Thursday, December 08, 2005
Memories of Dorothy
When Dorothy and I were young nuns-in-training we would escape into the Motherhouse fields picking wild berries. One such adventure gave Dorothy a colossal case of Poison Ivy. I spent some time at her bedside doing what I could to break the monotony of her confinement. In our berry picking and her recuperation, I began to know of her deep faith and of her vision of what it meant for her to be a woman of faith, an Alleluia from head to foot.
Miss Bony-knees we called her when her physical ability outstripped our puny efforts at basketball, softball or water keep-away. Now Dorothy wasn’t the greatest player, but she would try anything and endure everything to make her dreams come alive. Thus when she called to have us play basketball with a group of teenagers at Sacred Heart Academy, she knew we’d be there. Somehow she knew that we could truly bring the love of God to her students through our pathetic efforts at basketball.
That same spirit was active when we lived in one moldy room during Hurricane Fifi, studying Spanish in Costa Rica. To and from class we would pass children with whom Dorothy would strike up a conversation even though we knew only a few words of Spanish. Half in English and half in Spanish, Dorothy would fearlessly carry on a conversation while two and sometimes three children were attached to her swinging hands. Her facial expressions made them laugh as she hunted for simple nouns, not even daring to try the more challenging verbs. The exchange was heart-to-heart and far more eloquent than polished speech. It seemed she was saying “I love you and so does God”.
Dorothy always wanted things to be better, especially for the poor. Surely, you could imagine her thinking; a better diet would help. And thus Dorothy managed the Caritas Food Distribution Program. Her commitment wasn’t just about pulling strings and jumping through the red tape of a society obsessed with intermediaries. But when the food finally came, she was there on the distribution lines picking up 50lb. sacks of powdered milk or rice and moving them to the stations on her slight, bony-kneed frame.
One special task Dorothy loved to do was to visit the humble hut of a young blind girl she was preparing for First Communion. For weeks, Dorothy made the arduous trip over cobble-stones, ditches, and unpaved paths to reach the dirt floor home and begin the class for the day. As you can imagine, the classes were as much friendship building as faith development. And as the special day drew near, Dorothy saw to it that a suitable white dresses with appropriate veil were a part of the blind girl’s apparel. Following the First Communion celebration, pictures were taken to record the happy event. The pictures were more for Dorothy than the blind girl. For the blind girl, the kind and gentle churchwomen’s presence was captured on the film of her heart.
After the special day passed the journey was made once again down the unpaved path and over the rough cobble-stones. But this time it was by the blind girl with a gift tucked under her arm headed for the nun’s house. Dorothy received her former pupil and the live chicken with great pleasure. The chicken was given in gratitude for the precious visits, the friendship and the classes. Dorothy often pointed out that the live chicken was one of the most touching gifts she had ever received.
Just as the Disciples on the road to Emmaus, we both listened to the radio broadcasts of the Sunday mass homilies celebrated by Salvador’s Archbishop Romero, and our hearts did indeed burn within. When he paused in his teachings, the affirming applause of the campesino at the Cathedral mass could be heard over the radio. Dorothy would interject the same sentiment as felt by the campesino but Americanized to the chant of “go get ‘em Bishop!” She loved his retort to those who made fun of him. Once Romero responded, “The prophetic mission is the duty of God’s people. So when I am told, in a mocking tone, that I think I am a prophet, I reply, ‘God be praised!’ You ought to be one too.”
Dorothy was never intimidated when she genuinely believed that the Truth was on her side. Dorothy rode her motorcycle down the mountain to the hacienda in her region and spoke with the duenos, the rich landowners, about Archbishop Romero and his concern for the dignity of every human being. He articulated the vision she held in her heart of life someday being better for the simple campesino. The duenos told her that the Archbishop had betrayed them because he said to them “Stop the repression.” and “We want to be the voice of those who have no voice.” He said this because he knew that the only voice the campesino had, out of fear for their lives, was when their applause was heard over the radio during his Sunday mass.
During a Team Retreat in Salvador on a warm, sunlit afternoon, after having lived and worked together for five years, Dorothy and I went for a walk to decide who should stay in El Salvador and whose time would be up. Since the stakes were so high and neither of us wanted to leave, the emotions ran deep. Yet as we walked together along the dusty paths, it was easy to be honest with Dorothy because she was honest with me. After each of us presented our thoughts, it became clear to me that I should be the one to leave. It was a time of great joy for her and great sadness for me. I sent her to tell the team and left to be alone with my life changing decision. That decision also became life changing for Dorothy in another way.
After informing the Team of our intentions, Dorothy found me and stayed with me to ease the consequences of my decision. Much work together remained to be done before my departure.
Leaving Salvador was difficult but not impossible. The constant harassment of being stopped by the guardia to search us, the tapped phone lines, riding as body guards with the native priests, or the news of yet another kidnapping or priest being killed or atrocity, left us concerned and careful. Thus, leaving the surreal situation and traveling home together the roundabout way through Canada, was a diversion for Dorothy and I. On the train up the West Coast of California, as we passed the city where her former fiancée lived, I learned more of her feelings toward the young man to whom she had been engaged. There was tenderness in how she spoke of him.
Dorothy was soon back working in Salvador and in a tape recording to her I was bemoaning my returned status and complained to her about the ridiculous, unnecessary task of cleaning out the “clean” cupboards at the convent. I remembered our work in Salvador - taking dying, dehydrated babies to the hospital, giving food to families who would cook it over a wood fire while standing barefoot on a dirt floor, finding a coffin for a young catechist who died in the mountains while picking coffee beans, or being stopped and harassed by the security forces at gun point. Dorothy replied in a letter that if it was any consolation, she and Jean had also just cleaned out the cockroach-infested cupboards of the La Libertad parish kitchen. Her comments helped me survive reentry.
As I wrestled with my reentry to convent life Dorothy and I kept up a constant stream of communications. By letter or tape or phone call she let me know of the situation in the country, what was happening in my villages, on the team and to my friends. Three months after I left, a special letter arrived from her that spoke of what I should do in case something happened to her or the team. I read it thinking that the precaution was a good idea that would never be needed. I saved the letter with all the others communications.
For those of us who knew Dorothy, she was made of the same stuff as the rest of us. She was a human being and in her humanness she struggled to know God’s will for her. For someone who was always one step ahead of others when it came to knowing what was on the agenda next, it was surprising to experience her in those final days searching for what God wanted of her. Her constant refrain became “To know” mimicking the Spanish “saber?” - who knows? Her inability to see a future was, if you will, an omen of what was to come.
A few days before her premature and violent death I called to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving. She sounded so weary and distraught about the escalating violence in the country. Knowing her as I did I fully believed she acted on what she felt was right and just. She gave up the chocolates she loved as a personal petition to God so that the repression in the country would stop. She asked our superior to extend her time on the mission so that she could accompany the people in spite of the existence of very real dangers after the death of Archbishop Romero. I believe she offered herself to God to be used in any way God would want so as to relieve the suffering of the Salvadoran people. As her brutalized body and those of the other churchwomen were pulled from the shallow roadside grave in front of the camera lens of the news media, the horror of the Salvador experience and the suffering of the Salvadoran people became the personal horror of the world.
Upon my return to St. Malachi convent after having been at the Kazel’s home since word came that Dorothy was missing, I went immediately to my treasure chest of letters and tapes to find the one I knew I had to reread. Her request to “please explain it for me” became a mandate. And even though I felt as Jeremiah the prophet who complained to God “I know not how to speak” there was no Dorothy to complain to and say to her, not me, choose another. Thus I had to let the words of God to Jeremiah be my guide, “The Lord extended his hand and touched my mouth, saying, See, I place my words in your mouth!” (Jeremiah 1:6, 10)
Miss Bony-knees we called her when her physical ability outstripped our puny efforts at basketball, softball or water keep-away. Now Dorothy wasn’t the greatest player, but she would try anything and endure everything to make her dreams come alive. Thus when she called to have us play basketball with a group of teenagers at Sacred Heart Academy, she knew we’d be there. Somehow she knew that we could truly bring the love of God to her students through our pathetic efforts at basketball.
That same spirit was active when we lived in one moldy room during Hurricane Fifi, studying Spanish in Costa Rica. To and from class we would pass children with whom Dorothy would strike up a conversation even though we knew only a few words of Spanish. Half in English and half in Spanish, Dorothy would fearlessly carry on a conversation while two and sometimes three children were attached to her swinging hands. Her facial expressions made them laugh as she hunted for simple nouns, not even daring to try the more challenging verbs. The exchange was heart-to-heart and far more eloquent than polished speech. It seemed she was saying “I love you and so does God”.
Dorothy always wanted things to be better, especially for the poor. Surely, you could imagine her thinking; a better diet would help. And thus Dorothy managed the Caritas Food Distribution Program. Her commitment wasn’t just about pulling strings and jumping through the red tape of a society obsessed with intermediaries. But when the food finally came, she was there on the distribution lines picking up 50lb. sacks of powdered milk or rice and moving them to the stations on her slight, bony-kneed frame.
One special task Dorothy loved to do was to visit the humble hut of a young blind girl she was preparing for First Communion. For weeks, Dorothy made the arduous trip over cobble-stones, ditches, and unpaved paths to reach the dirt floor home and begin the class for the day. As you can imagine, the classes were as much friendship building as faith development. And as the special day drew near, Dorothy saw to it that a suitable white dresses with appropriate veil were a part of the blind girl’s apparel. Following the First Communion celebration, pictures were taken to record the happy event. The pictures were more for Dorothy than the blind girl. For the blind girl, the kind and gentle churchwomen’s presence was captured on the film of her heart.
After the special day passed the journey was made once again down the unpaved path and over the rough cobble-stones. But this time it was by the blind girl with a gift tucked under her arm headed for the nun’s house. Dorothy received her former pupil and the live chicken with great pleasure. The chicken was given in gratitude for the precious visits, the friendship and the classes. Dorothy often pointed out that the live chicken was one of the most touching gifts she had ever received.
Just as the Disciples on the road to Emmaus, we both listened to the radio broadcasts of the Sunday mass homilies celebrated by Salvador’s Archbishop Romero, and our hearts did indeed burn within. When he paused in his teachings, the affirming applause of the campesino at the Cathedral mass could be heard over the radio. Dorothy would interject the same sentiment as felt by the campesino but Americanized to the chant of “go get ‘em Bishop!” She loved his retort to those who made fun of him. Once Romero responded, “The prophetic mission is the duty of God’s people. So when I am told, in a mocking tone, that I think I am a prophet, I reply, ‘God be praised!’ You ought to be one too.”
Dorothy was never intimidated when she genuinely believed that the Truth was on her side. Dorothy rode her motorcycle down the mountain to the hacienda in her region and spoke with the duenos, the rich landowners, about Archbishop Romero and his concern for the dignity of every human being. He articulated the vision she held in her heart of life someday being better for the simple campesino. The duenos told her that the Archbishop had betrayed them because he said to them “Stop the repression.” and “We want to be the voice of those who have no voice.” He said this because he knew that the only voice the campesino had, out of fear for their lives, was when their applause was heard over the radio during his Sunday mass.
During a Team Retreat in Salvador on a warm, sunlit afternoon, after having lived and worked together for five years, Dorothy and I went for a walk to decide who should stay in El Salvador and whose time would be up. Since the stakes were so high and neither of us wanted to leave, the emotions ran deep. Yet as we walked together along the dusty paths, it was easy to be honest with Dorothy because she was honest with me. After each of us presented our thoughts, it became clear to me that I should be the one to leave. It was a time of great joy for her and great sadness for me. I sent her to tell the team and left to be alone with my life changing decision. That decision also became life changing for Dorothy in another way.
After informing the Team of our intentions, Dorothy found me and stayed with me to ease the consequences of my decision. Much work together remained to be done before my departure.
Leaving Salvador was difficult but not impossible. The constant harassment of being stopped by the guardia to search us, the tapped phone lines, riding as body guards with the native priests, or the news of yet another kidnapping or priest being killed or atrocity, left us concerned and careful. Thus, leaving the surreal situation and traveling home together the roundabout way through Canada, was a diversion for Dorothy and I. On the train up the West Coast of California, as we passed the city where her former fiancée lived, I learned more of her feelings toward the young man to whom she had been engaged. There was tenderness in how she spoke of him.
Dorothy was soon back working in Salvador and in a tape recording to her I was bemoaning my returned status and complained to her about the ridiculous, unnecessary task of cleaning out the “clean” cupboards at the convent. I remembered our work in Salvador - taking dying, dehydrated babies to the hospital, giving food to families who would cook it over a wood fire while standing barefoot on a dirt floor, finding a coffin for a young catechist who died in the mountains while picking coffee beans, or being stopped and harassed by the security forces at gun point. Dorothy replied in a letter that if it was any consolation, she and Jean had also just cleaned out the cockroach-infested cupboards of the La Libertad parish kitchen. Her comments helped me survive reentry.
As I wrestled with my reentry to convent life Dorothy and I kept up a constant stream of communications. By letter or tape or phone call she let me know of the situation in the country, what was happening in my villages, on the team and to my friends. Three months after I left, a special letter arrived from her that spoke of what I should do in case something happened to her or the team. I read it thinking that the precaution was a good idea that would never be needed. I saved the letter with all the others communications.
For those of us who knew Dorothy, she was made of the same stuff as the rest of us. She was a human being and in her humanness she struggled to know God’s will for her. For someone who was always one step ahead of others when it came to knowing what was on the agenda next, it was surprising to experience her in those final days searching for what God wanted of her. Her constant refrain became “To know” mimicking the Spanish “saber?” - who knows? Her inability to see a future was, if you will, an omen of what was to come.
A few days before her premature and violent death I called to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving. She sounded so weary and distraught about the escalating violence in the country. Knowing her as I did I fully believed she acted on what she felt was right and just. She gave up the chocolates she loved as a personal petition to God so that the repression in the country would stop. She asked our superior to extend her time on the mission so that she could accompany the people in spite of the existence of very real dangers after the death of Archbishop Romero. I believe she offered herself to God to be used in any way God would want so as to relieve the suffering of the Salvadoran people. As her brutalized body and those of the other churchwomen were pulled from the shallow roadside grave in front of the camera lens of the news media, the horror of the Salvador experience and the suffering of the Salvadoran people became the personal horror of the world.
Upon my return to St. Malachi convent after having been at the Kazel’s home since word came that Dorothy was missing, I went immediately to my treasure chest of letters and tapes to find the one I knew I had to reread. Her request to “please explain it for me” became a mandate. And even though I felt as Jeremiah the prophet who complained to God “I know not how to speak” there was no Dorothy to complain to and say to her, not me, choose another. Thus I had to let the words of God to Jeremiah be my guide, “The Lord extended his hand and touched my mouth, saying, See, I place my words in your mouth!” (Jeremiah 1:6, 10)
# posted by ClevelandOSU @ 12/08/2005 
