Living
in two worlds can be rather wrenching! “Home again”… I feel it
arriving in Haiti, and back in my own (now rather chilly!) “real
home”. Home, here, to the seemingly endless struggle to get out
of the airport, with (literally) dozens of people struggling to lay
hands on my baggage… and so claim a piece of the action. Home to
garbage-strewn streets, tattered children (and adults) struggling for a
living, home to a “place apart”, the Mission House, thick with dust and
everything to be unpacked and spread out and distributed. It’s
now a very familiar process, but just as wearing as ever. Above
all, home to my people, our people here, in this troubled land, closer
to Miami than Miami is to home.
At once, all the usual
problems: the roof of the church is leaking, will destroy the
building if something isn’t done promptly. One of the hinges on
the courtyard gates has given way. Minor things, but things which
must have attention… and money. Dwindling Mission funds are
bolstered by contributions from two Syrian (nominally Orthodox) grocers
here, and the work is authorized.
But that’s really nothing… the
real thing is the people, the work of God, the schools (four of them
now, associated with the Mission). Merely to move around in Haiti
is a major undertaking, so for three days (once having somewhat settled
in, once again), the trips across the city (mercifully, most of them on
the north side only) to visit the schools, speak with the children,
listen to them sing, one class after another, “Welcome, Father
Gregory!” And astonishment… we have been able to do little for
these schools this year, yet they are flourishing (even though some of
the teachers haven’t been paid for months). Each is in fact a
private enterprise, directed by the faithful of the Church, but each
offers elementary Orthodox religious instruction, and is formally
allied to the Mission. Two are in their infancy, growing rapidly;
two others have been established for some time. They all suffer
grievously from lack of funds… in substantial part because a large
number of the students are accepted without being able to pay their
full tuitions (already very modest). Three of the schools
(Notre-Dame, St. Nicholas, St. John Chrysostom) are “ordinary”
elementary schools. The fourth, the oldest, is a specialized
school for mentally handicapped children, Le Foyer d’Amour. In a
nation where public schools are few and far between, and hopelessly
handicapped by lack of funds and trained teachers, the importance of
such schools is enormous. Despite their limitations, children
learn to read and write, to manage basic arithmetic, to acquire some
basis of historical and scientific understanding. They deserve
our fullest support.
After the better part of the week at such
concerns… Vigil and Liturgy at the Church of the Nativity of the Mother
of God. As always, this was a heart-warming time, encouraged by
the manifest growth in how to well serve the praises and thanksgivings
to Our Lord. A modest congregation for Vigil on Saturday
afternoon (hampered both by the difficult time, as many people are
still at work, and the inherent difficulties of a long service in a
superheated church) swelled to a full-songed group on Sunday
morning. Again, a dominant part of the congregation came from the
very poor area of LaPlaine… their presence made possible by the
continuing operation (thanks to a generous gift from a benefactor) of
the Transport de la Plaine… a chartered pickup truck which travels from
LaPlaine to the church and back each Saturday evening and Sunday
morning.
The day had only begun. It was time to bless houses…
the traditional Theophany house blessings, a bit delayed. Fr.
Jean and I divided the labor. After a pleasant lunch with him and
his family, and a bit of rest, I was off to LaPlaine. I had been
there several times before, but only for more or less formal meetings
at the home of Amboise Noël, one of the most consistent “readers” (as
yet not ordained) at the church, and director of the St. Nicholas
School… on St. Nicholas lane, in the region of St. Nicholas, at
LaPlaine. This time, we were in for a bit of walking as we passed
from house to house, beginning with his own. Amboise’s home is
modest… very small, no electricity, no telephone, no running water, and
outhouse. Very familiar. Despite my familiarity with the
dreadful living conditions of many Haitians, I was even yet somewhat
unprepared for our next stop, the home of one of our most faithful
families, all baptized last Pascha. A woman alone, nine children…
two 10 foot square rooms of mud and wattle, breaking through (from the
rains) in many places, a roof of corrugated iron, a cooking fire in the
courtyard. Its saving grace, from a worldly viewpoint… plenty of
room all about, unlike the dreadful shantytowns of the middle of the
city, where similar “buildings” are pressed one against another, with
just enough room for one person (two if very skinny) to squeeze between
them. But the light and air around were only the visible
manifestations of the light from the people… smiling, full of peace and
joy. We are a nation of spoiled brats, who need nothing so badly
as to be compelled to live (not just visit) in such circumstances even
if only for a brief time. It was all I could do to hold back the
tears as I blessed the home and the people.
A pleasant visit with
the handicapped children of the Foyer d’Amour (Hearth of Love) and Fr.
Deacon Grégoire and Matushka Rose-May (to say nothing of 10 month old
Anastasia, joyful and delightful) were the beginning of a pleasant trip
to the south coast. Along the way I was able (providential… I
should have been too late, but the director hadn’t quite gotten around
to leaving yet) to establish contact with the Center for Washed Coffee
of the peasants of the mountain highlands between the central gulf of
Haiti and the south coast — a source for organic coffee of the highest
quality. Organic because they can’t afford fertilizers or
pesticides (in fact, most of the coffee bushes are now gone native and
only lightly cultivated); of the highest quality (there is also a more
modest variety) because they have developed a system for collectively
blending coffees from different regions and altitudes to produce a
consistently superior coffee. Beginning of commercial!
Supporters of the Mission in Santa Fe, New Mexico, had already proposed
a project for the distribution of such a coffee (having been struck by
the unusual quality of coffee I had brought back from Haiti while
visiting). If all works as planned, the coffee will be purchased
as hulled, washed green coffee beans from the collective in the
mountains, transported to Port-au-Prince for roasting either by
parishioners or by artisans in training at the vocational school which
Fr. Deacon Grégoire and his collaborators direct (or both), imported to
the US as luggage (its value at that point will be too low to incur
customs duties) on return trips (which are nearly empty compared with
the outbound trips), and distributed for the benefit of the Mission by
St. Bridget’s Handicrafts in Santa Fe. A very limited quantity
will be available in the near future as samples to Mission contributors
who request them (or others who send along a small donation to cover
costs) by the time this appears in print. At this point, it is
impossible to fix prices or policies for the future… but for
coffee-lovers, this Haitian Mission Special Coffee will be something to
treasure.
And so it was that once again, despite all plans to the
contrary, I arrived at the hamlet of Cyvadier, several kilometers east
of Jacmel, just at dusk… to find two of the baptized faithful waiting
for me at the roadside. Their rather lengthy vigil come to an
end, we went at once to the newly-leased room which is to become (and
in some degree has already become) the church’s home here for the next
two years, at least. I had already been informed of its seemingly
ample size (about 12x25 feet), but expected to find something in a
deteriorated building (like most buildings in Haiti), rough, gloomy… a
serious challenge. To my astonishment, it is an airy front room,
now separated from the home of which it is a part, in view of the
principal road in the region, new… one could hardly ask for
better. Glory be to God… and thanks to the faithful, mostly
teenagers, who found it and bargained for its lease! At once to
work (around school schedules!)… furnishings to be found, things to
think about. Before I left to go to the school, Nicolas (the
“founder” of this mission, if one could be named) asked if perhaps we
could have Vespers each evening while I was here. It took me a
moment to recover my aplomb… but obviously, of course!
Today, back
to town… to buy a fan (electricity actually works at Jacmel!), some
cloth for curtains and hangings, a few odds and ends, find out where
Nicolas’ school is (I must meet him there tomorrow to arrange for the
payment of his tuition… a benefactor other than the Press would be most
welcome!), to try to send an e-mail message home to assure that all is
well. Then, in a hurry, back to Cyvadier for Vespers. Dark
was closing in as we began (late enough that “second shift” scholars
might be able to get there)… with three or four of us together, more or
less as I expected. With each hymn, the volume of the responses
seemed to increase, but as I had no occasion to turn around (the
service had to be done by the light of a couple of candles, with cross,
icons and books laid on the only table available, borrowed from
Nicolas’ house) until near the end of the service… I was astounded,
when I finally did, to find the room almost filled — certainly at least
twenty, probably thirty or more people in the darkness. We
concluded with the reading of the life of St. Xenia of Rome from the
Synaxarion (available in French… I had brought a set to leave with the
little mission here), for whose commemoration we had just served
Vespers, with a not-quite-simultrans into Créole. How I would
have loved to have been able to serve for St. Xenia of St. Petersburg,
followed by her life… but I have neither the service nor her life in
French, and certainly couldn’t trust to my French and a vocal-only
translation for the life. [An aside… two years ago now, on St.
Xenia’s feastday, I had the joy of serving a paraclisis in her honor
with Fr. Christopher in another unfinished church, in Uganda… may the
Lord bless him and his flock in the effort to finish that church!]
Tomorrow,
the next day, the next… the labor of trying as quickly as possible to
turn an empty room, no matter how pleasant, into a good place for the
Divine Services, and to equip a handful of people with almost no
liturgical resources for lay services. It is a daunting task, but
one lightened by two books I brought with me (I catch up on a lot of
delayed reading in Haiti!)… Fr. Seraphim’s letters to Fr. Alexey Young,
which spoke as to my own heart, not only from an old friend whom I
dearly miss, but also from one who speaks even now to the work the Lord
has laid before me; and a newly-released account of the missionary
labors of Fr. Cosmas, Apostle to Zaïre. May the Lord grant the
strength and peace needed!
The week went by quickly, too
quickly! Vespers each evening in the little room on process of
transformation, into town each day to look for necessities.
Tables were needed… a large one for the holy table, two smaller
ones. Where to get them? This is Haiti… go to the ébéniste,
the woodworker, and have them made to order! In Port-au-Prince
one might find something in a store, but not in Jacmel. Just how
far away from “civilization” we were I was yet to discover. We
needed a few chairs, to give some relief from standing for old people,
mothers with child within or without. We discovered we could buy
folding chairs at BizNet, but had to wait two days for a price… $45
each… and then wait two weeks for delivery! So we bought a few
plastic lawn chairs ($10 each) — but they wouldn’t fit in the trunk of
the rented car, try as we might, so two of the faithful brought them
back in a tap-tap. A bit more charge for the extra cargo!
Little
by little it all came together, and by Saturday afternoon the room had
indeed been transformed into something resembling an Orthodox
temple A readers’ stand to hold all the books, and something more
resembling an iconostasis than a couple of curtains are yet to come
(again from the ébéniste). Much, much more is needed, of
course… but all that in God’s time. Vigil Saturday and
Liturgy Sunday were beautiful in all their simplicity and
grandeur.
Sunday required a quick departure, with Fr. Dcn.
Grégoire, Matushka Rose-May and little Anastasia (now 10 months old)…
we had a long journey to make to Les Cayes. Fortunately, the
roads proved to be better than average for Haiti. Only now and
then were we forced to a snail’s pace by badly potholed sections or
stretches of road which were nothing but rocks embedded in the
dirt. Compensation for the difficult stretches: it was one
of the most beautiful drives I have ever made — first back across the
mountains to the bay, then through the midlands of the south to again
reach the south coast, which proved to be a tropical paradise of palm
trees and grass-roofed houses. Sadly, the voyage terminated, as
do most Haitian voyages, in the miserably overcrowded, run-down,
garbage-strewn city of Les Cayes, with open sewers running throughout,
either in the streets or beside them. An American can scarcely
refrain from at once thinking, Why doesn’t somebody do something!
The answer, of course is — who? The resources simply aren’t
here. In fact, a great deal is being done, but nowhere near
enough. The result is a state of misery unknown even in the worst
of our slums (and few enough of us have even a remote idea of what they
are like).
Nevertheless, through all this misery and poverty shines
a light… the light of Christ. These are indeed the children of
the Lord, and it shows in every introduction, every greeting, every
handshake. The visit was very pressed… Vespers in the evening
followed by a meeting with the thirty or so people who had crowded into
a room given for the purpose, with questions which might have gone on
all night… except that (once again!) we were in the very height of
Carnaval, and I dared not put off returning to the hotel very late into
the evening. In the morning, a repeat of the questions and
answers, in an outlying part of the city, for a group of people unable
to make the trip into the city in the evening. Then, the long
journey back to Port-au-Prince… happily uneventful, despite a tire
which had developed a tread separation on which I would never have
driven further than to the nearest tire store at home.
One evening
in Jacmel, as I walked back to the hotel (about 10 minutes) from the
church after Vespers, quite unintentionally a word of greeting in
Créole (the only language known to everyone here; less than 5%
could be said really to speak French, though considerably more
understand it when spoken carefully and slowly) to someone at the side
of the lane escaped my lips. The rest of the way back my few
phrases of Créole were thoroughly exercised, as it seemed by semaphore
to be transmitted from cluster to cluster that I had actually spoken
their own language. A more dramatic demonstration of the urgent
need to seriously undertake another course of study could hardly have
been given.
My return to the capital was graced by a visit to Fr.
Jean’s home… to meet with his father (as he had requested before I
left). After something to eat together and a very warm discussion
of the voyage just completed (Hatians are always enthusiastic to have
word from other parts of the country) I was just about ready to make my
departure… and then the real business of the encounter began. Fr.
Jean’s half-brother, one of the members of the parish, wishes to be
married to a young catechumen from the farthest western town of any
size in the south of Haiti. However, their father (himself not
Orthodox, though very warmly inclined) was very reluctant to give his
blessing for the marriage, for many reasons which he considered
good. Suddenly, he was transformed from a simple Haitian peasant
into a grand paterfamilias, and the conversation leapt from a simple
friendly exchange of experiences to the level of diplomatic
negotiations. He speaks French simply, but elegantly,
thoughtfully, beautifully… in fact, I found it easier to understand him
than almost anyone else here. One by one, we examined his
concerns, and little by little they melted away. At the end, his
last word… “I leave it all in the hands of the Eternal One.” I
came away feeling that I had been blessed by an encounter with a truly
great man.
There remain for me only a few hours in Haiti, with the
usual flurry of things which must be done before
departure… greatly complicated by Carnaval: all the major
facilities (including the bank) are closed until Wednesday morning, the
day I must leave, and most everything else closes at noon
tomorrow. By late afternoon the streets will be impassable.
Although with joy I look forward to my return home, at the same time
with sadness I contemplate leaving this impossible land of
contradictions… of misery and grandeur, of joy and sorrow. It is
a great teacher of patience… one never knows whether, and must
anticipate the possibility, even probability, that a simple task
undertaken will turn into a large part of day, or even an entire day,
expended to no apparent purpose. God be thanked!
— March 2002
Afterword,
May 2002 — The best-laid plans, etc.! The foregoing was written
while in Haiti shortly before the beginning of Lent, with plans for it
(and this issue) to be in readers’ hands early in Lent. Many
things intervened… amongst them, happily, a fruitful fund-raising
trip, remaining in Washington after the lenten clergy retreat for two
presentations, then northward to Jordanville (to visit youngest
grand-daughter, not raise money), Rochester, and back through
Cincinnati. Should your parish wish to host the slide
presentation, please don’t hesitate to write or call. Only one
difficult limitation: I must be away from my own parish family so
much for work in Haiti that it is very difficult to arrange to be away
on weekends for such presentations.
Fr. Jean’s half-brother Julbert
and his newly-baptized fiancée Michaela celebrated their marriage
shortly before the beginning of Lent. Glory be to God!
Nicolas,
in Jacmel, suffers from an as yet imperfectly diagnosed inflammation of
the lungs which causes him high fevers and such terrible vulnerability
to chilling (in Haiti?!) that he dared not make the difficult voyage to
Port-au-Prince for the Paschal celebration. He needs your
prayers… and some more advanced medical help, for which financial
assistance is needed. I hope to be able to arrange the medical
care during my next visit.
On Holy Saturday 2002, in Port-au-Prince
seventeen catechumens passed through the saving waters of Holy Baptism…
eight of them from the parish of St. Augustine in Jacmel, the others
from Port-au-Prince. God be praised!
With the blessing of
Metropolitan Laurus and Bishop Gabriel, plans are in the making for an
episcopal visit to Haiti, most likely by His Grace Bishop Michael, for
the ordination to the priesthood of Fr. Dcn. Grégoire, and ordinations
of readers. God willing, this may come about shortly after
Pentecost.
Thus it is that the work of the Kingdom of God goes
forward. We beg your prayers and your prayerful assistance with
the financial needs of the Mission.
GHHHHHHH
February 2002, Jacmel, Haiti
