Taxi Montage

It's been two weeks since I left Brasil, and as I've generally been either on retreat or on vacation since returning to the United States, I've had plenty of time to recall the people, moments, images, and ideas that filled every waking moment in Salvador and Rio. One that keeps returning is the 20-minute cab ride that ferried me from a family friend's apartment to the international airport, from the city's southern end (a few beaches down from Copacabana) to an artificial island on the northern edge of town. The route took me through familiar neighborhoods, past places newly inscribed with many pilgrims' memories besides my own. After a valiant effort at kind small talk with the driver, I settled into a prayerful recollection of the previous three weeks, scenes racing through my mind just as apartments, hills, and other parts of Rio whizzed by, glowing in the long rays of the wintry sunset.

One friend, with a flair for the artistic in his metaphors, responded to this story with an intriguing phrase: "If your Brasil trip were a movie, your ride to the airport would be the taxi montage." And so, here's some of that taxi montage, or at least some elements of it that I actually captured. Lovely summer sunsets here in New England, a world away and at the other end of the seasonal cycle, have proven quite adept at triggering additional screenings of this part of the film.

Colegio Antonio Vieira, Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Bahía de Todos os Santos, Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Jesuit church ceiling, Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Magis delegation flags

First glimpse of Cristo Redentor
Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Santa Marta community, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

St. Ignatius Church, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Nossa Senora de Penha shrine, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Claude at Ipanema, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Claude and Cristo Redentor, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Leaving the Mountaintop

Cristo Redentor
Corcovado, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Jesus took Peter, John, and James and went up a mountain to pray. While he was praying his face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white. And behold, two men were conversing with him, Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory and spoke of his exodus that he was going to accomplish in Jerusalem. Peter and his companions had been overcome by sleep, but becoming fully awake, they saw his glory and the two men standing with him. As they were about to part from him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good that we are here; let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” But he did not know what he was saying.

While he was still speaking, a cloud came and cast a shadow over them, and they became frightened when they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.” After the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. They fell silent and did not at that time tell anyone what they had seen.

~ Luke 9:28B-36

This account of the Transfiguration of Jesus, read at Mass on that feast this past Tuesday, naturally brought to mind my visit to the Cristo Redentor statue high above Rio de Janeiro. Perched atop a mountain in a vast park that protects Atlantic rainforest, the statue is often swathed in the rain, wind, and cloud that I and some fellow pilgrims encountered on our visit, during some scant free time amidst a wide array of World Youth Day programming. Amidst jubilant crowds– we were treated to the Paraguayan national anthem by a group of 50 people dressed in their national team's soccer jerseys– and occasional glimpses of the city below through fleeting breaks in the clouds, we literally soaked in the experience.

In the context of the silent prayer and meditation of my retreat this past week, this Gospel imagery and personal memory promoted further reflection not only upon this mountaintop experience, but also its aftermath. The disciples wanted to stay, but apparently "did not know what [they] were saying." They said nothing, whereas I and my companions at the clouded statue all exuberantly shared the account of braving the weather to see Cristo. In the days since we've each returned to our homes and communities, there have surely been numerous discussions about various vignettes, memories, and insights from our experiences in Brasil... that's certainly been the case as I've settled back in among my Jesuit brethren.

Santa Marta community, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Just as Cristo looks over Rio while residents, tourists, and others come and go about journeys both daily and extraordinary, I newly feel Christ watching over me as one journey ends and another– three years of graduate studies in theology at Boston College– is about to begin. Three weeks with inspiring, energetic, and hope-filled youth from all over the world constituted a remarkable joy and blessing, yet we were called to that mountaintop in order to be sent back home with new ideas, new graces, new insights, and new companions. Even as we encountered serious needs in Brasil– troubling social and economic inequality, unsettling physical and emotional suffering– we became more aware of the needs that seek our attention in the cities and nations that we call home. I've long known Boston as a visitor, as a "local tourist," as a city graced with wonderful parks, splendid museums, and one of the best marathons in the world. Now I'll get to know it as a resident; I desire to explore its neighborhoods, truly meet its people, and even learn– the phrase comes straight from one of my retreat meditations– "how Boston prays."

I'll keep supplies for physical and metaphorical tent-pitching on hand– there will always be mountains to climb– but it's now time to ensure that I truly go forth from the great peaks that I and so many ascended in Brasil, and to follow Christ's urging to take up the work that lies ahead in other terrain.

Making Disciples

Magis pilgrims
World Youth Day, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had ordered them. When they saw him, they worshiped, but they doubted. Then Jesus approached and said to them, “All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

~ Matthew 28:16-20

This Gospel reading provided the theme for this year's World Youth Day, and was read at the closing Mass with Pope Francis, a gathering that drew three million people to the famous beach and boulevard of Copacabana on Rio's southeast coast. With a dramatic backdrop of rolling Atlantic surf and towering hills, Pope Francis offered an eloquent, succinct, and engaging homily that spoke of Christ's call to today's youth: a mission of discipleship and proclamation that is confidently entrusted to us.

Praying anew over those words, and the memories and experiences shared with a group of 30 students from Jesuit universities in 6 countries (Argentina, Bolivia, Brasil, France, United States, Uruguay) during the week leading up to World Youth Day, I found myself repeatedly drawn to the disciples' doubt, and to Jesus' instructions. Our small group engaged in several days of interreligious dialogue with the major non-Christian faiths found in Rio: Islam, Judaism, Umbanda, and Candomble (the latter two are indigenous/Afro-Brasilian religions). On various occasions, students sought me out to share their misgivings: Why is my faith so lukewarm compared to the vibrant worship we beheld? I'm troubled by a conversation I had with a person who converted from Catholicism to Islam. I'm confused about the value of learning from other religions when my faith is a deeply personal and private matter. Yet they also lived out Jesus' call to observe and exemplify his teachings on love, hospitality, and non-judgment: This leader of the Umbanda community is just like my grandmother who serves on our parish council back home. I'm slowly realizing that I have an important role in keeping my local church vibrant and welcoming. I can't wait to tell my Jewish friend how excited I was to sing psalms in Hebrew for the first time.

Our multinational, multilingual, interreligious dialogue group
Jardín Botánico, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

The closing words of Matthew's Gospel, and the words with which Pope Francis sent us all home to continue our pilgrimages of faith, now motivate me to encourage our group– and all of the other pilgrims with whom new friendships arose– to continue the blessing and privilege of encounter, dialogue, and proclamation that we all relished during three weeks in Brasil. We all have stories to tell, people to meet, and graces to convey to our own corners of the Catholic Church and the nations that we inhabit. I'm eager to see how this adventure continues.

Es Brasil!

Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Well, friends, I'm back from three wonderful, intense, memorable, and grace-filled weeks in Brasil. Participating in the Magis program and the events of World Youth Day brought me into contact with inspiring youth from all over the world, the vibrant culture and humbling hospitality of South America's largest country, and a remarkable experience of the Catholic Church on both a global and a local scale. The trip was not without its challenges– most media outlets noticed some of the disorganization that arose as Rio de Janeiro struggled to transport and accommodate an influx of pilgrims that numbered half its population– but what I'll remember most (and post about in more detail soon) are the countless instances of ordinary people encountering one another in peace, joy, faith, and friendship.

Santa Marta, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

For now, though, a few notable "It's Brasil" moments:

• Streamers and flags make everything better. During an afternoon when 2,000 students of Jesuit universities in 30 countries wandered through the streets of Salvador de Bahía, our melting pot of languages and cultures was stirred into joyful fervor by simple decorations strung above the alleys in the oldest part of the city, home to a Jesuit church and some charming religious and residential architecture.
• The favelas are places of bizarre paradoxes and unsettling graces. The largest, Rocinha, constitutes a full 10% of Rio's population. Another, Santa Marta, is just down the street from the Jesuit high school, and scales at a dizzying pitch the side of the same rocky massif crowned by the city's iconic Cristo Redentor statue. Narrow alleys, cramped living quarters, and tremendously improvised electrical, water, and sewage systems are blunt signs of physical and economic poverty, yet there's a radiant spirit in these communities that feel so close-knit and have some of the best vistas of the city's diverse social and physical landscape.
• On the first afternoon of World Youth Day, the city's transportation system effectively collapsed. A power outage closed the subway, and tens (if not hundreds) of thousands of pilgrims soon overwhelmed the buses as they all tried to reach Copacabana Beach for the opening Mass. Rather than delve into the crowds, a few Jesuits and I decided to walk the two miles from the English-language catechesis center to the high school where we were staying. Ten minutes into our walk, as we stood at a street corner getting our bearings on a map, a Rio resident offered to help, and then accompanied us for the next hour, as she was heading home to the same neighborhood, unable to get a bus home from work. While we exchanged some justified frustration at the transit failure, we spent far more time sharing our life stories, our impressions of Pope Francis, and a sense of companionship that quickly bridged cultural and linguistic differences.
• For the close of World Youth Day, 3 million people (many of them camping out the previous night) gathered on the beach and sidewalk for Mass with Pope Francis on a splendid Sunday morning. Although my fellow pilgrims and I stood roughly 2 miles from the altar, we felt a clear sense of connection to the community– the largest assembly for a single event in Rio's history– that participated in a liturgy unlike any I've ever seen. Even the street vendors and the military helicopters patrolling the scene (with obviously different purposes) pulled back and quieted down during Mass. Our little patch of sidewalk was as much a part of the Church as any other for a mile in either direction.

Crowds gathered for Mass with Pope Francis
Copacabana Beach, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

These and other insights and memories from my time in Brasil deserve further elaboration, which I'll compose and share in the coming days. I'm already missing the "cidade maravilhosa," but keenly aware that its spirit is now rooted within me, poised for growth and fruitfulness that I can't yet imagine.