Estoy aqui

This past week I spent the week in Mariona at my praxi site. I lived with Oti, her husband Roberto, and their son Oscarsito (Oscar). This week was truly filled with many blessings and reaffirmed that I am meant to be here in El Salvador and nowhere else in the world at this time of my life.
This was an experience in a word of “confinanza.” Confinaza translates to trust, but I feel that trust doesn’t truly express the meaning. Confinaza is a deep spirit of trust, which is rooted in solidarity, a sharing of souls. As Oti and I continued to share our stories with one another, we found our souls meeting in great moments of suffering but also of great joy. This was the dynamic of our time together sharing of gifts, dreams, sufferings, and happiness. At times in silence respira profundamente in meditation or washing the dishes, we were fully present to one another. I found myself constantly reflecting on, “Estoy aqui,” (I am here).

One very critical part of this week was the presence and spirit of Monsenor Romero. Oti, Lolo, and their families have a strong connection of Monsenor Romero. For them Romero is a companero en su camino con Dios, esta aqui.

Since my first year at Regis, Monsenor Romero for me has continued to be a companero in my studies. I remember when I went to my first Hospitality Night at Romero House and learned about the life of Romero and the suffering of the Salvadoran people, my heart felt deeply called to come to El Salvador. Three weeks into my first semester at Regis, I had no idea what this feeling meant. However, this calling in my heart continued to remain very present. I remember in the Fall of my sophomore year in Dr. Plumley’s Foundations of Peace & Justice class during our unit of Latin America, I found myself questioning, “Why am I not there with the people? Why don’t I just go already?” But all of these experiences of learning were necessary as a means of formation, which allows me now to be fully present here. Contemplating the complex structures of oppression that I have studied in theory and walking with the Salvadoran people in their daily reality, creating the connections allows me to have a new perspective in every dimension of myself. And in this moment there are so many things which I do not understand or don’t have words for in English or Spanish, but I see them and know what they are. Estoy aqui.

This past Thursday we went to the Hospitalio de Divina Providencia, where Romero’s House is and the chapel where he was assinated on March 24, 1980. The whole exprience felt surreal, because I had heard so much about this place from Romero House students at Regis. I could not believe I was present in the place where Romero lived and died. Later we went to the parish of Oti, Lolo and their families San Francisco de Asisi in Mejicanos (a barrio close to Mariona). In this parish there are the tombas (place of burial) of Padre Octavio and Catechist Alfonso behind the altar. These two men where martyred during the Civil War, because of how they proclaimed the message of the Gospel with their lives. As I stood before their tombas and knelt and prayed in the chapel of Divina Providencia, I kept thinking about the infinite love of God.

Whatever your feelings or opinions are of Liberation Theology are I ask you to consider this. Liberation Theology, as all spiritualties are, is a way of life to express one’s love for God. Monsenor Romero, Padre Octavio, Alfonso, and all the martyrs of El Salvador are not recognized martyrs of the institutional Church but when you hear to the testimony of their lives they are martyrs, who laid down their lives out of their love for Christ and their community. God is love. Expressions of His love can be found in many different ways, and here in El Salvador it is through the spirituality of Liberation Theology for many people.

“Beloved, let us love one another, because love is of God; everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God. Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love. In this way the love of God was revealed to us: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might have life through him. In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another. No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and his love is brought to perfection in us.
This is how we know that we remain in him and he in us, that he has given us of his Spirit. Moreover, we have seen and testify that the Father sent his Son as savior of the world. Whoever acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God remains in him and he in God. We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us.
God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him. In this is love brought to perfection among us, that we have confidence on the day of judgment because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment, and so one who fears is not yet perfect in love. We love because he first loved us. If anyone says, “I love God,” but hates his brother, he is a liar; for whoever does not love a brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen. This is the commandment we have from him: whoever loves God must also love his brother.” -1 John 4:7-21

In this experience I was reminded deeply of my discernment to a religious vocation from the last years of high school into my first year of college. During this time of my life I truly grew in deep love and relationship with God; however, I lost myself in trying to live up to standards of something that I was not. My perception of love then became confused, and I believed love had limitations. The world was black and white full of rules and expectations for everything. However, when I went to college I realized that this was not true. That my belief in love was corrupted by my broken experiences and through the questioning of my close friends and time of prayer, my eyes where opened to the reality that I was not free or authentically who I am.
The topic of liberation theology played a critical role in this time of my life. I could not understand why liberation theology was not an accepted theology by the Institutional Church, or why my spiritual director at the time continued to say it was dangerous and contradictory to the teachings of the Church. However, the more I learned about liberation theology I realized that it is an authentic expression of the Gospel and Church teaching but the language which makes it controversial. What separates our understanding in the United States of Liberation Theology is often rooted in a fear and ignorance of understanding of what we do not know.

As I stood there presente, with Oti and Lolo listening to their personal testimony with these martyrs and recollecting the many stories I have heard since my arrival, the truth is the love is God is infinite. Reflecting upon the many experiences of this week, I think it can be expressed in words Oti shared with me later that Thursday. “Celesté, the love of God extends beyond all limitations. And I will always hold your story with the strength I receive from the love of God, because we were made to live in the infinite love of God. I am so blessed to have shared this time with you. Estamos aqui. Presente.”

Familia de Lolo en Sonsonate

Oscarsito and the mural I painted in his room


Chapel of Divina Providencia


Tombas of Padre Octavio and Catechist Alfonso

Defining Solidarity

The weekend of February 15 I left to Chiltupan, La Libertad to spend time with Zaidy and her family. Zaidy is a becaria, student currently participating in the Romero Program, who is one of the six Salvadoran students we live with. My friendships with the barcarios have continued to be a huge blessing and deeply impactful experience, so going into this weekend I was very excited to know more of Zaidy and her family.

The weekend was truly a beautiful experience. Whether it was making tortillas, going to the river, playing guitar with her younger siblings and sobrinos (nieces and nephews) or answering their questions about how to say different things in English, to listening to the stories of her and her mother Julia, I felt so at home. My heart was so full of peace and happiness with this family, and I feel so blessed to spend this time with them.

During this experience I realized in greater depth the importance of living in Accompaniment and Solidarity with the Salvadoran people, from two contrasting meetings. After Mass Sunday we went to a meeting with a group of students who are sponsored by a wealthy gringo family from Cincinnati, Ohio. The family sponsors about 35 students from Chiltupan by paying their fees to attend university. Without this support these students would not have the opportunity to study otherwise. The experience for me was rather strange and uncomfortable. I didn’t feel like I fit anywhere. In this experience I was reminded of the poem by Gloria Anzaldua “Borderlands” because truly her words reflected my currently reality. This can best be explained as Zaidy introduced herself, her mother, and then me and the reaction of the gringo family when I spoke to them in English. They were shocked, because they thought I was another student they were sponsoring. And really there reaction made me think of other times when traveling through the States, often with my family, how people would be shocked at our ability to speak perfect English. How discrimination is real part of my life because it is alive and well in the United States, and in my experiences here I find deep similarities because of the oppression of mi familia in South Texas to the Salvadoran people I accompany. Truly as expressed by Gloria, I live in the borderlands.

However, this meeting left me contemplating how the US defines solidarity. As I listened to the students and their parents sharing their deep gratitude for the support of these gringos, I saw how much was lost in translation. How in a way these Salvadoran people although in the same physical space with this gringo family was so far away from them. The gringo family could not see the tears of immense gratitude and suffering of the mothers and connect it to the testimony of their own grandmother like I was. I realized that solidarity in the US is defined by money. That solidarity and charity had an inseparable definition.

“I will give you this support so you can make a better life for yourself as long as I can see the return of my investment. Then I will make a trip to ensure what I am paying for meets my standards.”

I continued to see this kind of measuring up to something in this meeting, which broke my heart. But it wasn’t until after another meeting with becario alumni I understood why. Later that evening we met with two becarios, who were part of the Romero Program about 4-5 years earlier. As they recollected memories, they continued to speak of Fr. Dean Brackley. Fr. Dean was a Jesuit, who after the death of the six Jesuit Martyrs and their concinera and her daughter was assonated by the military in 1989, offered his whole life to the Salvadoran people. He passed away two years ago from cancer. Part of his work was creating Casa de la Solidaridad and the Romero Program. During the meeting Julio, a member of the equipo continued to say, “People would always ask Fr. Dean, why don’t we invest in more students? Six per year is a small number and we could do so much more. But Fr. Dean would always reply it is not a matter of numbers, it is about the person and helping them have a holistic experience.” This is truly solidaridad. Empowering another to embrace their most authentic self, to realize the sacredness of their story, hold the weight of their suffering and greatness of their joy. Knowing that everything in en camino con Dios y cominidad, because solidarity has no measurement or boundaires. Solidaridad is truly sin fronteras.



“Borderlands” –Gloria Anzaldua
To live in the Borderlands you are
are neither hispana india negra española
ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed
caught in the crossfire between camps
while carrying all five races on your back
not knowing which side to turn to, run from;

To live in the Borderlands means knowing
that the india in you, betrayed for 500 years,
is no longer speaking to you,
that mexicanas call you rajetas,
that denying the Anglo inside you
is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black;

Cuando vives in la frontera
people walk through you, the wind steals your voice,
you’re a burra, buey, scapegoat,
forerunner of a new race,
half and half—both woman and man, neither—
a new gender;

To live in the Borderlands means to
put chile in the borscht,
eat whole wheat tortillas,
speak Tex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent;
be stopped by la migra at the border checkpoints;

Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to
resist the gold elixir beckoning from the bottle,
the pull of the gun barrel,
the rope crushing the hollow of your throat;

In the Borderlands
you are the battleground
where enemies are kin to each other;
you are at home, a stranger,
the border disputes have been settled
the volley of shots have shattered the truce
you are wounded, lost in action
dead, fighting back;

To live in the Borderlands means
the mill with the razor white teeth wants to shred off
your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart
pound you pinch you roll you out
smelling like white bread but dead;

To survive the Borderlands
you must live sin fronteras
be a crossroads.

gabacha: a Chicano term for a white woman
rajetas: literally, “split,” that is, having betrayed your word
burra: donkey
buey: oxen
sin fronteras: without borders