For Holy Week Reflection 2: The Last Week by Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan

 For Holy Week Reflections 2: The Last Week by Marcus J.Borg and John Dominic Crossan

My second recommendation for Holy Week is The Last Week: The Day by Day Account of Jesus’ Final Week in Jerusalem by Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan which is exactly what it says it is. In this book from 2007, the authors of The Heart of Christianity and The Historical Jesus, and Jesus Seminar members bring their systematic critical Biblical analysis to Jesus’ last week in Jerusalem. 

Beginning with the "triumphant entry"  known as Palm Sunday and ending with Easter, each day is explored for its theological meaning.  For them, “Palm Sunday” itself opens the door to Holy Week and contains with it the essential content of Jesus’ mission.

It was startling to read of another triumphant entry into Jerusalem that day, through another gate, of course. The authors posit  that it was the Roman Governor Pilate’s custom to be present in Jerusalem during the pilgrim festival of Passover, a season with great potential for civil disruption by an occupied people.   And that his entrance would  have been one week before. 

From this perspective, Jesus’ entry was a carefully staged and planned counter procession with enough street theater to criticize the empire. Interestingly, the record shows that beginning with Augustus, the emperor was known also as son of God, savior, bringer of peace on earth, titles we have come to associate with Jesus. The occupying empire was thus  not only a political affront but a theological one as well to the Jewish people and their religion.

The authors describe the the domination system that was the context of Jesus’ witness. A system that used political power, economic exploitation and, especially significant for Jesus, religious legitimation to maintain dominance over an occupied people.

Such a system required collaborators on the Jewish side to make it work. Thus Herod serves as “ethnarc,” or ethnic ruler serving in thrall to the Roman Empire and the Temple authorities help to enforce the system and provide religious cover for their own people's oppression. One can always find contemporary examples of  this system.  In all fairness, some collaborators can be perceived as actually seeking to mediate between their people and the empire, keeping them safe. But it becomes clear why for Jesus, the Temple establishment becomes the focus of his witness,

The authors  argue that in those days in the religion of the Jewish people, belief was not about giving assent to theological propositions but about trust and commitment.  That Jesus never wanted the focus to be on him as an individual but on the countercultural alternative kingdom of God over against the kingdom of the empire. Thus he would be executed for the capital crime of encouraging refusal to accept the authority of the empire.  

With this understanding it becomes clear that for Borg and Crossan to claim the name Christian is to commit to following Jesus which leads to Jerusalem which leads to confrontation with the powers which leads to death and ultimately resurrection.  To follow him is to commit to the whole journey.

So for our Holy Week we can contemplate these two processions and their implications for us. And ultimately ask ourselves, which procession are we in?

Well worth it.

Living in cornavirusworld 260: Holy Thursday

4/1

Better Together

 Holy Thursday. Opening Day for baseball. April Fools’ Day. And the 26th anniversary of my first day of work in New York City. An interesting convergence of events. Strange and perhaps portentous that I began my lat two jobs on April 1st 10 years apart.

I watch my hometown Pirates play at a chilly Wrigley Field and win the game while rehearsing for Mike Geffner’s (Virtual) Inspired Word show. For Opening Day, I’m working on Dylan’s “Catfish,” a classic blues about the great Catfish Hunter of years gone by. 

And reflect on Holy Thursday.  As a  child, it was the beginning of my least favorite part of the church year. A Maundy Thursday night communion. Endless Good Friday “Seven Last Words” service. By the time we get to Easter, so weighed down with church, hard to feel joy. There was of course the year when I joined the  church. Maundy was always the first communion of that year’s Communicants Class. Later theological refinement in our tradition now allows communion for children, thus  ending that rite of passage. 

In New York City, there was a quiet, simple meal and candlelit communion at Good Shepherd Faith. When that ended, we began holding our own services at West Park. Which introduced foot washing to the community.

Those services were remembered when we discussed the Last Supper at our Monday night Bible Study focusing on the story in the 13th chapter of John. 

That act stands out to people. Jesus’ humbling himself and washing others’ feet not as a host,  but as a servant. Peter’s impulsive promise which he of course will break. The intimacy of that act. I remember the first time I did that, with a student of mine at the University of Bridgeport. At his Seventh Day Adventist church service. Which precedes communion every Saturday. Men and women in two separate rooms. Washing each other’s feet. It was hard for me to do. So intimate.  And so it was at West Park. 

At Good Shepherd Faith, they did hands. Because in this culture, our feet are covered but our hands touch subway poles, bus straps, all kinds of public places. But there is just something about feet. 

It is a demonstration. Jesus wants us to do as he has done. What is that relevance in 2021? In the last year we have had an ever heightened awareness of dominance and privilege and oppression in this country. Genocide of the native population. The control and destruction of Black lives through the institution  of chattel slavery. Exclusion of Chinese (after they built the transcontinental  railroad), detention of Japanese Americans and on and on. Georgia passes a voter suppression act seemingly aimed at African-Ameircans. A born again Christian guns down Asian women as symbols of temptation he can’t resist.  It goes on and on.  And we can only respond with humility.    

As I look at my task of heading a New York City Presbytery working group on dismantling systemic racism, the image of Last Supper Jesus tells me the only way we of privilege can move forward is with utmost humility. And that as Jesus gave up privilege, so must we. Concretely up to and including reparations. Our Holy Thursday can only be meaningful if we can see ourselves in that servant role in real terms in the world around us. That’s the only way to make the Lenten repentance emphasis that draws to conclusion in these days meaningful and real. 

Jesus said,  I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.  Let it be so….

true repentance

Living in Coronaviruswolrd 259: Holy Week begins

 3/31

Palms

Passing out palms

Holy Week begins.  A mild Sunday morning. Palm Sunday.Time for the Times, a cherry Danish and a latte at my Venezuelan cafe.  Walking down the Boulevard, the First Corinthian Baptist Church is still covid closed.  But under the scaffolding, there are long tables, fresh cut palms, church volunteers passing then out to all who pass.  I take two. This will be my celebration. 

I hold the palms, remember a lifetime of Palms. In my early days at West Park, tall Eric from Jamaica would take his machete and cut the palms for everyone.  And before and after services, our ushers would pass them out on Amsterdam Avenue, we would pass out the palms. Always saving some to turn to ashes next Ash Wednesday,

As a child, it was just Palm Sunday. Waving palms and sung hosannas.  But sometime in the 70’s, fearing people would leap directly from the joy of Palm Sunday to the joy of Easter without passing through the passion and darkness of Holy Week, it liturgically transformed into Palms to Passion Sunday.  A tall order, telling that whole story. One year, Katherine and I created our own liturgy based on Stephen Mitchell’s telling of the story in his Gospel According to Jesus. One year, Greg led us with his berimbau chanting hosanna like a capoeirista. 

In later years, Theatre Dzieci would bring their Passion play to us. Transposing the story of this executed Jew into ghetto Poland. Trading parts unit all had been Jesus and all Judas. As it is and we are. (http://dziecitheatre.org/)

At our Monday Bible Study,  we studied the story in Mark, (11: -11). We notice details. Jesus, in a parody of a Roman triumphant entry, riding on a donkey, a beast of burden,  not a stallion, a war horse. He had sent agents out to get a donkey, using coed language in what Ched Myers in Binding the Strong Man) sees as evidence of a well organized underground resistance. 

The people spread branches in front of him. (Only John specifies palms.) they are shouting Hosanna, save us…now! Hoping this will be the beginning of liberation. And then  goes to the temple and looks around. (Myers wonders, a reconnaissance mission?) And leaves. Tomorrow he will return, to overturn the tables, his final  direct action campaign.

We are not out of the narrow place, mizraim, Egypt, yet. We are not yet liberated. Though we who are privileged must understand the difference between  our captivity and the material oppression of so many of our brothers and sisters here and globally. 

At our Monday songwriter workshop, a friend offers a new song, ‘Spring Fever,” about how it’s that time of year again. Of white men shooting up places and killing people.  Happens every year.              

We live in world  of bullies. Netanyahu, Bolsinaro. Myanamar. Ambazonia. Hong Kong. Jesus on the donkey denies their power and offers a different kind of leader. We may for may not be ready for. 

We follow him into Jerusalem, not knowing what comes next even as we step out of our houses and begin to look around. Wide eyed, expectant, hopeful and anxious.  Through these streets we marched last summer..Black lives matter…peaceful protest…no justice no peace. If  we don’t get it, shut it down. 

Palm Sunday,.Holy Week begins.

Living in coronavirusworld 14: PPE everyday

4/6

Nurses at Harlem Hospital

On the way to Harlem Hospital for the nurse’s action. En route, I’d now say masks are about 3 out of 4. I exit the subway at 135th an Lenox. A circle of 30 or so masked nurses are assembling outside the emergency ward entrance. On the sidewalk, the chalked names of medical workers who have died. Their signs calling for “Patients before profits” and “PPE everyday.” And one bold enough to say, “Capitalism: do not resuscitate.”

word

the necrology of health care workers

There is a full phalanx of news media there, keeping social distance of course. I see one woman being interviewed. Her mask somewhat obscures her face, but when I hear her Spanish, I know it's my friend Tracy, now Tre.

Tre (Tracy) Kwan

Our friendship goes back to the days when she was organizing kitchen workers at Saigon Grill and the Sweatshop Free Upper Westside Campaign. Created a coalition of Chinese and Latino and West African workers. She was an organizer for the  National Movement Against Sweatshops. I saw them every day, began talking with them. And thanks to  my son Micah, joined them. Along with my Lutheran pastor colleague Heidi, were harassed by attorneys working  for Dominos Pizza. (No justice, no pizza…) I remember my steamfitter union and  Occupier friend Teddy joining in the protests. (Miss him still, may he r.i.p. ) Tracy left NMASS. Became a barista for awhile. Her immigrant family had high expectations for every child.  Organizing was not on the list, She eventually went to nursing school. And became a nurse and activist for healthcare workers. And now a mother.  Called out of leave by the crisis and into action by the inaction of leadership. As I listen to the speakers, their demands are simple. Adequate personal protective equipment. Every day. Paid sick leave. No retribution. Nothing  has exposed the barrenness of our national healthcare non-system like this virus crisis. When she finishes her interview, she walks over to me, in my outlaw bandana. “Bob. It’s you! I knew you by your eyes!” And her eyes crinkle into a smile. And mine smile back. She extends her elbow. And I smile again. As she turns to go, I raise my right fist. Solidarity, I say. She made my day. 

As I leave, the chants echo in my ear…PPE, every day, PPE, every day…

a good deal....

I take the long walk back home through Harlem. 

                                                                                                                        ****

I talk with one of our Presbyterian Health Education and Welfare Association colleagues in upstate New York. She has been a leader of the Domestic Violence network.  Full-time pastor and chaplain at a facility. She’s concerned with the spiritual and emotional health not only of the patients, but also the staff. In the middle of our conversation, she’s called away to a code blue.  When she comes back, a baby has died. She’s got special concern for the housekeeping workers who have to clean out the rooms. Their lives are on the line. And she talks about one of the hidden tragedies of the  crisis, domestic violence. People, mainly women, trapped in isolation and tense circumstances with violent abusers. Home is not safe for victims….

                                                                                                                     ****

My friend Steve does an afternoon benefit concert for frontline workers, sponsored by Rudy’s, the bar we hang out and play at in Lake Worth, Florida. Home of the annual Rudystock and a wonderful collection of musical (and other) characters all hosted and cared for by Mary. 

                                                                                                                    ****

The West Park Bible Study picks up the issue of a triumphant entry in coronavirusworld. We start by acknowledging that Jesus’ “triumphant entry” was performance art, or as Latin American revolutionaries call it, propaganda of the deed, the act itself defines its meaning. There is this weird  bit of riding on two animals, probably from misreading Zechariah 9:9. And at the  outset, evidence of a covert, underground organization of Jesus with secret passwords and signs,  Marsha, ,as always, looking for the so what, the what exactly is it that  we are supposed to do. Jesus is sending a message to his people. The people in the street want a takeover. A replacement.With themselves in charge. Like gays or women who are ready to leave the struggle once they’ve got a seat at the table instead of turning the table over completely. We talk of individual salvation as opposed to collective responsibility and community. And our new awareness of our mortality. And how Jesus’ true victory was embracing the  cross, thus defeating the power of death to manipulate and demean. Power of death, broken once and for all. 

This is the entry of Jesus into our coronaworld, the week we are supposed to reach the apex. Let it be. Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord…

                                                                                                                ****

As the study breaks up, Russ, Marsha and I stick around. For one drink. Our virtual visit to St.James Gate. Slainte. 

Living in coronavirusworld 13: Palm Sunday

4/5

Palm Sunday

Today is Palm Sunday. This is the first Palm Sunday in my memory where nothing in my life signifies the day, no visual imagery, waving of palms, etc. Except maybe….on my way to the deli to pick up a Sunday Times, I pass by First Corinthian Baptist. I hear from inside the locked doors the powerful voices of their choir, filming for their 10:45 streamed service. I wonder how many are inside. How far apart they are. What the scene is like. I hear the voices rose and fall….What does the triumphant entry of Jesus mean in coronavirustime?

                                                                            ****

The corner produce vendors, gone. Green markets, farmers' markets, gone. Hot dog vendors, gone. The Halal stand guys, gone.

                                                                            ****

Turns out the tents in Central Park are donated by Franklin Graham’s Samaritan Purse organization. Franklin, the son of Billy Graham, is an Islamophobe and homophobe who makes his father look like a Unitarian by comparison. Turns out you have to sign a “faith statement” to be accepted as a volunteer. The blessed Rev. Billy of the Church of Stop Shopping Now was arrested by attempting to plant a rainbow flag at the site. I wonder if the tents accept lgbtq patients? (https://gothamist.com/news/rev-billy-arrested-planting-rainbow-flag-central-park-tent-hospital)

                                                                                ****

My friend Kosi (http://www.kosi-sings.com/) does a live concert from Baltimore along with  her friend Ross Martin. Kosi was a regular at the West Park Open Mic and lead vocalist for the alt pop group Goddess Lakshmi.(https://thegoddesslakshmi.org/)  Even did a theater turn in Joyce Miller’s evolving Handmaid’s Dianetics at Dixon Place (http://dixonplace.org/performances/the-handmaids-dianetics-episode-4-the-science-of-survival-08-19-2019/). Ross, a doctor turned singer-songwriter. (https://www.missrainsong.com/ross-martin) It’s an intimate concert experience. 

                                                                                ****

 Another friend has invited me to a virtual theatre festival organized by the No Pants Theatre Company.(https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10158447466719187&set=a.10151127892799187&type=3&theater)  A whole day of new plays, 10-15 minutes long apiece, three actors on ZOOM, all reflections on the virus. My friend’s piece, State Mandated Therapy Session #8, posits a day where the virus and quarantine have just continued and now in addition to isolation, the government is requiring therapy sessions for everyone. The play is a clever, and chilling, projection of a not unimaginable dystopian future. All the plays I see in the hour make good use of the ZOOM platform and its markers, including the symbol we see from people who cannot get their cameras to work and the other quirks becoming part of our shared cultural experience. The virus continues to inspire creativity in the arts community as we all seek to do our part to keep each other going…

                                                                           ****

Palm Sunday. The door is opened to a Holy Week like no other….

Maundy Thursday: The street comes in

4/21

The roofing crew is waiting for me when I arrive at the church. Amanda arrives shortly thereafter and we head to Joe’s for coffee to plan the day. Danielle is there when we get back, ready to work, she’s anxious to close the deal on the bathroom. 

Up on the roof

roofers

We’re working on the June concerts. How they’re not just about fundraising or celebrating the past but about collaborative relationships that demonstrate what the center is supposed to be all about. Rochone arrives and the creative planning begins. 

On and off during the day, people come  in to sit quietly and pray. A German with a camera comes in to take photographs. 

The plumbers have arrived. Danielle and I go up to the bathroom with them. They have a plan. They’ll get us  a quote by 2 PM.  A working bathroom. With hot water.

Jane Galloway has come to meet Amanda. As I expect, they connect. The Pittsburgh/Portland/New York connections swirling around. The idea of a real collaboration seems like a natural.

The crew chief wants me to see the work completed in the scary pit in back of the sanctuary, but the time is not right. Amanda and I off to visit Bernardo at El Taller. 

Back at the church, the roofers have left. The plumbers have made a proposal. We accept. Amanda and Rochone work on the concerts. Danielle and I head down into the darkness to check out the work. Jim meets us there to deliver the bulletins for tonight, early Easter and the Easter service itself. 

Danielle and I make our awkward way  through the crawl space. Reach the door. Open it up. The drain has been found. The water drained. Months of standing foul water gone. The crawl space feeling drier already. Nevertheless, Danielle has no desire to come back here any time soon. 

Let’s see...roof leaks repaired. Drains reopened. Drain pipes replaced. Proposal on the bathroom accepted. Oh, and a contract to move the Beckstein piano back to the sanctuary. All good. This part of the day’s work is done.

                            * * * *

It’s Maundy Thursday. Jane has arrived first. Then Hope. If this is what it is to be, I’m prepared for that. But the people keep coming, the community is gathering. Just as we did on Sunday, the liturgy must begin with actual work. The setting up of the table, the preparation for the meal in the sanctuary. 

Four people have come into the church. Hope has invited them to join us. They are from Lebanon. The young man in graduate school at Columbia. They are Maronite Christians from Lebanon. It is their tradition to pray in seven churches on Holy Thursday. We are the first.

The table is prepared. The community gathered. I begin by reflecting on Maundy Thursday. The word, Maundy, from the Latin mandatum, as in commandment, as in Jesus’ “new” commandment to love one another. 

I share my memories. Of communicants’ class. Receiving our first communion on Maundy Thursday. How Holy Week depressed me as a child. All that time in church. The years we shared this night with the Good Shepherd-Faith congregation. With their special Maundy Thursday haggadah. And tonight,back in our own space. 

We all share memories. Of Jane’s doctoral project with a Maundy Thursday ritual. Of the tradition in our own Hispanic fellowship, back in the day of Iglesia Presbiteriana de West-Park, of their reenactment of the passion, the wooden cross they built for the occasion. The costumes, the carrying of the cross. 

Arcadia recalls the processions in Nicaragua. I recall my conversation with Bernardo today about the State Department’s disruption of their production of Carlos Mejia Godoy’s misa and the later threat to their 501 C-3 status for staging a political, not a cultural, event. Part of Reagan’s war on Central America. It took them years to pay off the fine. They are harassed still.  With Obama, worse than the Bush years. 

We share Exodus 12: 1-14, where the holiday of Passover is established. How our Jewish neighbors are in the week of Passover. The connections between Passover and the Last Supper. And we sing O Mary don’t you weep don’t you mourn..ala Seeger, Peter, Paul and Mary; Springsteen, Arlo. 

We read together John 13 where Jesus washes the disciples’ feet. My first experience with foot washing back in Bridgeport at an Adventist church. My discomfort. Recall West-Park’s first foot washing service, led by Deacon Ken in Mc Alpin Hall. Ken, an Episcopal Deacon in residence with us for a year. (Now living in Portland.) How until we left, it was an annual part of our gathering here. 

But tonight, I recall the Good Shepherd reflection on hands in the city. Our feet are covered. (Most of us, most of the time.) But our hands. What do they touch? The poles on the subway, the rails on the bus...and so we ritually wash each others’ hands. 

And then share a simple meal of tuna fish (it’s the Puerto Rican tradition to fast from meat, Alma says,) cheese, fruit, grapes, matzoh. 

In the midst of our meal, an Asian woman came in. Says that she’s with Military Families Against the War. They’re putting a sign up in front of the church. Wants us to know.  I say, God bless. That’s what I love about our doors open to the street, the street comes in. Feels like we’re in ministry with the city. This openness is a sign of what we want to be.  How was it ever ok, any other way?

And we share communion with matzoh and Kedem grape juice, reciting the prayers Jesus would have said. We sing  De rodillas partamos hoy el pan, let us break bread together...

And then we read Jesus’ words about loving one another. We reflect in silence. Hold hands for the benediction and then sing Amen. And to end the liturgy, we clean up.

For once, I allowed myself to experience the moment just as it was. And it was good. 

Maundy Thursday

Thirty -seventh day of Lent: Stygian darkness

4/20

Just as I’m ready to head to my lectionary study group, I get a call, the roofers are ready to start. I open up the doors to let them in with loads of ladders, roofing materials, tar, drain spouts, leaders...The big ladder needed to get to the north tower won’t fit to go up the stairs. But I suggest taking it into the sanctuary and over the balcony and that works. When the ladder is up,I climb up and go through the hatch into the north tower. In fifteen years, I’ve never been in this space before. Halfway up the brick wall is the little door that opens out onto the roof. 

John arrives for a final review of the  contract with Woodshed. Hope arrives and we dig into the bag of archives. And Jim Clifford comes in to say hello on his way back from the hospital. Amanda and Danielle have finished a meeting and are in Riverside Park for lunch.

The bag of archives. Crazy. Random. After the water disaster, everything was just gathered up by the clean up crew and stuffed in bags. As we go through the items, years pass, pop up, go by, trail off...there’s lists of members, pew rental lists, marriage registers, mortgages, deeds, architectural plans. 

All right, I’ve discovered the meaning  of the two memorial plaques in the narthex! Lewis C.Bales was the second pastor of Park Church, only served briefly and died at 34 in San Francisco. David R. Downer, who the plaque says ...terminated his ministry and his life... was the first pastor of West Church. So these two plaques are concrete (marble?) reminders of the two former churches, their buildings, their people.

We find the merger documents. The first new church manual. Old centennial bulletins and history booklets. Documents from previous landmark fights. The merger struggle of the early nineties. No order, just jumbled up.

Strikingly, the documents repeat themes of struggle: financial, interpersonal,political, ecclesiastical...always hints of secret meetings, strategies, plots and plans...anger, hurt, accusation, acrimony...but also persistence, always facing near disaster and keeping on...as we are.

I meet Amanda and Danielle in the Park. Sunny, but still a little chilly. Catch up on our mornings, head back to the church. 

The head of roofing crew is on 87th Street trying to figure out how to get into that little, small flooded space outside the south wall of the  sanctuary. (When John went back there the first time, they had to climb over a fence, a small wall...and John said, and I had neither hip boot waders  nor proper wellingtons...) I tell him I know the way.

So we head down through the crawl space, back through the stygian darkness (explained that term to Danielle today) across planks and doors spread across dank pools of water to the door at the back. A quick twist and the lock falls off.  Though two large garbage containers have been filled with a swamp like sludge, there is still a foot or so of ominous water remaining. Clearly the source of the water that has drained into the bowels of the church.

The crew chief steps into the murk, searching for the drain. Wraps his hands in a plastic bag and digs down. This will take awhile.

Making my way back through the crawl space, trying to stay out of the sat dig water, I see the detritus of history tucked into nooks and crannies. Never installed organ pipes, broken furniture, a wooden bed head board...the exposed original brick and stone foundations...wet, creepy. People who romanticize about these buildings have no idea. No idea. Times like this I just want to say, it’s way beyond, just way beyond, take it down, start over....

I’m taking Amanda to see Jack. The Seattle connection. the music connection. My dream of producing an evening of his music, his poetry...I’ll come back and lock up later.

Thirty -sixth day of Lent: Today is the first day of Passover

4/19

Today is the first day of Passover. I send greetings to Mim, Ted and Asya, Jon and Alice. This celebration of liberation, of freedom from bondage, of escape from mitzrayim, the narrow space informs our vision, helps us to put up with frustrations and move towards a call, a witness that goes beyond any one  of us.

The roofers aren’t coming. Wet weather predicted. But plumbers arrive and start tackling  the drain situation. The work is only partially complete. 

John arrives to update our budget issues. It’s not quite the disaster that seemed to be happening. But close. We just might make it. We’re reviewing the Woodshed contract, getting ready to close the deal with them. 

Rochone comes and we begin to make this an official relationship. Her job will be  to make these concerts happen. While we are working on all this, James comes in, back from his chemo session at the hospital. Amanda and James greet one another warmly. Last summer, they together  created the office we’re now sitting  in. 

We get our computers compatible. Plumbers, roofers, meetings to be scheduled. Amanda and Danielle begin to work on contact lists. Arnaldo walks in through the open doors.

Salvadoran. We start going through mutual connections. I recall my lunch with (then) US Ambassador Dean Hinton. Arnaldo worked for Dean Hinton. I recall my meeting with   Roberto D’Aubisson, believed to be in command of the death squads. His Cherokee with the smoke glass windows.  My visit to the orphanage where the murdered US nuns worked. Where they served us a Thanksgiving dinner en estilo norteamericano. The children scattering in fear as an American  helicopter hovered overhead. I remember going to the body dump. Viewing the photos of los desaparecedos, murdered and mutilated, at the archdiocese office. Guards with automatic weapons in  front of Mc Donald’s and shopping malls. The intense surreal feeling of Salvador in the ’80’s. Arriving there a couple of days after my colleagues because of my trip to Guatemala. The semi-dazed look in the eyes of my friend Doug when he met me saying, I can never be the same after this, Arnaldo is bringing all that back. 

He has been in the home of my good friend and mentor, George. But this visit has to do with his interest in the church. He was part of the group of Columbia volunteers who gave a day of labor last December. He’s still interested. Take down his information.

The plumbers are dealing with the ruins of the drainage system. But its not easy.