Marianne & Margaret

Do you ever gaze up at the night sky?

 

                                                                                                                                                                                              — Teacher Lee Seon-hee (Christina) —

I would like to tell you about a place where you can see the Milky Way looking as though it might pour right down onto the earth.

Follow an unpaved road, cross over several mountain peaks, wind your way up along cliff-side paths, and just when it seems you have reached the very top of the mountain, an unexpectedly vast highland plain stretches out before you.

Scattered mud-walled homes come into view, and sheep and goats mingle with cattle and donkeys, grazing together.

As you continue further along the dusty mountain path, just as in any Bolivian village, a small school and a church appear at the center of the village.

Children covered in grime and dust come running out of the school, their faces full of curiosity, hesitating as if unsure whether to smile as they look at us.

The villagers, who have lived in isolation in this remote highland area for generations, are said to be guarded toward outsiders.

But thanks to the quiet and steadfast dedication of Father Kang Ki-nam Joseph, who has been coming to find them for the past four years to share the Word of God, they welcome our unfamiliar visit with warmth.

Without any pretense, they show us their unadorned selves and tell us of their pains.

Some have walked all day along mountain paths that would take two to three hours by car.

My heart goes out to them as I take their swollen knees in my hands — knees swollen from the long and difficult walk — and I wonder whether they have forgotten entirely the very ailments that brought them to seek us out.

There must also be those whose bodies are too uncomfortable to leave their homes at all.

Among them, the one who weighs most heavily on my heart is a twenty-year-old young man who has lost his right arm and suffered severe burns on his left leg.

In a place where one must have a healthy body just to get through each day, the trial of the soul he must be enduring at an age when one's physical image shapes one's sense of self is quietly conveyed through his subdued expression.

The large wound on his knee and leg, growing more contracted by the day, is exposed without ever fully healing — vulnerable to infection at any moment.

To reach a pharmacy would require a journey of several days, and proper medical examination and treatment at a hospital is simply beyond imagination.

What we are able to do is ease their suffering for just a few days.

Yet our earnest hope is that through our hearts and hands, the Lord will reach out to comfort both their hearts and bodies, so that they may feel that they are precious, beloved beings.

We hope they may find consolation in knowing that Jesus has already cried out on their behalf to God the Father: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

Knowing that I myself could never survive in a place where one must live without heating or hot water, in the raw embrace of nature, they are heroes to me.

It seems as though simply living through each day is all that God asks of them.

On the way back, carefully driving down the dark and steep mountain road while fingering the beads of the rosary, I see in Father Kang Ki-nam Joseph a good shepherd — one who shies away from no hardship in order to bring God's mercy, bearing the fruits of love.

Though I have left that place, the highland wind that stirs up clouds of dust still blows within my chest, and their faces rise up one by one, as if I have left behind someone I dearly love.

I wish I had been warmer toward them, wish I had attended more to their needs, wish I had shared more food with them — and with that longing, I look forward to the hope of meeting them again.

I am grateful to Father Kang Ki-nam Joseph for inviting us into this remarkable journey we never could have imagined, and I offer praise and thanks to the Lord, who provides for all things.

I believe that everything the Lord allows us is, right now, the very best for us.

Amen.