“Id por todo el mundo...” / “Go into the whole world...”

Al principio parece una locura. Tus amigos no entienden que cambies el Spring Break por una semana en un pueblo perdido en las montañas. No comprenden cómo puedes preferir el oscuro color de piel de los nahuas por encima de la bronceada piel de las rubias vacacionistas. Todavía, pocas horas antes de partir, dudas en ir: la comodidad de tu hogar se ve más atrayente, la posibilidad de unos días de descanso suena mejor que una semana entera de trabajo arduo.

Te decides. No volteas atrás. Te presentan a tu equipo y, para añadirle incomodidad a la situación, descubres que no conoces a ninguna de las personas con las que pasarás toda la semana. Luego te ponen a cargar todas las cosas que deben subirse a los camiones: garrafones de agua, costales de ropa y despensas, mochilas, maletas (incluyendo la de la niña que trae todo su guardarropa porque cree que va a vacacionar en Nueva York o París y que pesa toneladas). La incomodidad aumenta con un largo viaje que toma más horas de las que debería. Vas dormitando, las curvas de la carretera te marean y por más que te mueves no encuentras una posición adecuada para conciliar el sueño. Llegas en la madrugada y nuevamente hay que cargar cosas y repartirlas a cada equipo. El hambre y el frío se hacen presentes. Sigue una larga espera, el sol sale y no sólo calienta sino que empieza a quemar.

Escuchas Misa de pie y afuera del templo por la multitud. Ésta parece nunca terminar porque el Padre se extiende en la homilía, aprovechando que hay tanta gente. Cuando al fin termina, nuevamente hay que esperar para encontrar transporte a la comunidad que te toca. No es fácil de encontrar y menos si cuesta tanto recordar y pronunciar el nombre: Coatzácoatl, Chipoco, Chalingo, Chichatla... A cargar otra vez, subir todo a la camioneta de redilas que te llevará y la cual no es conducida con mucha prudencia. Temes por tu vida al ver que al lado de la carretera hay un abismo y al sentir la velocidad a la que toman las curvas. Sólo te queda confiar en que Aquél que te mandó te está cuidando.

Llegas exhausto a tu comunidad y todavía queda mucho por hacer: bajar las cosas (¡seguir cargando!) y preparar el lugar en el que te quedarás. Matar toda clase de insectos y trapear y barrer el piso en el que vas a dormir. Encontrar el “baño” (que, si eres afortunado será una letrina), el cual visitarás muchas veces cuando caigas enfermo a la mitad de la semana. Eso es sólo el primer día de una semana que consistirá en largas caminatas bajo el sol, mucho calor y cansancio, mucha frustración al intentar enseñarle a una turba de niños a rezar, pocas horas de descanso, cero baños, enfermada, piquetes de mosquito, sed...

Sin embargo, todo eso se te olvida cuando ves la sonrisa sin dientes de una anciana o la sonrisa, igual sin dientes, de un niño. Se te olvida cuando ves el atardecer en medio de las montañas o cuando despiertas y ves las nubes subiendo por la ladera de la montaña. Cuando intentas caminar con cuatro niños colgados de ti o cuando ves el brillo en sus ojos al descubrir la caja de dulces que traes.

Todo lo olvidas cuando la viejita que vive sola y a la que nadie visita llora cuando tocas a su puerta y pasas un rato con ella. Toda incomodidad se borra cuando el anciano postrado por la enfermedad aprieta tu mano y te agradece por estar ahí con él. Toda molestia desaparece cuando una “abuelita” te abraza una y otra vez por lo feliz que está de que visites su pueblito.

Todo vale la pena por las horas que pasas solo en la capilla durante Adoración nocturna y cuando comprendes que Dios realmente habla en el silencio. Vale la pena por la cálida luz de la capilla que te recibe después de una caminata de miedo a media noche, en medio de la oscuridad y de todo tipo de ruidos desconocidos.

Incluso los momentos más triviales te hacen olvidar las incomodidades. Como cuando aprendes que montar un burro no es tan fácil como parece o que tronar cohetes en la montaña asusta a todos los animales y seguro despierta a todos los pueblos vecinos. O que intentar matar un alacrán gigante con fuego no es la mejor idea. O cuando arrancas carcajadas de la gente al intentar pronunciar algo en náhuatl. Cuando pruebas manjares que no se preparan en los mejores restaurantes sino en las más humildes chozas de la sierra o cuando compruebas que el mejor café del mundo no es el que venden en Starbucks.

¿Cómo puedes quejarte de lo que has “sufrido” cuando te encuentras con la generosidad de gente que tiene poco y aún ese poco te lo da? ¿Cómo no vas a olvidar las molestias por las que has pasado cuando toda casa que visitas tiene algo que darte: ya sea un café (aunque haga un calor infernal), una naranja o un vaso de agua? O, cuando la semana está a punto de terminar, la gente te corona con flores y te regala refrescos porque son las cosas más lujosas que pueden darte...

Absolutamente todo lo olvidas. Bueno, quizá no lo olvides, pero al menos ya no te importa. ¿Qué importa el cansancio y el calor cuando te das cuenta de que Él sintió lo mismo cuando predicaba por el desierto de Galilea? ¿Qué importa tu orgullo intelectual cuando aprendes que las palabras de un campesino sin educación pueden ser más sabias que las de tus profesores universitarios, aunque sean doctorados de MIT, Harvard o Yale? ¿Qué importa tu orgullo espiritual cuando ves en los más humildes una fe sencilla pero capaz de mover montañas? ¿Qué importa lo que la sociedad contemporánea dicte como norma si ahí descubres que la felicidad no está en tener dinero, poder o éxito y que toda vida humana vale la pena ser vivida, sin importar las condiciones de pobreza en que se dé?

Cuando todo termina y regresas a tu vida normal, entiendes que cuando te entregas completamente a los demás es cuando más recibes y así, la Oracion Simple de San Francisco de Asís cobra un nuevo significado:

Oh, Maestro, haced que yo no busque tanto ser consolado, sino consolar;

ser comprendido, sino comprender;

ser amado, como amar.

Porque es:

Dando , que se recibe;

Perdonando, que se es perdonado;

Muriendo, que se resucita a la

Vida Eterna.

---

At first it seems like madness. Your friends don't understand how you can change your Spring Break for a week in a small village out in the mountains. They are incapable of knowing why you would prefer the dark skin of the nahuas [one of the indigenous tribes that live in central Mexico] over the tanned skin of blond springbreakers. Even a couple of hours before leaving you doubt: the comfort of your home seems more attractive, the possibility of resting for a couple of days seems better than a week of hard work.

You make your mind and you don't look back. You meet your team and, to add awkwardness to the situation, you discover that you don't know anyone of those with whom you'll spend the following week. Then they make you carry all the stuff that has to be put into the buses: bottles and bottles of water, sacks filled with clothes and groceries, backpacks and suitcases (including the one from the girl who thinks it'll be like vacationing in New York or Paris and brings her whole wardrobe, making it weigh a ton). The lack of comfort rises with a trip that lasts several more hours than it should. You can't sleep, the turns of the highway make you dizzy and no matter how much you move you can't find a comfortable position. You arrive before sunrise and then you have to carry things again. You feel tired, hungry and cold. Then you have to wait, the sun comes out and starts burning.

You listen to Mass standing outside the temple because of the huge crowd. It seems to never end because the priest goes on and on with his homily. When it's over you have to find some transportation that will take you to your assigned community. It's not easy to find, especially if you can't remember, or even pronounce correctly, its name: Coatzacoatl, Chipoco, Chalingo, Chichatla... You have to carry things again and load them on the back of the truck that will take you and which is driven recklessly. You fear for your life as you see the abyss next to the road and as you feel the speed at which the driver takes the curves. All you can do is trust that Him who sent you is also watching over you...

You arrive exhausted and yet you still have so much to do: get the stuff out of the truck (continue carrying things around!) and prepare the place where you will stay. You have to kill all sorts of insects, mop and sweep the floor on which you will be sleeping. You then have to find the “restroom” (which, if you are lucky enough, will be a latrine). This is just the first day of a week that will mainly consist of long walks under the burning sun, hot weather, fatigue, a lot of frustration teaching a mob of kids to pray, few resting hours, zero showers, getting sick, getting bit by mosquitoes, being thirsty...

And yet, all that is forgotten when you see the toothless smile of an old lady or the equally toothless smile of a child. You forget all that when you see the sunset out in the mountains or when you wake up and see the clouds coming up the mountainside. When you try to walk with many children hanging from your back and legs or when you see their eyes shine with excitement at the discovery of the candy you have for them.

You forget everything when the old lady who lives all by herself cries when you visit her. All lack of comfort dissipates when the old sick man lying in his bed holds your hand and thanks you for being there with him. All nuisance disappears when an “abuelita” [term which in Spanish means grandmother but that is used by the nahuas to refer to an old woman] hugs you repeatedly because she's so happy that you're visiting her village.

All this discomfort becomes unimportant because of the hours that you spend by yourself in the chapel during all-night Adoration when you comprehend that God does speak in silence. All discomfort vanishes when the warm light of the chapel greets you after a frightful walk in the midst of darkness and all sort of unknown noises in the middle of the night.

Even the most trivial moments make you forget the troubles that you went through. Like when you learn that riding a donkey is not as easy as it seems or that using firecrackers in such places scares all the animals and probably wakes up all the surrounding villages. Or that trying to kill a huge scorpion with fire is not a really good idea. Or when you make people laugh by trying to learn words in nahuatl and you are unable to pronounce them correctly. Or even when you try such amazing meals that are not prepared in the finest restaurants but in the most humble huts of the mountains, or when you discover that the best coffee in the world is not the one they sell in Starbucks...

How can you complain about what you've “suffered” when you are met with the generosity of people who have few things and yet they give away even the few things they have? How can you not forget your discomfort when each house you visit has something to give you: whether it's a hot coffee (even when it's really hot outside), an orange or just a glass of water? Or when the week is about to end and people crown you with flowers and give you soft drinks because they're the finest things they can give you.

You forget absolutely everything. Well, maybe you don't really forget it, but at least you don't care anymore. What does being tired and sun burnt matter when you realize that He felt the same way when he was preaching in the desert of Galilee? What does your own intellectual pride matter when you learn that the words of a farmer who never went to school can be wiser than the ones from your college professors, even when they have PhDs from Harvard, MIT or Yale? Why would you even dare to be spiritually proud when you see that these humble people have a simple faith which is truly capable of moving mountains? Who cares about what contemporary society has to say when you discover that happiness is not to be found in money, power or success and that all human life is worth living, no matter in which conditions of poverty it takes place?

When all this is over and you go back to your normal life, you understand that when you give yourself completely is when you receive the most and then, St. Francis' simple prayer acquires a new meaning:

Lord, grant that I may seek rather

to Comfort than to be comforted,

to Understand rather than to be understood,

to Love than to be loved.

For it is by Giving that one receives,

by Forgiving that one is forgiven,

and by Dying that one awakens to Eternal Life.

Lo inhumano de las políticas demográficas

La única forma en que se puede combatir la pobreza eficazmente es trabajando de la mano con los pobres. Esto va mucho más allá del “no darles un pescado sino enseñarles a pescar”, el cual se usa muchas veces como una excusa para no dar de lo que nosotros tenemos. Lo que se debe hacer es entender la realidad que viven los pobres y encontrar, junto con ellos, la solución a sus problemas. La solución no puede venir de personas externas que creen tener todas las respuestas (cuando en realidad no tienen ninguna), sino de los pobres mismos. Pretender imponer desde afuera formas de pensamiento o de organización atenta contra la dignidad de los pobres porque no los toma en cuenta, sino que los considera menores de edad incapaces de superar su condición.

Por eso las políticas demográficas que Occidente busca imponer a los países subdesarrollados son tan inhumanas. En lugar de intentar sacar a estos países y a su gente de la pobreza, los sume más en ella al quitarles lo más valioso que tienen: su capital humano. Su objetivo no es sacar a la gente de la pobreza sino exterminar a los pobres. Esto, claro está, lo justifican con un falso sentimiento de piedad hacia el pobre que es más bien un sentimiento de lástima.

El principal argumento para defender estas políticas anti-natalistas sostiene que la sobrepoblación trae consigo una presión demasiado grande sobre un sistema económico poco desarrollado (como si la economía fuera más importante que los seres humanos) y que, por tanto, hay que hacer que los pobres tengan menos hijos para que la economía pueda crecer. Este argumento tiene sentido desde el punto de vista de los países ricos en los que tener hijos es visto como una carga adicional o como un gasto más. Sin embargo, desde el punto de vista de la gente pobre, un hijo generalmente representa una esperanza. Pero, para poder entender eso, es necesario convivir con la gente pobre y ver lo que sus hijos son para ellos. Creer que porque somos más “educados” o más “avanzados” tenemos derecho a robarles la poca esperanza que les pueda quedar es una muestra del desprecio que realmente se tiene hacia el pobre.

No sé qué clase de estupidez aqueja a Occidente que busca exportar políticas que han demostrado ser ineficaces. Las políticas poblacionales que se impusieron en Latinoamérica desde los años sesenta no hicieron nada para aliviar la pobreza de la región. El demandarle a ciertos países pobres implementar políticas que atentan contra su población a cambio de apoyo económico es simplemente una forma moderna de esclavitud. Los mantiene en un estado de eterna dependencia en el cual pueden ser explotados indeterminadamente.

Pocas personas han alzado la voz para denunciar estos atropellos como lo han hecho, en días pasados, los obispos de África, reunidos en el Segundo Sínodo de los Obispos Africanos. Sus exigencias son claras: ayuda sin imposiciones culturales extranjeras, con pleno respeto hacia lo que son y hacia lo que creen. El “imperialismo cultural” de Occidente sólo representa una nueva esclavitud a la cual se pretende someter a la gente de África. Me parece muy acertada la afirmación del Cardenal Théodore-Adrien Sarr, obispo de Dakar, Senegal, al exhortar a que “los pueblos occidentales desechen la idea de que todo lo que creen y hacen se debe convertir en regla en el mundo”. Considerar que lo que creemos y hacemos en Occidente es lo mejor para los demás, viendo los resultados tan desastrosos que estamos teniendo, me parece una locura.

Quizá lo que necesitamos es aprender de aquellos pueblos y personas pobres. El día en que veamos a los pobres como sujetos poseedores de una dignidad, es decir, el día en que realmente escuchemos lo que tienen que decir, ese día estaremos realmente trabajando por acabar con la pobreza.

---

The inhumanity of demographic policies

The only way in which poverty can be fought effectively is by working hand with hand with the poor. This goes beyond “not giving a fish, but rather teaching them how to fish”, which we usually use as an excuse to not share what we have. What we have to do is to understand the reality that poor people live and to find, together with them, a solution. The solution can not come from external people who believe they have all the answers (which they usually don't have), but from the poor themselves. Trying to impose forms of thought or of organization goes against the dignity of the poor because not only does it not take them into account, but because it considers them minors incapable of overcoming their own condition.

That's why the demographic policies that the West seeks to impose on underdeveloped countries are so inhuman. Instead of pulling these countries and their people out of poverty, they push them deeper into it by taking away their most valuable asset: their human capital. Their objective is not to bring people out of poverty but to exterminate the poor. This, of course, they try to justify with a false sentiment of mercy, or, better said, a false sentiment of pity.

The main argument in defense of anti-natalist policies says that overpopulation brings with it a large pressure on a weak economical system (as if the economy were more important than human beings) and that, if the poor have less children, the economy will be able to grow in a more efficient way. This makes sense from the perspective of rich countries where children are seen as an extra burden or extra cost. But, from the point of view of the poor, offspring represent a hope. In order to understand that, you need to spend some time with the poor so you can actually see and learn what children mean to them. Believing that because we are more “educated” or “advanced” we have the right to steal from them the few hope they still have is just proof of the disdain that really exists towards the poor. Thinking that you understand what poverty is because you feel touched by the images of starving children while watching you high definition TV is nonsense.

I don't know what kind of stupidity affects the West that it seeks to export policies that have been proven ineffective. The population-control policies that were imposed in Latin America in the sixties did nothing to alleviate poverty in the region. Demanding poor countries to implement policies that go against their own people in exchange for economical help is simply a modern form of slavery. Those policies maintain those countries in a state of eternal dependency in which they can easily be exploited.

Few people have lifted their voices to denounce those abuses as the African Bishops, gathered in the Second Synod of African Bishops, have done in the past days. Their demands are clear: they want help without foreign cultural impositions, they want absolute respect for what they are and for what they believe in. They see the “cultural imperialism” of the West (in the form of gender ideology, abortion, sexual education) as the new slavery to which the African people are being subject to. Cardinal Théodore-Adrien Sarr of Senegal asks that “the western peoples should get rid of the idea that all that they believe and do should be the norm for the whole world”. Thinking that what we have been doing in the West, despite the disastrous results we've had, is the best thing for everybody just seems like madness.

Maybe what we need is to listen and learn from the poor. When we start seeing them as people with a dignity, that is, when we start listening to what they have to say and try to understand their reality, then we'll be on the right path to ending poverty.

La Teología/Poesía del Cuerpo

Como expliqué en mi última entrada, la poesía de San Juan de la Cruz sirvió como inspiración para la formulación de la Teología del Cuerpo de Juan Pablo II. En esa ocasión, utilicé un poema que usa, en forma explícita, imágenes sexuales para expresar la perfecta unión del alma con Dios. Sin embargo, no podemos olvidar que la Teología del Cuerpo no se limita únicamente a la sexualidad, sino que abarca toda la experiencia del amor humano. Esto incluye aquellos momentos de dolor y sufrimiento causados por la falta de reciprocidad en el amor. En este poema, San Juan de la Cruz usa el sufrimiento de un pastor olvidado por su amada para crear una hermosa reflexión en torno a Cristo crucificado.

Un pastorcico solo está penado,

ajeno de placer y de contento,

y en su pastora puesto el pensamiento,

y el pecho del amor muy lastimado.

No llora por haberle amor llagado,

que no le pena verse así afligido,

aunque en el corazón está herido ;

mas llora por pensar que está olvidado.

Que solo de pensar que está olvidado

de su bella pastora, con gran pena,

se deja maltratar en tierra ajena,

el pecho del amor muy lastimado.

Y dice el pastorcico : ¡Ay desdichado

de aquel que de mi amor ha hecho ausencia,

y no quiere gozar la mi presencia

y el pecho por su amor muy lastimado!

Y a cabo de un gran rato se ha encumbrado

sobre un árbol, do abrió sus brazos bellos,

y muerto se ha quedado, asido de ellos,

el pecho del amor muy lastimado.

---

A Theology/Poetry of the Body

As I explained in my last post, Saint John of the Cross’ poetry was inspirational to John Paul II’s formulation of the Theology of the Body. In that occasion, I used a poem that shows explicit sexual imagery to express the perfect union of the soul with God. However, we cannot forget that the Theology of the Body is not limited only to sexuality, but it rather encompasses the whole experience of human love. This includes those moments of suffering and pain caused by a non-corresponded love. In this poem, Saint John of the Cross uses the suffering of a shepherd forgotten by his beloved to create a beautiful reflection about Christ crucified.

A lone young shepherd lived in pain

withdrawn from pleasure and contentment,

his thoughts fixed on a shepherd-girl

his heart an open wound with love.

He weeps, but not from the wound of love,

there is no pain in such affliction,

even though the heart is pierced;

he weeps in knowing he's been forgotten.

That one thought: his shining one

has forgotten him, is such great pain

that he bows to brutal handling in a foreign land,

his heart an open wound with love.

The shepherd says: I pity the one

who draws herself back from my love,

and does not seek the joy of my presence,

though my heart is an open wound with love for her.

After a long time he climbed a tree,

and spread his shining arms,

and hung by them, and died,

his heart an open wound with love.

Un cántico espiritual (y a la vez, corporal)

Generalmente cuando se habla de la Teología del Cuerpo se hace referencia a las diferentes corrientes filosóficas que le dieron origen. Se habla mucho de Descartes, de Kant, de Husserl, de sus sistemas filosóficos y de sus ideas y cómo influyeron en el pensamiento de Juan Pablo II. Sin embargo, como el mismo Juan Pablo II reconocía, una de las más importantes fuentes de inspiración que tuvo para formular su catequesis sobre la sexualidad no es de origen filosófica, sino poética. No halló su principal inspiración en los escritos filosóficos de estos grandes pensadores sino en los versos de un humilde monje carmelita: San Juan de la Cruz.

¿Cómo es posible que la poesía de este monje, cuyo tema constante es la unión del alma con Dios, esté relacionada con la sexualidad? ¿Qué tiene que ver la contemplación mística con el amor que puede experimentar un hombre hacia una mujer? Dejemos que sean los propios versos de San Juan de la Cruz los que nos iluminen al respecto:

En una noche oscura

con ansias en amores inflamada,

¡oh dichosa ventura!,

salí sin ser notada

estando ya mi casa sosegada

A oscuras y segura

por la secreta escala, disfrazada,

¡oh dichosa ventura!,

a oscuras y en celada,

estando ya mi casa sosegada.

En la noche dichosa,

en secreto que nadie me veía

ni yo miraba cosa

sin otra luz y guía

sino la que en el corazón ardía.

Aquesta me guiaba

más cierto que la luz de mediodía

adonde me esperaba

quien yo bien me sabía

en parte donde nadie parecía.

¡Oh noche, que guiaste!

¡Oh noche amable más que la alborada!

¡Oh noche que juntaste

amado con amada,

amada en el amado transformada!

En mi pecho florido,

que entero para él solo se guardaba

allí quedó dromido

y yo le regalaba

y el ventalle de cedros aire daba.

El aire de la almena

cuando yo sus cabellos esparcía

con su mano serena

en mi cuello hería

y todos mis sentidos suspendía.

Quedéme y olvidéme;

el rostro recliné sobre el amado;

cesó todo, y dejéme

dejando mi cuidado

entre las azucenas olvidado.

A primera vista, podríamos considerarlo un simple, aunque bello, poema de amor. Jamás lo consideraríamos un poema religioso, sobre todo considerando su alto contenido erótico, como cuando en el punto culminante del poema dice:

¡Oh noche que juntaste

amado con amada,

amada en el amado transformada!

Sin embargo, como su propio autor afirma, lo que está describiendo es la unión del alma con Dios, el momento central de la experiencia mística. Entonces, ¿por qué recurre a estas imágenes sexuales para explicar una cuestión espiritual? Juan Pablo II comprende que si San Juan de la Cruz puede usar esas imágenes para describir el amor divino es porque el amor humano debe ser, precisamente, una imagen del amor divino. La intuición artística de San Juan de la Cruz revela lo que Juan Pablo II afirmará, casi quinientos años después, en sus catequesis: el amor humano es análogo al amor divino. El amor divino es el modelo que el amor humano debe imitar.

Posiblemente haya personas que no crean que un monje, alguien que ha renunciado al mundo y a su propia sexualidad pueda entender lo que es el amor, y, sin embargo, los poemas de San Juan de la Cruz parecen demostrar lo contario. ¿Quién puede leer los siguientes versos y aún pensar que el que los escribió no supiera lo que es el amor?

¿Por qué, pues has llagado

aqueste corazón, no le sanaste?

Y pues me le has robado,

¿por qué así le dejaste,

y no tomas el robo que robaste?

---

A spiritual (and at the same time bodily) canticle

When we speak about Theology of the Body, we usually refer to the different philosophical currents that led to it. We talk a lot about Descartes, Kant or Husserl, about their philosophical systems and their ideas and how they influenced John Paul II’s thought. But, as John Paul II himself would recognize, one of his most important sources of inspiration was not of philosophical origin, but poetic. He didn’t find his main inspiration in the philosophical writings of these great thinkers, but in the verses of a humble Carmelite monk: Saint John of the Cross.

How is it possible that the poetry of this monk, whose main theme is the union of the soul with God, could be related with sexuality? What does mystical contemplation have to do with the love a man can feel towards a woman? We should let the verses of Saint John of the Cross illuminate us:

One dark night,

fired with love's urgent longings

—ah, the sheer grace!—

I went out unseen,

my house being now all stilled.

In darkness, and secure,

by the secret ladder, disguised,

—ah, the sheer grace!—

in darkness and concealment,

my house being now all stilled.

On that glad night,

in secret, for no one saw me,

nor did I look at anything,

with no other light or guide

than the one that burned in my heart.

This guided me

more surely than the light of noon

to where he was awaiting me

—him I knew so well—

there in a place where no one appeared.

O guiding night!

O night more lovely than the dawn!

O night that has united

the Lover with his beloved,

transforming the beloved in her Lover.

Upon my flowering breast

which I kept wholly for him alone,

there he lay sleeping,

and I caressing him

there in a breeze from the fanning cedars.

When the breeze blew from the turret,

as I parted his hair,

it wounded my neck

with its gentle hand,

suspending all my senses.

I abandoned and forgot myself,

laying my face on my Beloved;

all things ceased; I went out from myself,

leaving my cares

forgotten among the lilies.

At first sight, we could consider it a simple, though beautiful, love poem. We would never think of it as a religious poem, given its explicit erotic content, such as the culminating point of the poem where it says:

O night that has united

the Lover with his beloved,

transforming the beloved in her Lover.

And yet, the author himself affirms that it is a description of the union of the soul with God, that is, the central moment of the mystical experience. So, why does he use these sexual images to describe a spiritual matter? John Paul II understands that if Saint John of the Cross can use these images to describe divine love it is because human love must be, precisely, an image of divine love. Saint John’s artistic intuition revealed what John Paul II would say, almost five hundred years later in his teachings on sexuality: human love is analogous to divine love. Divine love is the model which human love must imitate.

There might be people out there who don’t believe that a monk, someone who has given his own sexuality up could possibly understand what love is. Yet, Saint John of the Cross’ poems seem to prove otherwise. Who could read the following verses and still think that who wrote them didn’t know what love was?

Why, after wounding

This heart, have You not healed it?

And why, after stealing it,

Have You thus abandoned it,

And not carried away the stolen prey?

Ceguera ideológica

Esto debería llevar a liberarse de las ideologías, que con frecuencia simplifican de manera artificiosa la realidad, y a examinar con objetividad la dimensión humana de los problemas.
Benedicto XVI, Caritas in Veritate

Dicen que no hay peor ciego que el que no quiere ver. Para nuestra desgracia, en estos días en que grandes problemas de todo tipo afectan la calidad de vida de millones de seres humanos, abundan este tipo de ciegos. Son todos aquellos que se han sometido a una ideología y que sólo son capaces de ver a través del lente de esa ideología. Ese lente, en lugar de mejorar su vista, sólo sirve para empeorarla.

Temas como el calentamiento global, la economía o la reforma del sistema de salud de Estados Unidos, son los ejemplos más evidentes de esta “ceguera” ideológica. Las perspectivas ideológicas hacen que la discusión se centre en aspectos completamente irrelevantes y que lo central y trascendente se deje de lado. Así, mientras republicanos y demócratas discuten acerca de si debe haber una opción pública en el sistema de salud o si es el sector privado el que debe encargarse de la salud de todos, millones de estadounidenses siguen sin ningún tipo de cobertura médica. Mientras capitalistas y socialistas discuten si el gobierno debe regular los mercados o si el libre mercado es la respuesta a todos nuestros problemas, millones de seres humanos siguen viviendo en la pobreza extrema. Mientras liberales y conservadores discuten si el calentamiento global lo provocamos los seres humanos o es un fenómeno natural, seguimos destruyendo la naturaleza con nuestra rapacidad consumista. Mientras los poderosos discuten tanta insensatez, los que somos víctimas de esos problemas seguimos esperando una solución.

Las ideologías nos proponen como valores absolutos valores que no tienen nada de absolutos, aún a costa de relativizar aquellos que sí son absolutos. Justamente es ese desorden en la escala de valores lo que ha provocado que las ideologías sean tan dañinas. El valor absoluto principal que debe regir la vida social es el de la dignidad de la persona humana. Después deben seguir aquellos valores que llevan a que ese respeto sea una realidad. Todo lo demás (sistemas políticos, sistemas económicos, costumbres sociales) debe girar en torno a la dignidad humana y, si en un dado momento va contra ella, debe ser cambiado.

Las distintas ideologías buscan simplemente impulsar su propia agenda y beneficiar a unos cuantos privilegiados, no buscan solucionar los problemas de la sociedad. No podemos seguir buscando la solución en visiones ideológicas simplistas. Necesitamos una visión integral, una “nueva síntesis humanista” (en palabras de Benedicto XVI) que busque una solución realista a los problemas que nos aquejan como sociedad. Las ideologías nos tienen encerrados y nos impiden pensar “más allá de la caja”, que es justo lo que necesitamos.

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Ideological blindness

This fact should prompt us to liberate ourselves from ideologies, which often oversimplify reality in artificial ways, and it should lead us to examine objectively the full human dimension of the problems.
Benedict XVI, Caritas in Veritate

It is said that the worst kind of blind man is the one that does not want to see. For our misfortune, in these days where great problems affect the lives of so many human beings, this type of blind people seem to abound. I’m talking about all those who have submitted themselves to an ideology and who are only capable of seeing through their own ideological lens. This lens, instead of improving their eyesight only makes it worse.

Issues such as global warming, the economy or the reformation of the health system in the United States are the most evident examples of this “ideological blindness”. The ideological perspectives make the discussions center on totally irrelevant aspects and leave the important matters aside. That way, while republicans and democrats argue about whether there should be a public option or not in the healthcare system, millions of Americans go on without any sort of medical attention. While capitalists and socialists discuss over whether the government should regulate the markets or leave the markets solve our problems by themselves, millions continue to live in the most extreme poverty. While conservatives and liberals fight about whether global warming is man-made or just a natural phenomenon, we continue to destroy nature with our rapacious consumerism. While the important and the powerful debate about such nonsense, those of us who are victims of these problems continue waiting for a solution.

The thing is that ideologies propose as absolute values things which are not absolute at all, even at the expense of relativizing those values that are truly absolute. It’s precisely this disorder in their value scale what has made them so hurtful for society. The primary absolute value that should rule social life is the dignity of human beings. It should be followed by those values that help make the respect for this dignity a reality. Everything else (economical systems, political systems, customs, etc.) must exist in order to serve and protect human dignity. If in a given moment they fail to do that, they should be changed.

The only goal of ideologies is to push their own agenda and to benefit a few privileged individuals. They don’t seek to solve societies’ problems. We can’t afford to look for solutions in such simplistic ideological views. We need an integral vision, a (in the words of Benedict XVI) “new humanist synthesis” that will look for realist solutions to our problems as a society. Ideologies have locked us in and avoided us from thinking “outside the box” which is exactly what we need.

Text of my talk on Our Lady of Guadalupe

Here’s the text I wrote on which I based my talk about Our Lady of Guadalupe for Spirit and Truth, the Monday night Holy Hour organized by the Catholic Student Organization at St. Michael’s Catholic Church in Auburn, Alabama:

I’m going to talk to you guys about the apparitions of Our Lady of Guadalupe. But, I don’t want to talk about her in the “traditional” way of telling the story about the apparitions nor do I want to go through all these historical facts and important dates or names that we can’t even pronounce. What I’d like to do is to focus on the message that she brought, on what it meant to the people of that time and I’d like to see if she has anything to say to us today.

In order to fully understand the meaning of Our Lady’s message, we have to place ourselves in the context in which they took place. For that, we’re going to have to go some five hundred years into the past and a couple hundred miles south, to what today is Mexico. What was going on at that time? Well, Mexico was pretty much a huge mess. The Spaniards had just recently defeated the Aztecs so we had this bunch of people who had nothing to do the one with the other, trying to live in the same place. And trying to bring some order into this chaos, we had the missionaries who were trying to convert the natives to Christianity. That means that we are trying to understand not one, but two peoples, each of which were going through different situations.

Now, I want you guys to help me out by using your imagination. And I want you to imagine what these missionaries were feeling. Imagine the passion they must have felt in order to give up everything they had to embark on a trip from which they would probably never return, far away from their home, their families, their culture… Imagine the enthusiasm they felt when they arrived in these new lands and saw all the souls that were there, just waiting to receive the Gospel. And not only were they enthusiastic, they were absolutely confident that they would succeed since they were doing what God wanted them to do. Now fast forward a couple of years, to 1530 and try to feel the deep disappointment that these missionaries were then feeling. They had done everything they could, they had done things that we would consider humanly impossible just to convert these people and they were failing. They were failing miserably. Imagine their frustration and sadness.

Now think about the natives. These people were going through a very painful situation. They literally saw their whole universe shatter before their very eyes. Their bravest warriors were defeated, their emperor was humiliated and their city destroyed. But, I think that the most important thing was that at the moment of their greatest suffering, they called out to their gods for help and they found out that they were yelling into nothingness. They discovered, by the hardest way possible that their gods did not exist. And yet, they couldn´t accept this new god because he had nothing to do with them, it was a foreign god. They were a deeply wounded people. Life had lost all meaning to them. Put yourself in their place and try to feel their anguish and despair.

This was the context in which the apparitions took place. It was a time when both conquered and conquerors could see no hope. It was truly the darkest hour of the night for these peoples and it was a night that seemed to have no end. It was precisely at that moment, that one cold December morning, a native convert, known by the Christian name of Juan Diego, came, before sunrise, knocking on the bishop’s door with a very important message, so important that he would speak of it only to the bishop himself.

What was this message that Juan Diego considered so important? The message was very simple: the Mother of God had appeared to him and wanted the bishop to build a temple where all those who suffered and were in need could go to her and where she could lead them to the One and True God. That God who knew that what all these people really needed was a mother. So He decided to give them His own mother!

Imagine what her words spoke to those people who were in such a desperate situation: “Am I not here, I who am your mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? Do you need something more? Let nothing else neither worry nor disturb you”.

These words meant so much to the people back then that the change in the social situation changed radically. Before her apparitions, only a handful of natives had converted to the Faith, despite the missionaries’ best efforts. After 1531, they started converting by the thousands. The chronicles of the time speak of the missionaries being overwhelmed by the rivers of people that wanted to be baptized. The old, the sick, the young, the poor, everybody would walk for miles just to receive Baptism. This happened not only because of her words but because the image itself spoke to these people in a language that we, as Westerners, don’t understand. The image spoke to them in their own language.

So, if Our Lady’s message had such an impact on people five hundred years ago, is it possible that it can still have such an impact on us today? Is she trying to say something to us, twenty-first century Catholics? Is she trying to say something to you, American Catholics? I would answer that yes, she is. Because today, as well as back then, we, as Catholics, are, or at least should be, burning in passion for souls. We want to go out and spread the Gospel and have people believe in Christ and come home to the Church. And yet, despite our best efforts, we are confronted with rejection and hostility. We do our best and yet, many times we fail.

Today, as in those times, those who don’t believe in God are a deeply wounded people. They have placed all their hopes and all their faith in many false “gods” –money, success, pleasure, drugs- and have found nothing but emptiness. They live in a world without any hope. It seems like there aren’t many differences between those times and ours.

In answer to Brea’s question from last week, as to why I think it’s so cool to be Catholic, I’d say that it’s freakin’ awesome to be Catholic because we have a mom. We have a mother to whom we can go to when we fail or when we feel frustrated and lonely. She will be there for us whether we’re saints or sinners, good Catholics or terrible Catholics, and who will always say to us: “Am I not here, I, who am your mother?”

To conclude, I’d like to say one last thing that is connected with what brings us here today. I believe that the whole apparitions would have been completely useless if they hadn’t led all these people to Christ. In the same manner, a talk about the Virgin Mary that doesn’t refer to her Son is a pointless talk. I’m convinced that the apparitions wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for the deep Eucharistic devotion of many people: of Juan Diego, in the first place, who would walk more than ten miles every day to go to Mass, all this before sunrise; of the missionaries who surely spent many hours kneeling before the Most Holy Sacrament asking God for his help, just as we will be doing in a few minutes. So yes, we can always go to Our Lady for help, but in the end, she will always take us to her Son.

Bienaventuradas tortugas

Por: Carlos Castillo Peraza
Publicado en el periódico La Jornada, 3 de abril de 1989.

Las tortugas son reptiles del orden de los quelonios. Su característica más importante es la de contar con una concha que alberga sus órganos vitales y los protege de las agresiones del medio. Paradigma de la lentitud y de la longevidad, estos animales han sido víctimas de la depredación humana que ha llegado al exceso de acabar paulatinamente con ellos disponiendo de sus huevos. La televisión mexicana –con el patrocinio de agencias internacionales y nacionales, tanto privadas como públicas, incluida una famosa marca de motocicletas japonesas y otra de llantas– ha alertado del peligro de extinción de alguna de las subespecies.

La Armada de México, biólogos graduados, estudiantes y amantes de la naturaleza despliegan una intensa y loable actividad encaminada a proteger de la voracidad humana los huevos de la tortuga marina. Brigadas de voluntarios recorren las playas en que las hembras entierran con delicadeza y paciencia centenares de futuras tortugas que nacerán gracias a la acción del calor solar.

Al parecer nadie duda de que esos huevos fecundados serán en efecto tortugas. Si supusieran que de ellos saldrán perros o caballos no habría tal actividad de protección. No he sabido hasta la fecha de debate alguno en torno a la “tortuguidad” de esos productos, ni he oído argumentos a favor de los depredadores en el sentido de que, como las futuras tortugas todavía no se “tortuguizan” por completo, resulte aceptable disponer de tales objetos como si no fueran a ser lo que ya comenzaron a ser. En el límite, la más leve sospecha de que de cada huevo pueda surgir una tortuga mueve a miles de personas a prodigar cuidados, recursos y trabajo para salvarlos a todos y cada uno. Disponer de uno solo de ellos está penado por ley.

Tampoco me ha tocado escuchar discusión alguna en torno a tortugas no deseadas, ni en relación con los peligros que las tortuguitas recién brotadas correrán en el mar para justificar matarlas antes de que ellas mismas asuman el riesgo de vivir. Sería absurdo que alguien se erigiera en último y definitivo juez de la “tortuguidad” de los huevos de tortuga y, con base en su juicio, determinara qué huevo merece pasar al plato de algún sibarita. No hay quien se anime a proclamarse creador de tortugas-sujetos-del-derecho-a-vivir. Todo huevo de tortuga tiene derecho, por ser tal, a ser respetado.

¡Bienaventuradas tortugas! No hay quien afirme que sólo la libertad de matarlas las haría dignas de la vida. No dependen de las decisiones inapelables de seres más fuertes, más inteligentes, más dotados de recursos que ellas; les va mejor que a los judíos o a los gitanos bajo el régimen de Hitler; tienen más oportunidades que un disidente en tiempos de Stalin, que un negro bajo el régimen sudafricano, que un piel roja en los terrenos de Bufalo Bill. Tampoco están sometidas a aquel criterio del Marqués de Sade: “imaginar que no se puede destruir, si así se requiere, un poco de materia fecundada, es llevar demasiado lejos el respeto por ésta”.

¡Bienaventuradas tortugas! Parecen tener más defensores que algunos niños no nacidos.

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Blessed turtles

By: Carlos Castillo Peraza
Published in La Jornada newspaper on April 3rd. 1989.

Turtles are reptiles of the order of the Chelonia. Their most important characteristic is that they possess a shell that encloses their vital organs and protects them from the aggressions of the environment. Paradigm of slowness and longevity, these animals are victims of human depredation, which has reached the excess of slowly wiping them out by disposing of their eggs. Mexican television, with the sponsorship of national and international agencies, private and public alike, including a famous Japanese motorcycle company as well as a brand of tires, has alerted about one subspecies being in danger of extinction.

The Mexican Navy, biologists, students and lovers of nature display an intense and laudable activity aimed at protecting sea turtle eggs from human voracity. Brigades of volunteers patrol the beaches where female turtles bury, with delicacy and patience, hundreds of future turtles that will be born thanks to the warmth of the sun.

It seems like nobody doubts that these fecundated eggs will certainly be turtles. If they thought that dogs or horses would come out of them, they would not protect them. I haven’t heard of any debate about the “turtleness” of these products, nor have I heard any arguments in favor of predators based on the fact that, since the future turtles haven’t “turtleized” completely, it’s acceptable to dispose of them as if they weren’t already what they have already begun to be. In the limit, the slightest suspicion that from each egg a turtle might be born moves thousands of individuals to offer protection, resources and work to save each and every one of them. Disposing of a single egg is against the law.

Neither have I heard any discussion about unwanted turtles nor discussions related to the dangers that newly born turtles will face in the ocean as a justification for killing them before they have taken the risk of living. It would be absurd if someone pretended to become the ultimate judge of the “turtleness” of turtle eggs and, based on his own judgment, determined which egg deserves to end in somebody’s plate. Nobody dares to proclaim her or himself creator of turtles-subject-to-the-right-of-living. Every turtle egg has a right to be protected, just because it is a turtle egg.

Blessed turtles! Nobody says that only the freedom of killing them would make them worthy of life. They don’t depend on the indisputable decisions of stronger, smarter and better equipped beings. They do better than the Jews or the Gypsies under Hitler’s regime; they have more chances than a dissident in the times of Stalin, than a black man in the Southafrican regime or than a redskin in Buffalo Bill’s lands. Nor are they subject to that criterion from the Marquis de Sade: “imagining that a bit of fecundated matter cannot be destroyed if needed, is taking the respect for it way too far”.

Blessed turtles! They seem to have more defenders than some unborn children.