To the Band of Brothers: March 10, 2021

Good morning!

Last Sunday I celebrated Mass at one of our local parishes. I noticed that in the spirit of Lent, they had placed off to the side of the altar on a table, a cactus. To the untrained eye, the immediate interpretation is that Lent is that dry, prickly season we have to endure in order to get to the joy of Easter. Lent is that time of suffering, penance, and discomfort. It’s like a cactus. But, if you really knew anything about cacti, you would see there is much more to them than that. Let me explain.

In 2005, I was sent to do my last stage of formal Jesuit formation. It’s referred to as “tertianship” and usually takes place a few years after ordination. It’s the last step before a Jesuit takes his final vows. So, when the provincial first approached me about tertianship, he asked where I wanted to go. I had thought about it before and played out the conversation many times in my head. I was convinced that Salamanca, Spain was the perfect place.

To make my point about Spain, I came up with several good reasons. I would tell my provincial I had never undergone any stage of my formation in the European continent. I would tell him Spain was the land of my ancestors, it was the land of St. Ignatius of Loyola, and then explain how wonderful it would be to walk in the founder’s footsteps. Then I would go on to explain that Spain had awesome Jesuits, that Spain has a great climate, that Spain is beautiful, that I’ve never been to Spain but I kind of like the music (that’s a song by the band Three Dog Night by the way).

Sure enough, the day I met with the provincial I was ready. The conversation went beautifully. He told me he loved the reasons for going to Spain. Then, a couple of months later, I hopped on a plane to Santiago, Chile. That’s right: Santiago, Chile. I have to remember, for future reference, never to really say where I really want to go. No hard feelings, though. God, in His infinite wisdom and with His great sense of humor, got me to the place where I needed to go and where I would most powerfully experience His grace.

One of the things I did while in Chile was spend three months working at San Luis Gonzaga, a Jesuit school in Antofagasta. This city is located in northern Chile, right on the coast (and Chile has a lot of it), on the edge of the world’s most arid desert: the Atacama. This desert is so dry (how dry is it?), it only receives one millimeter of rainfall a year! For a Miamian, this is unheard of. One millimeter of water a year?! 

I was so oblivious to desert life that one night the school was planning its annual gala dinner. It was always held in their version of the central patio. At one point during the meeting, I asked what their plan B was. “Plan B?” they asked. “Yeah,” I said, “in case it rains.” Needless to say, they laughed their little Chilean heads off.

I remember standing on the rooftop of the school facing the desert and staring into an endless sea of sand. There was plain brown sand as far as the eye could see. If you ventured into that wasteland you would occasionally run into a solitary cactus. While its outward appearance is not very inviting, I learned that for the locals the cactus was a sight for sore eyes. It meant life. Not only could you eat the fruit it produces, but you could also eat its fleshy bark. Most importantly, locals knew if you opened the cactus you would get water and lots of it. Stranded in the desert, the cactus means hope; the cactus means life. 

This is Lent. The stranger thinks it's a season of sadness, dryness, and suffering. It’s the reason they have to buffer it with a Fat Tuesday. A day when no rules apply because forty days of pain are coming. But, for the locals, Lent is a time of spiritual growth, a time of strengthening our relationship with Jesus Christ. Lent is a time for offering Him our lives as He offered His to us. Stranded in the sin of this world, Lent means hope, Lent means life.

Auspice Maria