The cover painting by South American artist Jaime Hurtado L., depicts a typical scene in the Altiplano region of the Andes Mountains. r 1..: .1-i.~.... - ..L OVBBSEASEXTENSION SEBVICl -llmrlmoD.H8" Yodt A Human Touch By Richard L. Clifford, M.M. r f To all those united in mission. J31/ ~ 300 C3S'° Ci Published by Maryknoll Fathers Maryknoll . New York 10545 CopynghtO 1979 Richard L. Clifford . M.M. and Maryknoll Fathers All rights reseived t..ibrary of Congress Cata'og Card Number. 79-50933 Edited by Carol Mulvehill Book design by William H Iller Illustrations by Robert Handville Typography by New Canaan Graphic Arts Printed by Mill Printing £, Lithographing Corp. Manufactured in the United States of America .•: ' .., A story about people Mission is many things. It is a transcultural influenced and inspired me or caused me to exchange, a deep Christian experience, an smile with thanksgiving and joy. expression and extension of the salvific message of the Gospel. But, above all, it is a story A sampling of those unforgettable moments (I about people. It is an identification with all could not possibly include them all!) is those who embody that personal element of life contained in these stories. Through them I - so rich, so diversified, so valuable, so would like to share my experiences with tremendously important you, that you might reflect and rejoice at my side. I trust their recounting will serve to deepen To work for the betterment of humanity is to your own awareness of that rich blessing accept the challenge to love individual contained in the warmth of a human touch. people. To be committed to social justice, universal peace, moral enrichment and personal liberation is to find a meaning and a message within the life of every single person who crosses the threshold of an ordinary day. Mission is, therefore, a human touch, in whatever form, place, person or circumstance it may reach out to express itself. It is often simple, sometimes sad, occasionally humorous, always enlightening. When one has felt this touch and has learned to respond to its tender embrace, in love and understanding, then one has begun to experience a true sense of mission, in all its beauty and charm and incomparable value. During the 25 years of my missionruy apostolate J have been united in love to an infinite number of people, and my greatest experiences have been those moments when, through them, I have felt this human touch in my life. After many of these encounters, I have attempted to express in writing what such a meeting has meant to me - how it has The Altiplano at dawn 6 I'll be back soon, Pepe 50 Bread upon the waters 8 A walk among lepers 54 "Take my poncho" 12 The last birthday with Pastora 56 My unforgettable Andean Christmas 14 A sparkler for Maria 60 Watch those trousers, Andres! 18 Those afternoon muchacha classes 62 "I hope you understand ... " 20 The courteous last wish of Esther 64 Victoria taught me a lesson 22 A borrowed visit 66 "Why don't you bless the darkness?" 24 Telltale initials 68 Cesar's gift of the spirit 26 Francisco's secret of happiness "Can I keep the doll?" 28 70 The madonna of El Fronton 30 ... and a missioner moves on 72 Inside a mental hospital 32 A very special love story 76 The shoemaker down the block 36 Gustavo and the midnight bells 78 The day Victor met Dolores 38 The day I lost in the confessional 82 A final rest for Celsa 42 Elena will remember all her life 84 A prayer on the top of the hill 46 Juan Manuel, dean of newscarriers 88 Here comes Javier - again! 48 Bury me here at five in the evening 92 ' ' ! .... ' ' Altiplano 1' .•• ,,. • ft /,i' , I/, ',/ / . ,,, /. / ., ti/.. • r' ,,I . ,, ~ J,, I , I . , .: • /, It is early morning in Puno, 12,500 feet into the heavens. The first hours of dawn gradually brighten, and a resplendent sun rises slowly into the sky. Now, soft lights dance over the waters of calm, beautiful Lake Titicaca, dotted with canoe-shaped balsa boats 6 The Altiplano at dawn of sturdy Indian fishermen It grows lighter who have been laboring half the night and more figures and sights and sounds are distinguishable: Beyond, in the pinkish horizon, half-running women, an outline of the majestic, snow-capped peaks following to keep some pace with their husbands, of Bolivia's lllimani ... jostling the infant slung over their shoulders ... a few valiant cyclists Soon, the sun's rays lightly touch challenging the dust and the holes ... the thatched roofs Gradually, all along the road, of simple, adobe huts more Indians scattered in the fields, strolling into the fields, running up and down the hillside, beginning the long march to the city market, all along the shore returning to their pueblos - stretching to the border town of Desaguadero. everyone impervious to the early-morning chill, stoically set upon their purpose The fields are a yellowish-green; with a characteristic eternal tranquility, one can almost hear a plaintive cry for water like the stately llamas as they wait hopefully for the seasonal rains who move gingerly which refuse to come. at their side. Small herds of cattle impassively bend their heads to the dry, A panorama which offers endless reflection scarce pasture and an unruly flock of sheep and brings with it led by a smal~ pig-tailed girl of 8 or 9 years, a feeling of warmth and love moves cautiously over the rocky, hillside terrain. for this land and these people. A dusty road runs along the lake shore; Here in this corner of the Peruvian Altiplano, it is little more than a winding path in a picturesque setting creating a backdrop whose washboard surface for a simple, hard existence lends even greater rattle and noise and a perennial challenge, to the small pickups, rambling buses, one cannot fail to sense and enormous, overcrowded trucks in all the depth of its meaning, filled with all types of cargo its tenderness and tenacity, and Indians of every age, the sublime human touch of life squeezed so tightly together with a richness and charm which, they bounce up and down as a unit! like the first brightness of this new day, Perhaps they are off, this early morning, is full of promise - to the opening of a new fair - and mystery! or returning from the closing of the last fiesta. 7 Bread upon the waters "Caramba! I'm sinking! Quick, someone when the first Aymara Indians settled around grab my arm!" Lake Titicaca hundreds of years ago. The Urus know very little of modern civilization, less I was in water up to the top of my boots - about Christianity. and slowly descending. A strong arm reached out to pull me back onto the boat and I had only recently arrived in the Altiplano to we moved farther inland toward more begin my mission work and was anxious to " solid" ground where we could dock without visit these interesting people. The more difficulty. experienced Padres advised me to bring along a good supply of bread, a delicacy the Urus I was on the famous Islas Flotantes seldom enjoy. (Floating Islands) of Lake Titicaca, half an hour's ride from the shoreline city of Puno. Lying As we entered a lagoon and approached a at an altitude of 12,500 feet into the Andes, cluster of huts, I could see we were touching Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the the edge of one of the matted islands. I world. It is a beautiful, ice-blue body of water decided to be the first to jump ashore. As it was, I whose 122 miles brim across Bolivia and was almost the last one to leave! I had Peru. forgotten that the islands were actually floating, with the outer edges inundating underfoot On the placid waters of Lake Titicaca, the like an air mattress. I literally "got my feet wet" as Aymara Indians, in unsinkable canoe-shaped a missioner - and learned that it would reed boats called balsas - made of lashed probably take a few more years before I could bundles of totora which grow along the water's walk on water! edge - push out into the horizon to catch a good supply of delicious ( and giant) Once ashore, we headed toward the reed trout Bordering the lake are numerous mission huts of the natives. Most of them ignored or stations and pueblos attended to by avoided us, some busying themselves with Maryknoll, and floating offshore are these domestic chores and others merely hiding from soggy, spongy islands of matted totora sight Suddenly, a group of small children thrown on the water, 6 or 7 feet deep. Here there spied my sack full of bread; they rushed are whole villages of Indians, called Urus, toward me likefanaticos to a soccer match. I who live an isolated, bleak existence, living soon found myself being pushed back mainly on fish and water birds. They also eat toward the thin edge where I was sinking a few the totora, pulling it up by the roots and chewing moments before. I was nervous - terrified, the blanched portion of the stem. A proud, in fact! Just then I caught sight of a tall, lanky noncommunicative people, the Urus were Indian man impassively looking on, and I already living on these Floating Islands tried to make him understand that I would give 9 the bread to him and he, in tum, could and their stomachs. I was restless, uneasy, distribute it to the children.