Today was another medical mission to yet another batey.

This day had its own gifts.

Starting with our first patient of the day, Adelle.

The batey was more primitive than the one yesterday, and the ground was uneven and littered with trash. Preparing to walk into the house that was to be our clinic, Adelle fell and injured her knee and ankle. She was in a great deal of pain and dizzy and nauseous.

Adelle spent the day with her feet propped on a chair, ice packs placed to keep swelling down. If you have to be injured, doing it on a medical mission is handy. On the other hand, being injured on an medical mission miles from anywhere in stifling tropical heat is not so good.

However, here is the gift. Adelle, a Spanish speaker, spent the day on the porch unable to leave her chair, surrounded by children as she created her own impromptu VBS with only a box of crayons and paper airplanes and a heart for Jesus.

No tshirts. No schedule. No Bible except what Adelle had in her heart. She taught them St. Mary’s Good Morning, God prayer in Spanish, and it was the batey children’s prayer that blessed our food at lunch.

We had lunch of sandwiches and juice to share with the children. As I looked into each child’s eyes, and handed him and her a sandwich, in my mind I said, the body of Christ, the bread of heaven. As the cup of juice was given, in my prayer heart I said, the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.

It was the Lord’s meal. All were welcome there.

After my time of praying with the patients before their clinic visit, I once again walked the dirt streets of the batey. Everyone welcomed me into their very simple home for a blessing. Everyone said yes to a prayer. Folks had visited the clinic earlier and children who had been blessed by Adelle were met again in their homes.

It was truly The Body of Christ. All were fed the true Bread of Jesus’ love. All were welcome. So very welcome. Christians from America. Haitians living in the Dominican Republic. Everyone.

Today part of our group went to one batey to help build a basketball court (what the community had requested), and the other went to a batey about an hour’s drive from the mission to host a medical clinic. I went to the clinic.

A batey is a settlement built around a sugar cane plantation where the workers live. The one we visited today was a small settlement of humble green houses with a company store and a school. The source of water was a spigot in the middle of the village.

Our clinic was housed in the school. My role was to sit at the first station where blood pressure was taken and to offer to pray with the patient as they began their visit to the clinic.

My partner in ministry was Adelle who speaks good Spanish. However, about half of the people only spoke the local form of Creole.

As the clinic was being set up, a few of us sat outside with the children, making paper airplanes. The children also helped me knit, counting stitches as I cast on.

We saw the maximum number of patients we can serve, 50, though a few extra family members tagged along, too. Adelle introduced herself and me, and then one way or another we asked if we could pray. All but two patients said yes. I had overfilled my oil stock, and so those anointed with a healing cross on their foreheads were clearly marked. In fact healing oil soon covered everything I touched.

At the end of the day, Adelle and I, accompanied by a male translator, walked the batey. Last night at prayer, we had talked about having Christ’s authority to do God’s work. I felt that Christ Presence walking the dirt road of the batey. We walked up to individuals on porches and groups of folks sitting in the shade and offered anointing and a blessing. All said yes. At every open door, we offered a house blessing, and doorway after doorway was marked with an oil cross.

We were able to visit about a quarter of the homes before the bus was ready to bring us back to the mission.

I know that God is always present and is always with us, but despite a day in the heat with endless people, I rode home on a yellow bus over bumpy, dusty roads full of joy and overwhelmed with the beauty of the Lord.

It’s a week of mission–I should say, particular intentionality of mission. Hopefully we are missioners wherever whenever we are.

Two years after I first hoped to travel on mission to the Dominican Republic, I am finally on my way here. Consequences due to the Tax Day Flood and then Harvey postponed those trips until now. I was delayed an additional two days because of commitment to teach at Iona School for Ministry this weekend. Our other DR missioners are serving in the bateys as I fly to join them.

A prayer journal for all on mission was prepared to remind us that we journey with Christ for Christ.

I was able to pray Facebook Live Prayers from IAH. We heard the Scripture for the third day of mission:

I’ve been listening to the playlist of music chosen for the trip:

I’m knitting stars to share with the friends I’ll meet in the bateys.

I’ve been working on pastoral Spanish, though the folks we will serve will most likely speak a form of Creole French.

Uncion de los Enferrmos.

Que Dios lo/la bendiga.

Puedo rezar con Ud?

And me. Madre Beth. Sacerdote.

And now I’m now at the Casa Pastorale.

I can’t wait to see what God has in store.

Austin, my seven year old grandson, brought home a letter he wrote to his parents about how he spent the week at school. Included with all the things he was learning like animals of the Amazon rainforest and eating healthy meals was that he’d done a lock down drill.

He was now “prepared” if a gunman came into his school.

Lord. Have mercy. My heart hurts.

What have we done?

I am thoughtful about how we make our children, our children, suffer the consequences of our less than good adult decisions. I am especially mindful these days of how often our short-sighted and even selfish choices cause such harm to those who depend on adults to do what’s best for them. What are we thinking?

Why do we allow our children to be placed in situations they have no way to change? Hungry children. Children without health care. Immigrant children taken from their parents. Children no longer feel safe in public spaces.

Why do we pay their teachers such a disrespectful wage? Why do we place responsibilities on teachers we would not be willing to carry our self?

Early days of my ministry at St. Mary’s, there was a mass gun massacre in one place or another. I was horrified, and I actually prepared a sermon in my mind where I invited all gun owners to bring their guns to church, and we’d take them to a place that repurposed guns. I imagined a ground swell of folks stepping up to say that though they had the right to own guns, that they cared more about guns getting into unsafe hands to continue to hold onto them. I imagined that St. Mary’s would lead this transformation of the world.

For one reason or another I never preached that sermon. I look back now and realize how naive I was.

But what if I had?

I pray about what to do even till this day.

Writing my elected officials feels futile since they are top recipients of donations from the National Rifle Association. Yet, I do. Research indicates that arming more people with guns (like teachers) does not keep us safe because it is more likely innocent victims will come into the range of fire.

Something, some things, must change.

We must all give up something of value to figure this out. But may what we give up not be one more person who walks through a door thinking it’s another ordinary day. Until it’s not.

I walked my grandson to the bus stop today. We told each other we loved each other, and then he merrily got on the bus the way only a second grader can.

I pray for all students, teachers, and school staff. I pray for all who believe violence is the way to communicate.

Truly, I pray I’ll see him again.