MICHAEL WIMSATT

Para que tú me oigas mis palabras adelgazan a veces como las huellas del las gaviotas en las playas

So that you hear me my words become skinny sometimes like the tracks of the seagulls on the beaches.

I read these words, written by the great Argentinean poet Pablo Neruda, for the first time when I was studying Spanish in Mexico as a seminarian for the Archdiocese of Louisville.

This past September and October I spent eight weeks taking classes and living with a host family in Guadalajara, Mexico’s second-largest city. The school where I studied operated on the typical Mexican workday schedule, with classes from 9 o’clock in the morning to 1 o’clock in the afternoon and from 4 in the afternoon to 6 in the evening, with a three-hour break in between.

The metropolitan city of Guadalajara, which boasts a population of about 4 million, and the surrounding areas offer many distinctly Mexican cultural experiences. I count among my favorite excursions a visit to a tiny chapel in the nearby textile district of Tonala, where Mass was celebrated in 1530 — one of very first Masses held in Mexico.

I also had the opportunity, having befriended a few local seminarians, to participate in a special liturgy in the diocesan seminary in honor of Our Lady of Zapopan, the patroness of the state of Jalisco. Among other things, I had the chance to attend a local soccer game featuring one of Mexico’s most beloved soccer teams, the Guadalajara Chivas.
 
However weighty these individual experiences might have been, chief among my impressions of Mexico and her people was a profound appreciation for the deep spirituality and faithfulness of the people I encountered. The degree to which the devotional life of the country is woven into daily civic life is oftentimes remarkable. This was captured by a large banner hanging from rafters of a tequila distillery bearing an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

In addition, it was also obvious to me how difficult learning a new language can be. If I, who had every accommodation necessary for learning a new language, had such difficulties, how much more difficult must it be for the majority of Hispanics and Latinos, as well as other immigrants to the United States, many of whom come looking for new opportunities while trying to cope with the pressures of finding suitable employment and trying to raise a family.

The aforementioned line by Neruda helped me come to terms with my inability to satisfy the debt of gratitude I owe to my teachers, my Mexican host family and the scores of friends and acquaintances I met along the way for their staggering hospitality.

The idea that the words of God might become accessible to humanity — the notion that God would permit his words to be reduced to what is sensible to our simple understanding so that through them we might come to know him — gave me hope that my very imperfect words of thanks in a strange and new language might mean something small in the way of gratitude.

Michael Wimsatt is a seminarian in the Archdiocese of Louisville. He is spending his pastoral year at St. Rita Church in Louisville.