When my wife and I first arrived in Bolivia, in January of 1990, we went to Cochabamba to attend the Instituto de Idiomas Maryknoll (Maryknoll Language Institute). My wife was taking the beginning course, while I was taking the advanced course. Though I was born overseas, I had grown up in the USA. So, I had a child’s level of Spanish. Mind you, a native child, but, nevertheless, both my vocabulary and language construction were those of an elementary school child. Since Spanish has 12 verb tenses, this was not a good thing.
While there we met a Roman Catholic priest from Perú. He was another American serving as a missionary. We disagreed with his theology, but we became friends. He was taking the advanced Quechua course, so I was able to see him often. Quechua is one of the indigenous languages of the region. He finally told us his story. He was actually there finishing his recovery process. No, he had done nothing personally wrong. He was recovering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.
He had been stationed in the southern Andes of Perú serving in a small Quechua town. Unfortunately, it was in an area of increasing Shining Path (Sendero Luminoso) activity. One day a column of Shining Path guerrillas was spotted coming towards the town with enough leeway that the townspeople were able to warn the priest to hide. And so, he hid. He hid in the rafters of one of the buildings for several hours, as he listened to the guerrillas questioning the people and asking about the priest. No one turned him in, and he lived.
Once the area was clear, his mission immediately evacuated him to Lima, the capital. There he received some counseling, for, as you might guess, the “crack” came once he was safely away from the area. And, eventually, they decided to send him completely out of the country, at least for a while. Since he was due for additional language training, this was an excellent time to send him to Bolivia. In Bolivia, he found the relaxation that he could not fully find while he was still in Perú.
Those weeks there gave him time to think, pray, and heal. At the end of his time there, we said goodbye, exchanged addresses, and he returned to his village. We corresponded with him for the years we were in Bolivia, and then we, too, were assigned to Perú, to southern Perú, the same area. And, we, too, ended up working with indigenous people. I learned to ride a mule, and became reasonable at it. Which only goes to show that if you spend enough hours on a mule something is bound to happen. He came to visit us, at least one time. He was finally transferred back to Lima, and, then, returned to the States to do a doctorate. His plan was to end up teaching other missionaries so that he could pass on his hard-earned knowledge.
I have not heard from him since he left for the States. I trust that he is doing well. May God give him the great mercy. May that priest be blessed of God for his faithfulness and his incredible courage.
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