Corridos de Peregrinación

What was here to be found was not a thing. Things separate from their stories have no meaning. They are only shapes. Of certain size and color. A certain weight. When their meaning has become lost to us they no longer even have a name. The story on the other hand can never be lost from its place in the world for it is that place. And that is what was to be found here. The corrido. The tale. And like all corridos it ultimately told one story only, for there is only one to tell.
- Cormac Mccarthy from The Crossing: Border Trilogy (2)

Here are two stories, which I hope, tell that one story adequately.

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One of my greatest joys teaching here has been watching Mauricio. He and I met in Tejutla in 2006 at a late night soccer match when I was still a Kent State student and he was a seminarian for the diocese. Life has changed a great deal for both of us since then, but we now find ourselves teaching the same students in the same school in the same village. Mauri now has a wife and daughter. He rents a room in a restaurant on the outskirts of town. I am now clean shaven and wear my hair short. This may not sound like a dramatic change, but trust me, it is. I rent a room in the rectory at the center of town.

Why do I watch Mauricio? I'm weird (praise be to God!), but I'm not a creeper. Watching people isn't something I normally do. But with Mauricio its different. Every year I give $250 to Padre Rafa so Mauricio can go to college. The $250 is one third of his tuition. The other part is paid for by his work at the school. He has no idea that I'm his sponsor. The only things he thinks I've given him is a box of Ernie Ball nylon guitar strings and a capo for classical guitars(see the above picture for this gifting). I'm just the crazy gringo teaching English and always bugging him for a new Palabra de le Fe to teach the kids in English that corresponds with his religion lessons.

When I watch Mauricio, this is what I see. Primarily, a man who loves students. He is gentle. Kind. Thoughtful. Extremely patient. Creative with his lessons. Hardworking. He teachings in the morning, takes a bus to Chalate for class in the afternoon, and returns to direct the children's choir in the evening. When the combination of their untrained voices and offbeat tambourines makes my head wince in pain, Mauricio just smiles. He is shy, but will play guitar and sing in front of anyone. He is fiercely competitive when in all sports. He loves, and I mean LOVES, his faith and his family.

In a few months Mauricio will have his degree and teaching license. My sponsorship will end, but his teaching will continue for decades. For my meager $250 a year this man will being shaping hundreds of student's lives for a generation or more. While watching Mauricio I'm sometimes in awe of how far a little generosity can go, but more often I find myself mesmerized by gentle, passionate, loving spirit with which he engages our students. The miracle is not that my $250/year bought him an education. The miracle is Mauricio.

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Jimenita is 5 months old. Marta, the school's principal, 3rd grade teacher, host-mother to Rodrigo, and regular cook of my food is her mother. Like Mauricio, Marta and I have known each other since my trip as a student in 2005. She is a graduate of Rafa's sponsorship program and has worked at the school since it opened two years ago. She is principal because, as Rafa said, there was no one else. She is a good woman and she's always working. But, as my dad pointed out, she's sad all the time. Sometimes I think her life has been so hard that she never learned to smile.

Jimenita makes Marta smile. She rarely cries. Is soft and silent and doughy and cute and smells better than any baby I've ever held. She will grow up in Agua Caliente. Rodrigo will be her "brother". (He currently claims she's his girlfriend. That, Marta and I hope, will change.) She will be raised solely by women, but will see Padre Rafa weekly. She may come to think he is her father. But he is not. Her father is somewhere in the States and nowhere in the picture. Normally, babies cry when I get within 20 feet. Jimenita beams the minute she hears my voice. She laughs, giggles, coos, babbles, mumbles, squeaks, smiles. She loves when I speak English. I hold her as often as possible.

A few weeks ago Marta asked me to be Jimenita's padrino. In the sponsorship program we often tell the kids they have an American padrino so they can build a relationship with their sponsor. Marta's sponsors, by the way, were a lovely couple from Kent. They keep in contact years after their sponsorship ended. Yesterday a package came with baby clothes and toys. $31.05 to send. She asks if they're able to visit every two weeks. I wasn't sure if Marta was asking for me to support Jimenita financially or actually be her godfather, but, to my surprise, it was the latter. Babies are baptized after one year. She says she'll wait until I return, whenever that is.

I've said that I came here to continue the relationships that normally end after immersion trips, but Marta's offer boggles my mind. Yes, for her, I am the only man with any consistency in her life other than Padre Rafa. She has seen me four out of the last six years. We share friendship and I treat her as the equal she is. But to be a godparent in Latin America is no small thing. It is the honor of honors. It is a bond often stronger than family. But as humbled and honored by it as I am, the honor is no way compares to when Jimenita, in the arms of her mother, reaches joyfully to be passed to me.

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A pilgrimage is taken in light of a story. The story proceeds us: we've read it, we've heard it, we've been raised in it, in many instances. And at some point we need to test that story with our own experience -- to read it with our lives and make it our own.

A pilgrimage...has certain distinguishing features. The pilgrim sets out on a path that others have taken, hoping to witness what others have seen -- to see it with his or her own eyes. Pilgrims travel in company, but each must encounter the holy site personally. Finally, the pilgrims, on their return, tell others of what they have seen and heard, so that others might be moved to set out on pilgrimage themselves -- to go and do likewise.
--Paul Elie from Pilgrims (In Spite of Ourselves)