Today I cried ...
Haiti, Day XVII - 21 March 2010
Today I cried for Haiti. I have been here 17 days and it is only today that I cry. More than two weeks bearing witness to an earthquake’s aftermath, the devastation of families whose loved ones are anonymously buried in mass graves, the destruction of homes and property crumbled on to streets, hungry children begging for food morning to night. Yet it was only today that my eyes filled with tears for Haiti and her people.
For nearly three weeks I assimilated and acclimated standing where neighborhoods lay crumbled and stealing pictures of heartache from a refugee’s face. I have been living and breathing the filth and poverty that is and always has been Haiti.
However, today I visited a church, the Church of the Sacred Heart. A magnificent structure in its simple wooden and brick design, this church lays in ruin, its sides collapsed, stained glass broken, pews and alter crushed, its statues buried in rubble. Although this historic building is weakened beyond repair, the faith of its devastated faithful remains unshaken and strong. For them, I cried, to acknowledge their pain and suffering, to honor their strength and courage.
Mass now is celebrated in a cleared dusty lot behind a crumbled rear wall exposing the backside of a damaged but standing 20-foot crucifix. Outside, a table stands where an alter would. Members sit on salvaged pews. Both are shaded from the persistent sun by a canvas tarps. On a recent weekday visit, Mass was being celebrated under a 95-degree sun to a standing-room gathering loudly praising thru prayer and song. Warmly invited, I attended as one of few foreigners among many Haitians. It was an inspiring yet heart-wrenching moment.
A return visit Sunday found moments of deafening reflection and sorrow. In one pew was a grieving father waving arms skyward crying outwardly on the death of his wife and three daughters. At another sat a brother and sister, both younger than 10, sobbing for their parents to come home. At a nearby grotto, more than 20 people kneeled, sat, or lay on the ground before the Mother Mary seemingly in a perpetual daze from losses on more than two months ago. All had lost a home; all had lost a child, a spouse, a family member or friend beneath the crushing debris of moving earth which forever crushed their world. It is for them, it is for us, it is for me that today I cried for Haiti and her people.
Today I cried for Haiti. I have been here 17 days and it is only today that I cry. More than two weeks bearing witness to an earthquake’s aftermath, the devastation of families whose loved ones are anonymously buried in mass graves, the destruction of homes and property crumbled on to streets, hungry children begging for food morning to night. Yet it was only today that my eyes filled with tears for Haiti and her people.
For nearly three weeks I assimilated and acclimated standing where neighborhoods lay crumbled and stealing pictures of heartache from a refugee’s face. I have been living and breathing the filth and poverty that is and always has been Haiti.
However, today I visited a church, the Church of the Sacred Heart. A magnificent structure in its simple wooden and brick design, this church lays in ruin, its sides collapsed, stained glass broken, pews and alter crushed, its statues buried in rubble. Although this historic building is weakened beyond repair, the faith of its devastated faithful remains unshaken and strong. For them, I cried, to acknowledge their pain and suffering, to honor their strength and courage.
Mass now is celebrated in a cleared dusty lot behind a crumbled rear wall exposing the backside of a damaged but standing 20-foot crucifix. Outside, a table stands where an alter would. Members sit on salvaged pews. Both are shaded from the persistent sun by a canvas tarps. On a recent weekday visit, Mass was being celebrated under a 95-degree sun to a standing-room gathering loudly praising thru prayer and song. Warmly invited, I attended as one of few foreigners among many Haitians. It was an inspiring yet heart-wrenching moment.
A return visit Sunday found moments of deafening reflection and sorrow. In one pew was a grieving father waving arms skyward crying outwardly on the death of his wife and three daughters. At another sat a brother and sister, both younger than 10, sobbing for their parents to come home. At a nearby grotto, more than 20 people kneeled, sat, or lay on the ground before the Mother Mary seemingly in a perpetual daze from losses on more than two months ago. All had lost a home; all had lost a child, a spouse, a family member or friend beneath the crushing debris of moving earth which forever crushed their world. It is for them, it is for us, it is for me that today I cried for Haiti and her people.
Labels: Day XVII - 21 March 2010, Haiti
posted by Diveshack at 5:06 PM
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