poverty, but nothing I saw even in the refugee camps was worse than the villages in eastern Russia. While it enabled me not to be overwhelmed by it all, there was something in me that realized that at some point, there is a part of you that feels emotionally a bit numb to what you see, that sort of goes on auto-pilot so that you can function. I still felt compassion, I still felt a deep horror at the conditions and circumstances of these people’s lives, but the emotional reaction, which at times can be debilitating, was not so strong.
I came home ready for that R&R I’d been dreaming of, but was enticed by a friend to join a very short mission trip to Guatemala. I don’t know how else to express it except to say that Guatemala was healing for me. I was with an incredible group of people and a dear priest friend and his mother. The emotional climate there is very warm, open, and laid-back, and is grounded in a profound sense of gratitude. The Mayan people are beautiful and even though I was at a refugee village (necessary b/c of a mudslide that demolished a community) and listening to tales of the farmers and the injustice that has been – and is still – imposed upon them, everyone is smiling. It was a perfect place for me to go to be renewed in the belief that, while suffering always exists, joy is possible, and a positive outlook is priceless.
I’ve come to the conclusion again that I cannot take on the suffering of the world, I cannot be everywhere at once, I cannot heal all the wounds and I cannot find food and homes for all the children. But God…God did take on all the suffering, He is everywhere at once, He will heal all wounds, He Himself has become our food, and He has prepared a place for us…an eternal home. I think the danger of empathy without keeping this perspective is that it can overwhelm, because it is promised only that heaven is the place where there will be no more tears, no more suffering, no more sickness, and no more pain.
As I continue to see material poverty, physical maladies, emotional woundedness, orphans, refugees, and hopelessness in the face of red tape and destroyed economies…I am convinced again that the only thing to do is to love – love God and then love whomever He places in my path – receiving His blessing so that I can become a blessing to others. And, in that, to instill in others the hope and peace that this world cannot give.
As I write, I am listening to a record (remember those?) of Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor (Opus posthumous), which perfectly expresses what I’ve written here about my experiences. There is an intro and then the first note of the body of the piece. It brings me to tears with its melancholy, as if it somehow encompasses all the sorrow in the world in that one note. Yet at the very end of the piece there is a shift to unmistakable hope and even joy. It is the cycle of death and resurrection – of our days, of the world, of the Christian life. Kick back and listen to it sometime. God bless you ~ Erin
