Haitian Mission Outreach

Since 1999, St Luke's has supported the orphanage in Haiti founded by Fr Rick Frechette, Passionist priest and doctor. Since 1987 the orphanage has cared for thousands of children through the years. Fr Rick has also built the only free pediatric hospital in Haiti, St Damien's.

Christmas Letter from Fr. Rick

Dear family and friends,

As Christians approach the revered celebration of the birth of Jesus, these words from a singer-poet illumine the meaning of Christmas, in a world and in a Church that are darkly and dangerously troubled:

Ring the bell that still can ring, 
sing the song that still can sing,
There's a crack in everything- 
that's how the light gets in.
(Leonard Cohen, "Anthem")

The beautiful Christmas decorations, the splendid liturgies, the goodwill that is evident in so much seasonal generosity, also obscure the dark and tragic circumstances of the Messiah's humble entry into our world. 

There was the anguish shared by Mary and Joseph over the mystery surrounding Mary's pregnancy.

At the time of his birth, with no dignified setting to be found, Jesus was born in a place made for animals.

After His birth, there was the urgency to flee as refugees to Egypt, the very land where the ancestors of this new family had been enslaved for centuries. And this was necessary to escape the jealous and hateful king, who, trying to kill Jesus, massacred the newborn baby boys in Bethlehem.

It was through this dark history that eternal Light came to all who believe.

There are so many troubling emergencies in our world, it could be easy to let fear and despair take over our lives. As a beautiful stance against fear and gloom, we can also choose to ring a bell, sing a song, light a candle.

I have such a bell.

It was cast in Villedieu, France in 1912, blazoned with an impressive pedigree, in Latin.

Pius X was in his 9th year as Pope, Leconte was in his first year as President of France, Conan was in his 9th year as Archbishop, and the Franciscan Pastor of the Church is simply referred to as “Fr. Jan”.

This is not just any bell.

And yet your own God given pedigree, stamped on your soul, is infinitely more precious than this.

The upcoming 9th anniversary of the catastrophic Haiti earthquake makes 9 years that the bell is in front of our chapel.

The bell really belongs to Sisters, Les Filles de Marie de Paridaens. The bell had hung for a half of a century in the tower of their Church, near the Cathedral, in Port-au-Prince.

The Cathedral, along with the convent, school and church of the Sisters, were among 250,000 buildings that fell in 35 seconds, 9 years ago, causing 150,00 deaths, of such painful memory.

It is a too long a story to tell here, but I went to the fallen convent during those terrible days, because thieves were looting the ruins of the convent, and even rifling through the pockets of dead Sisters, to take whatever they could find. 

I had to argue and bargain with the thieves to do it, but I succeeded in bringing the bodies of the six remaining Sisters to our hospital chapel for burial.
Then, I saw the thieves rolling the huge, fallen bell, to steal it.
 
After more arguing and bargaining, I was able to also take the bell, in exchange for three cold beers. 

As I left, the bandits warned me that the bell would never ring again, because the clapper was gone.

I yelled back to them from the truck, as we left, that if they ever desecrated the dead again, I would ring the bell with their heads.

Not exactly priestly words, but the point was made. 

A few weeks ago, we lived the irony of celebrating the feast of Christ the King under gunfire, in the La Saline section of Port-au-Prince.

That violence generated gruesome scenes, especially related to the dead, scenes that could only rightly fit in hell itself.

Such scenes are well known to returning soldiers, and relief workers from war zones around the world. They often have no one with whom to talk about these images, that haunt their memories.

We worked daily in La Saline, with the help of the Sisters of Mother Theresa, to help refugees (mostly young mothers and their children), also to recover and bury the dead, and to rescue the wounded, the old, the disabled who were not able to flee.
There is a certain area there called "derye charbon" (behind the charcoal). The area takes this name because of all the shacks that people call home, located behind the mountains of sacked, cooking charcoal sold on the main road. 

All of these shacks had been burned to the ground in the violence.

There were some women, wailing the loss of children killed by bullets, who were digging with their bare hands in the warm ashes of what once was home, looking for anything to salvage. For most of them, some of the rusty and punched out corrugated tin that used to be their roof, was not fully destroyed. I watched as they rolled it carefully, tied it in bundles with old string, and placing it on their heads, headed off to start a new life. 

Start a new life? Really? Where? How?
Everything about their lives now was unspeakable. 

By what deep light in their souls, did they rise from their knees to their feet in those ashes? 

A light coming through the deepest cracks of broken hearts.

By what soulful music in their hearts, did they take their first steps, weeping loudly, turning their backs to what was just yesterday their whole life, to walk toward an unknown tomorrow?

The poem "Anthem" speaks of the mighty spirit of these women, and of the ancient Christian wisdom that the very place of death is also the very place of rising again. 

The bitter place of burial is the very place of resurrection. 

The crack in the earth that serves as a tomb, blasts forth the glorious light of Rising eternally.

Yes, there is a crack in everything.

That’s exactly where to be, where to serve, where to wait for the light,
It is worth the wait.

Above is a picture of my bell.

True enough, in spite of its credentials, it has no clapper.

It is as silent as the nuns graves, over which it stands like a faithful guard.
But the thieves were wrong. We ring the bell whenever we want, with any piece of rebar we find on the ground, any hammer, any wrench used to change a tire or tighten a pipe. Once, in a pinch, I used false teeth to ring it.

The bell rings beautifully. Solemn, doleful octaves for our funerals (when struck on the rim), and joyful tenor notes for our High Holy Days and celebrations (when struck at mid bell).

Ring the bell in your life that still can ring.

Imagine if we all have the conviction to do it.

The beautiful music will lift humanity up to God, even in the darkest times.

Jerusalem, take off your robe of mourning and misery;
put on the splendor of glory from God forever! 
(Bar 5:1-2)

As always, thank you for your ongoing support of our work in Haiti. Merry Christmas, and all blessings and good things, in the new year of Grace!

Fr Richard Frechette CP DO.         
Port au Prince
Dec 14, 2018

Visiting experts help advance our staff in our special needs programs.
June 6, 2018 - Haiti
 

Monica helping with treatment of children with epilepsy.

Over the past two months, all of our staff have been very busy in various training sessions at our special needs programs. We are very privileged to have many teams of experts who return every year to up-skill our staff and evaluate our programs. In doing so, they are empowering our staff to become more and more expert in their fields. Our visiting experts provide therapy and training which is not available locally, nor in many countries of the world.

Monica Tinghino – A Cranio-sacral Therapist from Milano, Italy. Monica was amazing in the treatment of children with epilepsy. Through her interventions, the children's bodies relaxed, no longer stressed in their movements. Two months later the children are still benefitting from her interventions. We are grateful to the NPH Italy Francesca Rava Foundation for organizing Monica's time in Haiti.

Jason & Lori – Behavioural Psychologists from Greenville, North Carolina. Jason Cone and Lori Elei Stuart were introduced to us by Lora and six visits later they returned to Haiti energized and positive. They focus on communication and behavioural strategies to enable children to communicate to the best of their abailities. They have worked closely with our teacher Magalie and our therapists Emmanuel and Yvesrose during their visits. They have given training on how to observe the students and develop strategies to be implemented in the school. They gave a training day to all of our school staff and leaders from our partners Aksyon Gasmy. They are very excited about the developments in the school.

Lora Clark Joyner & Karen Poole – School Physical Therapists from Greenville, North Carolina. We are very thankful to Lora and Karen who come every year. Lora has reached a milestone of 10 training trips to Haiti. Both Lora and Karen work in the school system and bring a wealth of both Physical Therapy and Occupational Therapy skills to our team, the parents of the children and also the caregivers of children. They focus on positioning, feeding and functional learning, all of which are vital in the development of special needs children in Haiti.

Dr. Bernard Joseph – Staff Cancer Awareness Training, Haiti. Our staff and parents were very grateful to the Cancer Awareness Training which Dr. Bernard provided. His presentations over two afternoons focused on the cancers which are most prevalent in Haiti. The images all portrayed the main local carcinogens and cancers which are prevalent here in Haiti. He answered endless questions, cancer is a great worry among everyone. He asked that our staff become "Ambassadors for Cancer in Haiti", "encourage everyone to eat healthy, avoid carcinogens and to seek treatment as soon as possible if they have a worry". We sincerely wish to thank of of our expert visitors, for their expertise and for their friendship.

Jacinta McGuane   
Coordinator of the Special Needs program

Cassandra* has made great progress despite numerous obstacles.
March 31, 2018 - Haiti
 

Present Day - Caregiver helping Cassandra at Christmastime

Meet Cassandra*, born on December 9th, 2013 in Cite Soliel. She has already fought her way toward making significant progress since she first arrived in July of 2014 at St. Damien Pediatric Hospital.

Cassandra was suffering from a severe fever and lack of nutrition, so it likely does not come as a surprise that this poor little girl also was lacking sleep. Cassandra endured other severe respiratory issues and ongoing illnesses as well, but the St. Damien staff cared for her and gave her treatments, and Kay St. Germaine provided physiotherapy. She left the hospital and continued to make return visits for specialized care.

On December 6th, she returned to the hospital since she was again in critical condition; in desperation and seeing she was well taken care of, her relatives left. After a long time of living in the room at St. Damien called Perrot Ward “Salle Perroquet”, which serves as a temporary home to abandoned babies, St. Damien approached the state authorities to permit her transfer to our special needs program at the St. Simon NPH Program.

Cassandra was welcomed into the St. Simon home in January of 2017. She still struggles in therapy, and is not yet ready to go to school, and caregivers work with her to help her learn to speak.

Cassandra loves any kind of sweet food. According to Nurse Boisrond, it will take time for her to develop, but she is hopeful and positive - she believes that with time, Cassandra will learn to talk and will likely be able to go to school.

Nurse Boirond shared, “NPH Haiti is a refuge for Haitian kids, for the Haitian families who are living every day in poverty. If it did not exist, these children wouldn't be alive today."

Denso Gay   
Communication Officer

Dear Family and Friends,

I remember when I was a child, I often heard my grandmother say, “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

After 39 years of priesthood, and 30 of these years as a priest and physician in Haiti, I am afraid I have seen plenty of people considerably and permanently wrecked by “what didn’t kill them.”

There seems to be a lot about life that contradicts wise proverbs, whether they come from grandmothers or from King Solomon.

The time of my mother’s death was a time I thought would surely kill me.  It’s not that she didn’t have a long and good life. She surely did. And the cancer that took her life was rather merciful to her until the last few weeks of her life. But her last agony coincided with the unbelievable earthquake in Haiti that killed hundreds of thousands of people. She sent me from her deathbed back to Haiti the very same night. It was both my absence from her agony and my presence in a catastrophic agony that acquainted me with a depth of sorrow that I have never known before or since.
 
I hesitate to write about this, because I don’t mean to write about me. I write about what life is for all of us.  I write about my experiences, because yours make them understandable.

At my mother’s funeral, my brother Steve read a beautiful image of death as a boat sailing out of sight, into the horizon.   Everyone on the shore is sadly looking on, and in mourning, saying “there she goes.”

But on the other shore, at sunrise, a whole other joyful crowd is saying “here she comes!” as the long awaited boat and it’s precious cargo grow closer.

The image of boat is an enlightened image of what life and death are like.

The boat is also an image of the very real way we make our way toward heaven, through this life. We cross a powerful sea of enormous losses and gains, in a pitifully small vessel.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

For those of us who believe in Jesus, this is profoundly true. But it DID kill him.

This is the point of the Christian message. During any kind of dying, when the right things die, something more powerful is born.

It’s not always the case. At least not immediately.

Some weeks ago, I wrote to you about Sanon. He is a very poor teenager, who saved and saved his money to be able to return to school, and was robbed by bandits and stabbed in the back. Now it seems a cement block was also thrown against his lower back.

Paralyzed from the waist down from the tragedy, he has been thankfully regaining feeling and movement in his legs and feet.

As time has passed, however, much about his language and behavior in our hospital has shown, without a doubt, that his injury does not represent the suffering of the innocent. Nor is his story the full story.

He is a boat whose captain heads for the hurricanes. He courts darkness, attracted to it like a moth to a candle.

Will this wrestling match he had with tragedy teach him to chart a course of light, guided by the north star? By God given values? Will he learn the essential lessons darkness teaches, as did Jacob after wrestling with the angel?

On the other hand, there is the story of Preservil. He is 24.

He did not court his darkness.

It’s the kind of darkness that comes without a warning.

He was brought to us three weeks ago by the Missionaries of Charity in Les Cayes. His whole left face is terrible disfigured by a tumor. For sure, expert medical opinion here is that he is terminal, with no possible hope.

Preservil looked at me patiently as I explained all this to him. He asked me not to send him back to Les Cayes to die.

Could I give him a job, until he dies? Any job?

When he could work, he was supporting his elderly mother, and would so wish to support her until the end.

What in an incredible request. And since I was feeling powerless before his fate, suddenly I had power. This was something I could easily do.

Yes, Preservil, with warm welcome come and work with us - on our farm, light duty, lighter every day as necessary.

You will have a reason to get up every morning, a way to be productive, to help your mom, and to find friends in the community - the support of friendship.

Yes, thank God for these things, but still it’s a rough road.

I had a biopsy of his tumor taken, and sent it for pathology to a friend in Connecticut, where I am from.

I got this message back from my friend,

“Dear Fr. Rick-Not that I didn’t already know you are living right! But this is a benign lesion. A dentinogenic ghost cell tumor. It can be resected without recurrence.“

   
Though his small boat almost flipped and sunk at 24, Preservil now has his whole life ahead of him. Yet his darkness wasn’t fully dark, even before this good news.  

On Good Friday, Christians are encouraged to look at and meditate on (let It really sink in) the dread darkness and suffering that was an essential experience of Jesus. We are asked to internalize the unthinkable – the suffering and death of God.

The meditation is meant to be instructive. We are asked (in fact, “Maundied” or commanded) not to run away from the darkness, not in ourselves, not in the lives of others.

Just as stars are born in the powerful darkness of empty, bottomless holes in space, the persistent revelation of Good Friday is that darkness and suffering are the womb where souls are born. Where heroism and greatness come from, as do incredible strength and longsuffering, and relentless vision.

Yes, our elders knew what they were talking about. Darkness, met with faith, hope and love, can becomes the furnace that brings the embryonic soul to its golden greatness.

Respectful of the teachings and celebrations of the world’s many religions, let us pause on Good Friday to meditate on the Christian revelation about Tenebrae, the mystery of darkness and suffering in life. Let us pray very intentionally today for people everywhere who are in it’s throws.

Thank you for your ongoing support of our mission, carried out in these depths of conviction and faith.

Happy Easter and many blessings from our gracious God.

 
Gustave Doré, Jacob Wrestling with the Angel (1855)

Fr Richard Frechette CP DO
Port au Prince, Haiti
March 30, 2018

 

Dear Friends,

Christmas is the celebration of both motherhood and childhood, the double doorway through which almighty God chose to come to into our difficult human world, to try to lead us to peace.

As I write these words, 84 children in the United States, ranging in age from just a few months to teens, were just freed from a multistate network of 120 human traffickers, who have been arrested.

The plight of children in the world is fearsome: child slaves, child prostitutes, child soldiers, and child gangsters. The numbers of children living at the lowest levels of poverty, the amount of childhood hunger, the extent of infant and child illness and mortality are daunting.

Also as I write these words, according to the United Nations Refugee Agency, there are 65 million people in the world who are displaced from their homes, belong to no country (are stateless) or are refugees.

Roughly half of these are women, of whom millions are pregnant, or with nursing and small children.

Central to the Christmas story is that Mary, as a young pregnant girl, had to leave home and take to rough roads, under the orders of the Roman governor in Syria, so the Jews might be "counted," in the town native to the husband.

Also central to the Christmas story is that immediately after the birth of her precious baby, on a bale of hay as a displaced woman, she had to flee to Egypt and spend years as a refugee, or her son would have been killed by a jealous King in Jerusalem, city of peace.

It is not only trees beautifully lit, and sweet carols, that make Christmas familiar to us.

But in fact, Christmas is also familiar because of how similar the rough and painful experiences of the Holy Family are, to the tragic daily fare of millions of women and children today, two thousand and seventeen years later.

Very recently, as I was driving through Port-au-Prince on my way to anoint the dying and try to heal the destitute sick whose death might be delayed with proper care, at one of the clinics of Mother Teresa's Sisters, a very sick woman on the road caught my eye.

The first glance showed that she was young, she was pregnant, and she was in a lot of trouble. She could not help at all as two people as young as she was, tried to lift her and lay her down in the simple tap-tap, the public transport for the masses. I wondered why they were leaving a hospital, instead of going into it.

I asked what happened, and was told there was no room in the hospital. I learned they had been refused at another hospital already, and there would be no guarantee of a place where they would go next. Thank God for our maternity wing at our own NPH St. Damien Pediatric Hospital. The young girl was nearly in a coma, and driving any more around the city looking "for a place at the inn" would kill her. And surely a manger was no place for a woman with eclampsia, which was her fairly evident condition.

With no time to lose by calling our ambulance, I paid the tap-tap to take her to St. Damien.

Andre, who was raised from infancy in our children's home in Haiti (and is now 25 years old), works with me. I sent him with them, to be the Angel Gabriel, to guide the tap-tap the fastest way to St. Damien. I continued on, to see the sick waiting for me across town.

My vehicle is a four-wheel drive, off road, Jeep-ish kind of thing they call a "Polaris." It has no windows, makes a lot of noise, is very hot, and all street noise comes in. So I didn't hear my cell phone ring. Again, and again, and again.

When I arrived at the Sisters, my heart dropped to my feet when I saw 13 missed calls from Andre.

This could not be good news.

The tap-tap had broken down.

I raced to the scene, a good 30 minutes away, also trying at the same time by phone to send one of our ambulances from St. Damien, but they were all out on calls. I was trying to figure how I would carry the poor comatose girl in the Polaris.

Very shortly after, I saw an empty tap-tap, and I promised him a good stipend if he would follow me and finish an urgent delivery to St. Damien Hospital.

We made the transfer in the middle of the street, the poor mother nearly lifeless, as we lifted the sheet she was on, to carefully change trucks. Archangel Andre is a rookie on my team, he was sweating and in a holy panic, but brilliant and compassionate.

Once they got to the hospital, and I was at the Sisters, I got a call from St. Damien. The mother was 17 and in a coma, the family with her was even younger than she. The treatment for eclampsia is, of course, delivery of the baby, and in this case by Cesarean, because the baby is preterm. The question was, did I know the mother or father? The young girls said they were in the province. Who would give the consent?

They were all under age, and the one concerned was in a coma.

On sonogram, the baby's heart was beating but there were no other movements of the tiny body. The baby's survival was unlikely because of the gestational age. But without the Cesarean both would die.

Who would give the consent? I was the only possible choice.

I consented, and took my rosary beads from my pocket.

The first joyful mystery, the annunciation of the nativity of the Messiah - don't fail us now.

The baby survived. A tiny girl, peering curiously out of her incubator. The mother came out of her coma about four hours later. Our tender staff, who are also mothers, showed her how to nurse the baby at her breasts.

The story of Christmas is old, and yet ever new. The blessings called children, the heroism of mothers, the Archangels Gabriel and Andre who are never far off, and soar into the story at the critical moment in order to save the day.

This Christmas as we celebrate again the wonders of moms and children, let's also pledge to stand with them in their agonies and ecstasies.

When we stand for what is right and true, God blesses our ways.

When we strive to create safe havens for pregnant mothers in distress, like St. Damien Hospital, and when we create safe havens for children in our homes in nine countries, God's blessing is sure.

Thanks to all of you for your ongoing help, which make all this possible.

God's blessing at Christmas, and throughout the new year of grace.


Fr. Rick Frechette
President, Board of Directors
Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos Haiti

Dear family and friends,
 
Social and political tensions in Haiti have reached their flash points over the past number of months, and we have been living, with more intensity these days, what seems like the dangerous and cynical unraveling of a nation. 
 
The spiral of violence and destruction is both tragic and maddening.
 
The simply stated reason for all of this is that the cost of living has become impossible, 
in a country where it was already hard enough to stay alive.
 
As usual, far from sheltering in place, we are seeking out the wounded and bringing them to out hospitals, doing our best to be present and helpful to the people, picking up some of the dead on the streets, and delivering water by the truckloads to the poor all around the city (one of whom I heard say today , "I thought hunger was bad. I would much rather be hungry for food than for water."
 
Hard to understand, I know, unless you have stood in those parched shoes.
 
We use our ambulances to change shifts at our hospitals. 
They usually are allowed through burning barricades.
There is not always a guarantee, and we have had some casualties (wounded staff). 
 
Sounds officious, "wounded staff." 
 
Most are ten and twenty years veterans with us, like Ketly our hospital cook. 
She was hit with both fists and stones.
 
You can imagine that we also feel each of her bruises, and find that her initial despondency also pulls us all down, very low. 
 
Ketly's injuries happened this way:
 
The first set of her blows happened when she was walking to the hospital at 4am to be on time to make breakfast for the children.
For many of our workers, travel on foot is the only option. (Raphael and Domo come every day on foot from Croix des Bouquets.)
 
While Ketly crossed many barricades without too much problem, it was not true of the last one.
 
Later in the day, when she was pelted with stones, she was a victim of circumstance. 
The ambulance she was in, doing the change of shift, came to a barricade where a rock thrower was just shot and killed by the police. 
 
The angry crowd wanted our ambulance to take the body, but the driver could not since it was full of workers. Also, because if he really was killed by the police, it is a forensic case and needed legal investigations. 
 
An angry scene developed. The ambulance was held hostage, and then released when some others in the crowd defended our hospital. 
But as the ambulance pulled away, it was pelted with rocks, smashing first a window and then Ketly.
 
Sticks and stones do break your bones. 
 
We also use the ambulances, and my truck, to get our water trucks through the barricades, to bring water to other hospitals and orphanages who have run out of water and cannot function without it. Also to desperate neighborhoods.
 
Since most stores, banks and businesses remain closed, we are hoarding cash where we can, and we are obliged to pay black market prices for necessities.
 
The motorcycle, and your two feet, have become the best way to get around town. 
This works alright if you are not delivery 3,000 gallons of water, or coming home the the wounded, or a corpse. 
 
But even motorcycles have become expensive and dangerous.
 
One of the mothers at our hospital needed to go to the Red Cross to try to get blood for her son with cancer.
The motorcycle asked for 1000 Gourdes, which would be equivalent 10% of what would be considered a minimum monthly wage in Haiti. 
 
This amount at the current exchange rate would be US $12 for this blood ride, 
which is a fortune for the poor people of Haiti.
Calculate this out to the $120 per month minimum wage (for 40 hour work week).
 
Pathetic by all humane standards. 
 
The driver asks for this much because he has to pay dearly for gas, and because of the bribes he has to give at barricades, with no guarantee that he or the mom will get through unscathed.
 
I was met by a nurse this morning, the very second I came out of my room at 530am to face the day, who told me that both the driver and the mother were robbed, and left in the street, and the motorcycle itself was stolen.
 
This small story is the kind of thing the people are living, in every direction, for as far as you can see.
 
As a distraction to the unraveling of the nation, and to the ongoing challenges to solve impossible problems,
I have started the hobby of making mead at night, with honey from our own bees.
 
As a further distraction, I am also enjoying drinking it.
 
Mead is the oldest fermented alcohol in human history. 
I sometimes wonder of Adam and Eve made mead, and then also made poor choices after it's use.
 
If you know anything about bees, they are phenomenally social. 
They give their lives to the queen and the community, working in spectacular harmonious patterns. 
They communicate through dance, and know how to give each other directions by describing the position of the sun, 
and they make the splendid golden nectar we call honey.
 
But when bees go berserk, their whole focus is on killing, and they give their own lives by inflicting the sting. 
A honey bee cannot survive inflicting its venom.
 
A society patterned on order, purpose, and shared wellbeing is a wonder.
 
But this can tilt, wobble and fall to destruction, when any part of it becomes singularly self serving.
 
During this whole tragedy, over riding voices are absent. 
 
Yes for sure the talking heads never stop commenting on what is about to happen and what just happened, 
but I am talking about voices that would address the people with reason and higher vision.
 
"You must organize for a better life, but you CANNOT kill to do so.
You must speak our for your rights, for needed change, but you CANNOT speak hatred and lies.
You must build a better tomorrow for yourselves, your family, your country, but you CANNOT do it by destroying the property of others."
 
There is plenty to say.
The ten commandments, 
and the eight beatitudes 
would be a great starting point.
 
And you don't even need to mention your political opinion.
 
When I was a young priest, I lived through the kind of violence we see now,  and I was still convinced that we could, and would, change things.
This conviction is life saving for the young.
 
Now in more senior years, as I live through the same kinds of violence again and again,
I am still convinced that we can, and will, change things.
This conviction is life saving for the older generations.
 
Its understandable- the fear, the frustration, the feelings of futility.
 
In the Gospel reading at Mass this morning, Jesus tries to get away from it all, and didn't want anyone even to know where he was.
Then, when his much needed peace was disturbed by a woman in need, a very unkind dialogue followed.
 
But her need was great, her faith was greater, and his fatigue paled in the light of these. 
His help was immediate, and final.
 
The lesson is, we do the right thing, in season and out of season, without caving in to frustration, futility and despair.
 
On another note, I will tell you how I would solve these current riots. 
I would lower the prices of everything by half.
 
But then again, what do I know.
 
I better get back to my next batch of mead. 
Morning will some soon enough.
 
Let's not give up on humanity.
 
Let's not forget our prayers.
 
Fr Rick Frechette CP
St Valentine's Day, 2019
Port au Prince