By Fr. Christopher Stoley
Sacred Heart Church, Crete
Hispanic Ministry
One of the most frustrating things I experience in Hispanic ministry is the language barrier. Even though I have more or less gained a mastery over Spanish, the barrier remains, and can impede ministry to people with real needs.
As a priest, I have felt rather useless on a number of occasions, simply because something gets lost in translation, and it can be difficult to meet the people where they are and provide assistance. My Spanish is fine, but throw in accents, stresses, and people whose main language is a Mayan or Aztec dialect, and communication can become an arduous task.
With time, however, I had to come to believe that language difficulties don’t truly matter. In the first place, most of my people are just excited that I am trying — they don’t care how good or bad the Spanish is, they care that it matters enough to me to try. But secondly, they want a pastor who will show up. I had to learn both of these lessons the hard way, especially the latter, as it often involves tragedy or crisis. Three memories come to mind that illustrate this point, which I will briefly describe.
A few years back, a mother had invited me to a fifth-grade girls basketball game, because her daughter was going to be playing and really wanted me to be there. Her father had skipped out on her, leaving mom with two kids and no father figure. Priests often find ourselves filling this role in some way.
The day of the game, I was busy for most of the morning, but I had some free time, so I arrived late in the first half. I found myself in the upper deck area of the school gym and just watched. The girl, who we’ll call “Jimena,” was not having a good time. At one point, one of her teammates tried to inbound the ball with a defender in her face and no one nearby to pass the ball to. Jimena was closest, and she was not even near her teammate. I yelled from above, “Jimena!”
She looked up, her face brightened, and I yelled, “Give her someone to pass to!” She ran into position and received the inbound.
Although the team ultimately lost, Jimena played lights-out for the rest of the game and had a smile on her face the whole time. I chatted with her family for a little while after the game, and I’ve never seen a more appreciative reaction. All I did was make an appearance.
This summer—June 28—I received a number of messages while I was on retreat, asking if I was safe because there was an active shooter situation in Crete. When I returned from retreat, assistant pastor Father Izquierdo and I went to see the family involved, who had since returned to the home from the couple of hospitals where they had been treated.
It was a Guatemalan family, and six of the 12 or so victims happened to belong to my parish. They were a family of siblings and spouses, and nieces and nephews, just enjoying some time outside when a neighbor across the street opened fire with a 12-gauge shotgun. Seven of the family members were hit with birdshot, but none was critically injured. The family, Catholics and Evangelicals, could not believe we were able to take time to go visit. We gave them some financial aid, but even more importantly, we gave them our time.
Finally, another Guatemalan family had been in contact with me at various times throughout the last couple of years. The patriarch of the family had been battling throat cancer off and on, and because of his suppressed immune system, they had not really been able to come to Mass.
This last year was especially difficult for them, and he was going back and forth from the house to hospitals in Lincoln and Omaha. The situation was so unstable that I was not able to visit him, until one day I got a phone call saying he would be at Bryan East in Lincoln for a few days.
When I went to go see him, he perked right up and his entire demeanor changed. His family later told me that he had been “super excited” to see me and that he could not believe that I was able to come visit.
The common thread is that they will remember that I cared enough to show up; none of them will remember anything I said, or did, or gave. The language barrier doesn’t matter when the universal language of charity is spoken, and much of the time we speak charity simply by being present.
This is the same for every culture and every parish. Just show up. Something as simple as a junior high basketball game, recess at school, a birthday party, or a quinceañera can change someone’s life. Just show up. If you have a family or if you are a teacher, what will your children remember? They won’t remember advice. They’ll remember when you were present. Go to the game, sit with a child at lunch in the cafeteria. Just show up.
