Plymouth Magazine-Summer24-DIGITAL - Flipbook - Page 17
A small space off the kitchen just large
enough for a twin bed would be my
bedroom for the summer. I never learned
which family members were relocated to
accommodate me. The house seemed too
small for a large family. Everyone else slept
upstairs. We sat down at the dining room
table to enjoy a delicious soup of chicken
and broth. As I ate a chicken foot emerged
at the bottom of the bowl. I had no idea
what to do with it and left it sitting in
the empty bowl. Fr. Jack explained the
next day that the guests of honor receive
the chicken feet. That would have been
the father and me. I used my dictionary
to learn how to apologize for my lack of
manners and learned no one had been
offended. Such gracious hosts!
One day Fr. Jack was urgently needed
when a young boy was hit by a car and
killed. When we arrived the hearse was
still at the scene with the body. The
accident severely injured the boy’s head.
We scooped up the boy’s brain matter
that lay on the ground so the roaming
dogs wouldn’t eat it and placed it in the
hearse with the body. The family was
distraught because the boy’s baptism
was scheduled for the coming weekend.
Fr. Jack spent a considerable amount of
time with them trying to undo the poor
catechesis that had them believing their
son couldn’t go to heaven because he
wasn’t baptized. I still pause whenever I
am asked about matters of faith and try
to be sure what I will say isn’t harmful.
The entrance to a small open-air courtyard
in the middle of the house was at one end
of my bedroom niche. The entrance to the
kitchen was at the other end. I could often
hear the mourning doves cooing. I learned
that the mother was growing guinea pigs in
the kitchen behind the hutch. They would
later in the summer be the festive meal to
celebrate Wendel’s baptism. The word for
guinea pig in Peru is cuy (coo-ee). When
lettuce or other greens or vegetables were
being prepared the trimmings went on the
floor to feed the cuys. They fattened nicely
and were delicious after the baptism.
Time at home tended to be joyful. Mother
sent the two young daughters to the market
to buy a chicken for dinner. They brought
home a skinny hen that was too small for
dinner. So, we had a hen strutting around
the house while it was being fattened up for
a future meal. It competed with the cuys
in the kitchen for food scraps. I still laugh
when I remember often waking up to a
chicken strolling by the bed. The older kids
were excited one day to tell me about an
impending family birthday celebration. A
large pottery jar was buried in the courtyard
to ferment the beverage inside it. They were
especially proud to tell me their mother’s
vomit had gone into the beverage. Feeling
faint I grabbed the dictionary and learned
that the word I knew as vomit meant bitters
in Peru. Bring on the celebration!
Most days I spent accompanying Fr. Jack
around the parish as he made his visitations
and attended meetings. My language
proficiency grew quickly as I was immersed
in parish life. I learned about the culture
during these activities some of which were
rather memorable. We visited three young
men who were in the tuberculosis hospital.
Hospitals didn’t provide the medications
for patients. We stopped at the pharmacy
on the way and bought each of them the
three medicines they needed. Families of
patients purchased medications and took
them to the hospitals. Fr. Jack and the
parish paid for medications for people
who couldn’t afford them. We attended
a wake in the home of a deceased man.
The living room was emptied and chairs
placed around the perimeter of the room
for visitants faced the open casket. The
chairs were filled by men only. A bottle of
whiskey was passed around to take a sip in
memory of the deceased.
Sunday worship was always joyful. A
group of young people provided upbeat
music. The church was a newer structure
and built in an octagonal shape. Pews
arranged in a semicircle faced the altar.
The lighting was bright from the clerestory
windows. The congregation loved singing
together. Recognizing the faces of people
we had visited in the previous weeks
made me feel at home here. Nine to Dine
at Plymouth is a lot like this. There was
a young man in his 20s, mute, and with
an athletic body who walked around the
church during services and liked to invade
peoples’ personal space. He often decided
to leave his family home and live on the
streets. He appeared one Sunday obviously
angry and carrying a metal pipe he used to
threaten people. I didn’t understand the
words Fr. Jack and men in the parish used
to calm him down. But they were skilled at
it like they had done this before.
Now 44 years later lessons learned in my
Chimbote summer still serve me well.
Hospitality is indeed a spiritual practice.
It can be done well whether one is rich or
poor. Jesus was often a grateful recipient
of hospitality whether it was in a wealthy
person’s home or with a crowd of hungry
people on a hillside. He gave hospitality
whenever approached by someone needing
healing, food, love, or even wine. A
welcoming church is a grace that comes
from God given through faithful people.
Kindness is always a good thing when I
encounter people struggling through life.
Love never faileth. I am reminded of this
whenever I enter the Plymouth sanctuary
or spend time with Plymouth people.
Sometimes loving or caring for another
person can seem difficult or even revolting
when love must break through the many
layers of physical and emotional trauma.
We muster all the gentleness and compassion
and courage we can to keep loving. Anyone
can be a conduit for sharing with others.
When there are obstacles to practicing
love, keeping an open heart overcomes
them. Wendel could love even when he
couldn’t hear it was needed and didn’t
have the words to express it. Plymouth is
a lot like my Chimbote family who loved
me through a summer.
About the Author
Neil Fagan is a retired healthcare administrator and a 14-year member
of Plymouth Church. Neil served on the Board of Spiritual Growth the
last three years and is ending his term as Chair. He has been active with
the Welcoming Migrants Committee since it began in 2018 and was a
past member of the Board of Christian Social Action. Neil is married to
Plymouth member Mark Doherty and enjoys cooking, attending musical
events in the community, and playing with their dog Margo.
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