Jesuits in the News

  • posted: Thursday, September 04, 2008

    NOGALES, Mexico (CNS) -- It's not uncommon for pregnant women who cross the U.S.-Mexican border illegally to have a miscarriage on their journey.

    Sister Maria Engracia Robles, a member of the Missionary Sisters of the Eucharist, knows this all too well. She also knows that unaccompanied women are the most vulnerable of all illegal border crossers.

    "The women who migrate (illegally) need to accept that they will be raped -- not once, but many times," Sister Engracia said.

    She's met many women who have had miscarriages or been raped in the Sonoran Desert after the U.S. Border Patrol deports them to Mexico.

    For the past year the Missionary Sisters of the Eucharist have been running El Comedor, a migrant care center for deported migrants just a few hundred feet south of the Arizona border.

    On Aug. 15, the sisters opened Casa de la Mujer Deportada Caminante, an apartment across the street from the care center that will house as many as eight women who have been deported.

    "It will be a place for these women to reflect (in) that is absolutely safe," Sister Engracia said. "This way they'll be able to take more time making a decision on their future."

    When the Border Patrol deports illegal immigrants, the migrants don't know what to do, said Sister Imelda Ruiz, also a member of the Missionary Sisters of the Eucharist. Before making the journey north, many borrow money and sell the few possessions they have.

    "They want to at least earn as much as they borrowed to get over the border," Sister Engracia said. Migrants pay smugglers around $1,500 to bring them across the border, or around $3,000 to be smuggled through the port of entry hidden in a car.

    That's a lot of money to pay back, especially when many of the migrants -- most of whom come from southern Mexico, according to the sisters -- were earning less that $300 a month.

    Many depressed migrants become dependent on services like the sisters' migrant care center, Sister Engracia said.

    To change this, the Missionary Sisters of the Eucharist will team up with Jesuits of the California province, Jesuit Refugee Service and the Mexican Province of the Society of Jesus.

    This binational effort, called the Kino Border Initiative, will work closely with the bishops of the Diocese of Tucson and the Archdiocese of Hermosillo, Mexico, starting in January.

    The primary social ministry of the initiative, according to the California province, will be to help staff the sisters' migrant care center.

    Sister Engracia said the Jesuits will also provide much needed education services -- to the deported migrants and also to a lukewarm Nogales community.

    "The closer you get to the border, the less people are willing to talk about this complicated issue," said Mark Potter, the assistant for social ministries in the California province. "We want to create a common space where we can discourse."

    He said the initiative will be "parish-based and reflect on the challenges the border presents in the light of the Gospel narrative and Catholic social teaching."

    The Kino Border Initiative offices will be in Nogales, Ariz., and will serve as a point of contact for the many U.S. humanitarian groups working on the border.

    Juan Antonio, who volunteers with No More Deaths, a humanitarian organization that aids migrants in need, said they will continue needing assistance. Antonio, who now volunteers in Nogales, Mexico, tried crossing in the past.

    "You try crossing here, and you'll find (Border Patrol agents) all over," he said, staring across a small valley between the United States and Mexico near the Mariposa point of entry.

    "You cross at night, and you'll run into a gang member who'll take everything you have," he said.

    Walt Staton, who also volunteers with No More Deaths, said that, while they've been seeing fewer deported migrants at the Nogales aid center, they're seeing more illegal immigrants than ever at their desert camp in Arivaca, Ariz.

    No More Deaths does patrols throughout the summer, offering food, water and basic medical care for immigrants left behind by smugglers in the Sonoran Desert.

    The organization also leaves behind caches of gallon-water jugs in designated locations. Volunteers return to the same locations to leave more water and pick up empty bottles.

    "We're going through more water than we ever have before," Staton said.

    END

    09/03/2008 2:15 PM ET

    Copyright (c) 2008 Catholic News Service/U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops


  • posted: Thursday, August 21, 2008

    PEDRO BETANCOURT, Cuba (CNS) -- As a summer afternoon rainstorm brewed, nearly two dozen Cubans gathered on a friend's covered porch to celebrate Mass.

    Wooden chairs were lined up, row by row, to accommodate neighbors. A visiting priest turned a small table into an altar. Another man strummed the opening song on his guitar while a couple of horses rested on the nearby grass, languishing in the muggy heat.

    Liturgies at home have become a phenomenon in Cuba as the church slowly rebuilds communities of faith. They are a way of bringing Jesus into the barrio instead of expecting that people make their way to a church they might not have attended in decades -- or ever.

    These missionary houses of prayer are known as "casas de mision," and Santa Catalina Parish in Pedro Betancourt has about 15 satellite mission homes and a chapel.

    Isabel Maria Marishal, 65, offers her home as a mission house in this particular neighborhood. Transportation is difficult in the island country, and bus service is hard to come by in the farmlands. Marishal, who has heart problems and diabetes, stopped going to Mass for a time; the chapel about a mile away was too far for her to walk. So she welcomed the opportunity to gather neighbors in her home for liturgy.

    "God helps me," she said. "I pray a lot to God."

    Her husband is often working and her two children are grown and no longer live with them.

    "I feel alone. But I'm not alone," she added. "I'm with God."

    Marishal said she learned the faith from her family as a young girl. It's a faith she's held onto even after Fidel Castro's revolutionary government came to power in 1959 and Castro declared himself a Marxist-Leninist in 1961. Cuba was officially atheist until 1992, when that word was struck from the Cuban Constitution.

    Missionary homes began appearing in the 1990s as tensions started easing between the government and the Catholic Church. "Casas de mision" continued flourishing after Pope John Paul II made a historic visit to the island in 1998.

    Jesuit Father Robert Alonzo, pastor of Santa Catalina Parish, makes his way up the hill to Marishal's home on a compact motorcycle.

    During the homily one Saturday afternoon, Father Alonzo talked about Jesus' cup of suffering, which the priest said was widely misunderstood by the apostles as they bickered among themselves for power.

    "This is what is distinctive about being a Christian --- service," said the silver-haired priest as a few raindrops began to fall. "You all know that there are many ways to serve. Even giving an aspirin to a neighbor who comes by with a headache. That's a service. Allowing someone to take a 'guayaba' fruit from my tree so they can make a little juice drink. That's serving. All that I do to serve my brothers and sisters, to alleviate their situation, that is service.

    "We are going to ask God in our Eucharist today to help us to serve -- that we live with an attitude of service," added Father Alonzo.

    Victor Sanchez and Vivian Sosa have been answering the call to service and Christian love since the 1970s. They met as catechists during a retreat, married and have three children. They participated in the earliest mission homes and offered their own home when few people openly practiced their faith.

    The two are committed to working as volunteer youth ministers in the community because "of our love for children," said Sanchez. They said they are trying to nurture the faith of the next generation.

    "It's nothing more than the Holy Spirit pushing and inspiring me," said Sanchez. "I got to know youth from catechesis and I haven't stopped since." Sanchez recently gathered the youths for a craft project to make rosaries using brightly colored beads and materials brought by U.S. visitors.

    He also plays the guitar and leads the choir, bringing messages of hope and faith through music.

    "People have many preoccupations," including illnesses and concerns about employment, he said.

    "We volunteer because of God's love," said Sosa, whose own mother has been very ill.

    Evangelization is done best through actions and good works more than words, Sanchez said. One member of the local faith community has been visiting the elderly and another, a nurse, tends to the sick.

    "We have to do God's will," said Sanchez, putting his hand on his heart.

    END

    08/19/2008 11:44 AM ET

    Copyright (c) 2008 Catholic News Service/U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops


  • posted: Monday, August 18, 2008

    AL-NEBEK, Syria (CNS) -- A sixth-century monastery in the desert of western Syria is giving today's visitors the experience of ancient spiritual life.

    Named after St. Moses, an Ethiopian monk, the Mar Musa monastery is about 20 miles from the nearest town, Al-Nebek. The monastery and its church are staffed with Catholic and Orthodox nuns and priests, and the compound has become a center for Muslim-Christian interfaith dialogue. With its vegetable garden and goat herd, the desert monastery is a model of sustainability.

    "I felt like I had a calling to come here, and I felt at home in Mar Musa even before I started living here," said Father Michel Toma, a Syrian Catholic priest from Homs, Syria, who moved to the monastery several months ago after having visited the remote spiritual oasis several times over the last 10 years. "I love nature. It's a relaxing and calm place."

    Everyone who visits works to help keep the monastery running. Some tend to the goats and make cheese. Father Toma's specialty is making candles, something he is teaching the other residents.

    He is particularly proud of the monastery's hospitality to all who visit regardless of race, religion or nationality.

    "We welcome everyone," Father Toma said. "It's not important that someone prays the same way, but that we all live together. We eat and pray together. That's the way we live."

    This is what Italian Jesuit Father Paolo Dall'Oglio envisioned when he founded the community about 20 years ago.

    After celebrating an energetic Mass in Arabic, Father Dall'Oglio was quick to greet a tour group from Italy.

    "Come and see the new church," he said, leading the group across a bridge and up a cliff to a nearly completed stone church.

    When Father Dall'Oglio stumbled upon Mar Musa's ancient ruins in the early 1980s, the monastery was in severe decay. The site had been long forgotten, known only to a few local goat herders. The ancient monastery is reminiscent of an era when rocky landscapes provided shelters for self-sustaining religious communities.

    With the help of volunteers, the Syrian government and international sponsors, the church roof has been rebuilt and medieval frescoes have been restored. More than 340 steps have been added almost seamlessly into the mountain, easing the climb to the monastery for visitors.

    According to legend, the son of a wealthy Ethiopian king named Musa founded the monastery. Preferring the monastic life to the throne, he traveled to Egypt, then to the Holy Land, settling in Syria where he became a monk in Qara, southern Syria.

    He lived as a hermit in the valley where the monastery is now situated until he died a martyr at the hands of a Byzantine soldier. As the story goes, the king's family took his body but his right thumb was separated from his body and remains a relic in the Syrian church in Al-Nebek.

    Mar Musa once belonged to the Syrian Antiochene rite. It was more than 500 years -- in 1058 -- before the church was built. The church's frescoes, which date from the 11th and 12th centuries and depict biblical scenes, are the monastery's pride.

    Restoration work has revealed three layers of artwork: Two are from the 11th century and the other is from the end of the 12th century or the beginning of the 13th century, according to restorers.

    The nave of the church is decorated with images of saints, with females on the arches and males on the pillars. A representation of the Last Judgment is depicted on the wall of the nave.

    Each evening, there is about an hour of quiet time, followed by a prayer service. The liturgy usually is celebrated in Arabic, French or English.

    Recently, the Jameel family made the eight-hour trip to Mur Masa from their home in northeastern Syria, near the Iraqi border, to have their 6-month-old daughter baptized.

    During the baptism the priests sang and prayed while a group of about 50 people observed the ceremony. Once the child was dipped in the water, the priests immediately sang a joyful Arabic hymn to the beat of a large drum.

    As the Jameel family and other visitors left, a group of French tourists who spent five days at Mar Musa took one last moment to rest under the tent on the monastery's terrace before returning to Damascus.

    Claire-Lise Henge of Alsace, France, said she was pleased with her visit.

    "It's not too strict, not what you'd think a monastery would be like," she said. "It's very open here. They joke around and people feel comfortable."

    She welcomed the mandatory participation in daily life, jokingly saying, "It means we're not just squatters here."

    Carole Perez-Pinard, also from the French group, acknowledged that life at Mar Musa was somewhat of an acquired taste.

    "Communal living was a big change for me," she said. "The first day, I couldn't imagine staying four nights."

    Like the French visitors, Jane Bornemeier, a tourist from New York, decided to visit Mar Musa out of curiosity.

    "I didn't know what it would be like. But it seemed adventurous, so we did it," she said.

    She admitted it was not what she expected.

    "When we arrived, we were dropped off at the bottom of a cliff. When I saw how far up it was that we had to climb, I said, 'No way.' It's much more remote and roughing it than I expected, much more like camping out than I thought it would be."

    But after one night of sleeping under the stars on the monastery's roof, she quickly warmed to the surroundings.

    "It's an extraordinary place," she said while helping with a meal for other visitors. "This modern version of an ancient tradition is really something."

    END

    08/14/2008 9:02 AM ET

    Copyright (c) 2008 Catholic News Service/U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops