Seeking Refuge

A blanket of dark, heavy clouds quickly passes through in the afternoon, the muddy ground, damp air, and majestic rainbow byproducts of its relentless deluge. Miniature “Mary” and “Joseph” prepare their makeshift costumes and the local ensemble of children’s voices, the acoustic guitar, the charango (typical Andean stringed instrument), and the guiro (typical Latin American percussion instrument) begin to play familiar Christmas tunes. Yesterday this symbolic group of pilgrims climbed a series of steep hills to seek refuge in the school where they were greeted with hot chocolate and panetón (sweet bread). The day before yesterday they departed from Santa Elisa, one of Santa Clotilde’s most distant communities. Today’s destination is a different neighborhood where, again, weary pilgrims will graciously be offered refuge after traveling by foot. Along the way the group prays the Rosary while reflecting on the mysteries of the soon-to-be born Messiah. Our prayers interspersed with traditional Christmas songs are heard among the town, and as we pass each house en route to our next landing place, more parents and their children begin to follow behind the group of wandering pilgrims. The crowd grows larger and the voices louder with each passing step and sounding note.

“Mary” and “Joseph” arrive at the door of their anticipated shelter. Then begins the singsong exchange of Pidiendo Posada, a traditional song imagining the conversation between Joseph and the innkeeper in his search for a place for Mary to give birth to Jesus. The song begins with a desperate plea: “In the name of Heaven I ask of you shelter, for my beloved wife can go no further.” The innkeeper responds and Joseph’s heart is filled with little hope of respite: “I don't care who you are, let me sleep. I already told you we’re not going to open.” The song continues with a series of Joseph’s persistent supplications and the innkeeper’s unwavering refusals to provide them much-needed refuge. Finally, a sudden conversion in the last stanza fills the crowd with hope. “Enter, pilgrims; I did not recognize you” is sung, the host’s doors open, and “Mary” and “Joseph” followed by the crowd of carolers and passers-by eagerly enter the home. The smell of chocolate, cinnamon, and cloves fills the room while the priest celebrates the Liturgy of the Word. And after a short reflection on the day’s Gospel passage, the community partakes in a chocolatada, a sharing of hot chocolate and panetón prepared by the receiving home and neighborhood. This tradition continues every day until Christmas Eve after passing through each of the town’s principal neighborhoods and major institutions. By the end of the Christmas season, all of Santa Clotilde has heard, seen, and tasted both its spiritual and physical goodness.

After Christmas Day the joy of the Christmas season travels by boat to a small community about thirty minutes away. When we arrive with a handful of young carolers from our youth Christmas choir, a guitar, and various bags of goodies we are welcomed into a home decorated with red and green balloons and fluffy, plastic garlands hanging from the ceiling. A group of men, women, and children sit in a large circle and a white cloth hangs over the center table to welcome baby Jesus. A giant pot with a wooden spoon larger than most of the children in the room rests over a fire, everyone eagerly waiting to taste the sweet hot chocolate brewing inside.

Despite the evident joy and excitement in the room it doesn’t take long for my eyes to recognize the visible suffering of a young infant lying on the wooden floor. The combination of his emaciated body, somnolence, sunken eyes, and weak cry quickly communicate his illness. And a brief discussion with his mother and grandmother soon reveals the cause- two months of a diarrheal illness and poor nutrition after stopping breastfeeding. Though it is difficult to see him struggle while the other children in the room happily dance to cumbia music, drink hot chocolate, eat panetón, and line up to adore baby Jesus with a symbolic gesture, I am hopeful and relieved that his family has agreed for him to return with us to Santa Clotilde.

A few days later the numbers on the scale begin to rise, his diarrhea subsides, his sunken eyes begin to take form, and his weak cry becomes a feisty fight with each physical exam. I think to myself, “this infant has found refuge,” and I remember what a blessing it is to work in a hospital that is exactly that- a refuge for the infirm, the poor, the homeless, the maltreated, the forgotten. And although we only celebrate Christmas once per year, every time we receive one of the “least of these” under our roof, the Christmas spirit is re-kindled in our hearts: in each living soul we encounter the Savior Himself, God become flesh.

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Later as I contemplate the significance of the posada, I am reminded of its mirroring of a lifelong process inherent to all mankind. In the posada we find His persistent and unremitting pursuit of our hardened hearts, our reluctance to accept His invitation in our brokenness, our perseverance in change of heart, the peace that comes with humbly opening our doors and welcoming Him into our home, and the true joy and true love of selfless giving. Just as He was once a peregrino pidiendo posada, a pilgrim begging for shelter, so too are we pilgrims searching wearily for our true home. A mysterious and beautiful paradox comes to light- in welcoming Him into our hearts, so too do we find our refuge in Him.

Wishing all of you, my family and friends, a happy and blessed Christmas and New Year! Thank you for all of your continued thoughts, prayers, and support!