You're Probably Stuck Here

It's been about a week since I've been back from sunny, "enchanted" Albuquerque, and I'm sure I'll continue unpacking the gifts for days to come. After getting over the fatigue, constant movement, and being surrounded by a team of 30 people for a week, I'm grateful for the moment to sit down and gather some of the things that stood out to me.

Years from now when I'm looking back on July 6-13, 2024, I'll remember the people who made this trip a success, and there were many. I was overwhelmed by the generosity of our first hosts who graciously opened their home to us, fed us breakfast, and gave us suggestions on how to make our stay in Albuquerque an unforgettable one. I woke up my first morning in New Mexico, watched hot air balloons launch with the rising sun in the background, and munched on a tasty chicken salad sandwich. Our host shared stories about her journey which wasn't without scars and wounds, but through it all, one thing was true: The Church was there for her. It's easy for us to look around and assume we're alone or that we're going to have to navigate this world alone. But Holy Mother Church tells us otherwise: Whether you're facing a challenging life situation or looking for a place to stay in an unfamiliar location, the Church will be there for you.

From our Catholic Heart Workcamp camp manager and director to the kind people who gave us extra sopapillas at Tomasitas, there was no shortage of friendly faces, but I was most honored to spend time with the residents of the Santa Ana Pueblo where we helped prepare the Church for their upcoming feast day. Cameras and photography weren't allowed on the site, which I was so grateful for because it forced me to be present in the moment and engage with the people in front of me. Over the past few months, I've been struggling with cultural identity and people claiming cultures that aren't their own. I've questioned why people can't just be happy with who they are without having to assume the identity or culture of someone else. I've claimed my Filipino heritage all my life and embraced both the triumphs and the crosses that come with being Filipino. It's never sat well with me when others would claim "honorary Filipino status" like it was a badge to be earned by enjoying enough plates adobo and lumpia. I don't think people ever realized how offensive it was to me to hear those words, but my emotions were fleshed out when I walked onto the Pueblo and spoke with the Native residents. They shared their culture and traditions, including the parts they felt they were losing. They shared their customs and relationships. But the part that touched me the most was when they invited us for lunch and members of their tribe prayed words of blessing over us. One by one, their members prayed in their native language, and while I didn't understand what they were saying, I understood what they wanted to share. Likewise, there are parts of my heritage that I want to share with others, but there are also parts that those who don't share that heritage will never understand. And it's okay to have both of those experiences. Our stories will be shared and they will overlap, but there's also a gift in knowing that part of it is just for some to fully understand.

I had the chance to have several meaningful conversations in New Mexico, some with teens, others with adults, but one that I carried home with me was a conversation I had with an older priest from Minnesota. He was visiting the worksites and he had asked to be at the one I was going to. I was a little bit wary because of the struggles I've had with priests in the past, but as he got into the front seat of the Pacifica, I was surprised by how meaningful his words were. In fact, I was inspired and reminded of one of our much favored priests here in the Tri-Cities as he talked about the beauty of the liturgy, his priesthood back in Minnesota, and the importance of the young Church - and it was that latter topic that especially caught my attention. Far from brushing them aside as insignificant, he stressed using the transcendentals to teach them about the faith and not dumbing down the catechesis. If they can understand complex story lines in movies, why wouldn't they be ready to dig into Scripture and the Traditions of the Chuch? He stressed that they need a place in the Church where they feel like they belong, and I couldn't agree more. He reminded me why I do what I do - all the late nights and sleeping on the floor; fundraising and overtime hours. It's worth it when we have teens who kneel before our Eucharistic Lord with reverence and truly care for one another.

On our last day of camp, I caught up with Fr. Eugene to wish him and his group safe travels. He returned blessings for a safe voyage and some words of encouragement for my ministry. Then he ended it with, "18 years with the youth...You're probably stuck in it now." He said it with a chuckle, but I'm sure there was some truth to it. Why wouldn't there be? 18 years, the lifetime of a teenager. As one of our participants said, "Melissa...I don't know when you even came into our lives, but you've always been there, and we love you." How do you turn away from something like that? If there's something to be stuck in, what better place than where you know you're loved? After all this time, it's nice to know that the Church has been there for me, too.