TLDR: We are constantly in the process of becoming. As I visit the family farm this week, I am hoping I can reconnect with old narratives truncated when I came to America for college in 1986.
The German Philosopher, Martin Heidegger, is famous for saying that a person never bathes in the same river twice. By the time the person returns to the place, the waters in which he bathed have travelled a few hundred miles to a new destination, and now he bathes in new waters. Life is always changing, and we are all in the process of becoming. I am not today the person I was yesterday. The few interactions I have had with people this morning, the emails I have read, the items I chose to have for breakfast, and the work I have performed over the last few hours have changed me. I am unavoidably a different person. And in a few minutes or hours, I will be a different person altogether. What this means is that we don’t know who people are becoming, all we know is a few glimpses of who they were when we met them and when we saw them last. What they have become between then and now remains a mystery to us. And who we have become, likewise, is unknown to them.
There is a corollary to this principle which states, “You can’t never go home again!” The homes and the towns you left behind are no longer the same, they have become new, inhabited by new people, affected by the passing of time and the undulating life of the town in which they are located. The questions in my mind as I think about these complex principles are, “Can you know anything or anyone fully? Is this even possible?” The only answer that seems logical is “No!” Which means that we can never take people or places for granted. We must act with great curiosity about what people and places are becoming every day. Assumptions about people and places are often faulty because they are based on partial, outdated, or erroneous information.
By the time you read this post, I will have been in Colombia (South America) for 2 days. On December 28th, my wife, two of my daughters, and I will be going to the family farm. The 300+ acres farm, which has been in our family for hundreds of years, is located on a mountainous town, 185 kilometers north of Medellin. I have not been to the farm in 36 years, a cause of contention between my siblings and I for years. My family has had an idealized memory of the farm that I have never shared. More “Grapes of Wrath” than “Field of Dreams,” the farm holds a place of prominence in the darkest parts of my memory banks. There are a few reasons: Growing up, the farm was the place where my father lived. The children were usually in town (where I lived until the age of 9) or in the city (9-20.) There were long stretches of time when we didn’t see our dad, and as a result of these long periods of absence, I never developed a close relationship with him. He was a good man and a good provider, but he was an absentee dad. Going back to the farm will heighten that sense of absence, and it will make me miss him more.
I am trying hard not to place any expectations on this visit. It is not the same place I once left. I am looking forward to reconnecting with the family I haven’t seen since coming to college in America in 1986. I am also looking forward to reconnecting with my culture (traditions, foods, farm-life, etc.) I just finished a course at the Seminary of the Southwest, Austin, and I realized how much of who I am I have given up in my attempts to enculturate into my new home and country. Consciously or unconsciously, I have become more and more Americanized as the years go by. In and of itself, this is not a bad thing. I love this country and I am deeply grateful for the blessings God has given me here, chief among which are my beautiful wife and my above-average children. But, in a way, I have allowed the narrative of my early history to be interrupted, as I have built a different narrative. This is normal, of course. I always knew that the river had moved on and I couldn’t go home again!
I am hoping to discover a new narrative at the farm and to experience once again the life I knew. I am praying I will reconnect with the memories of my father, as I walk and touch the places that were important to him. And I hope to rekindle that early faith, discovered in the pastures and among the animals, that one day would bring me to seminary. Life was so simple and unincumbered in those days, so full of possibilities! I know that the God who inspired that faith is still alive and full of potentiality, and I am longing for the stories the meadows and mountains will tell me. Stories of calm permanence and eternity. Stories of indescribable love. Stories of death and resurrection.
Please pray for us as we swim in new rivers that mysteriously will remind us of old waters, simple faith, and endless possibilities.
May the Christ child bless you during the new year,
Fr. Roman+
