Honoring Fr Enzo Delbrocco, 25 years as a Passionist Priest

Dear friends,

25 years ago, on April 13, the vigil of the 2nd Sunday of Easter, I was ordained a priest.

I could’ve never imagined that I would celebrate this anniversary during a pandemic with lockdowns, curfews, masks, social distancing, etc...

The Gospel reading (Jn 20: 19-31) of that day has been forever engrained in my heart, and every year its meaning expands and deepens.

The disciples are “kidnapped” in fear, Jesus comes through locked doors, peace is announced, joy is provoked, the wounds that heal us are touched, the Holy Spirit is given, and forgiveness becomes our mission.

The memories are so vivid and going through the pictures of that day, I realize even more how merciful God is. I think of the dreams and hopes I had. Very few of them came true, but many others unexpected, underserved and bigger happened! They’ve truly been 25 years of surprises, joys and sorrows, miracles and defeats, pleasant and unpleasant moments. I am grateful for each one and would not exclude any of them, particularly the bitter ones and those that have exposed my weaknesses, because they have actually been for me source of grace and mercy, of understanding and reorientation, conversion and realignment.

Every day has been a day of grace, particularly the days I lived in Haiti. Six years of overflowing mercy that have truly reshaped my understanding of God and of myself.

Through His “body” in Haiti he allowed me to “touch” His wounds and extend my hand in His side in a unique way. The words: “My Lord and My God” totally assumed a new meaning for me. Through His Holy people of Haiti, God has taken me by the hand across the “desert” into the “promise land” of solidarity and sharing. The “rejected stones” by society and its unfair economic structures and cultural barriers have helped me “rebuild” myself on the “Cornerstone” and become together them a “living stone” able to give “water” to those thirsty of life and joy.

Burying the bodies of unknown people and especially of so many little ones has allowed me to discover the profound meaning of human dignity, how we are all connected and that I am called to give voice to the voiceless and hope to the hopeless.

Before the Pandemic, my Haitian sisters and brothers, particularly the disabled ones, have taught me how we cannot be saved by ourselves, to not be ashamed of my own vulnerabilities and learn how to live in “kombit” (collaborative work). I learned how to see Christ in the most vulnerable, to listen without judging, to care without pretending, to walk together and never give up. They have taught me the power of tenderness and encounter.

My Haitian sisters showed me the motherly face of God, the strength of carrying, delivering and raising children despite all odds. Their compassion and tears have truly tendered my heart, smoothened its rough edges and taught me how even when there is no cure you can always take care.

It was my profound desire to celebrate this week with them, but the terrible events of kidnappings, particularly the last one yesterday of 7 catholic clergy, “forced” me to postpone my trip. What makes me sad is not the inability to celebrate or postpone it to another date, but the fact that this country, the cry of my Haitian sisters and brothers, is often unheard or ignored.

So many kidnappings happened during the last few years and now that two foreigners are among them it suddenly became news! The ancestors of our Haitian sisters and brothers were once kidnapped too, and their freedom came at such a high cost that they are still paying the consequences. The entire country has been “kidnapped” for hundreds of years by unbearable debts and it continues to be by the greed of those who should lead instead their people towards freedom and a better future.

Food, healthcare, education, infrastructures and local businesses are kidnapped by an economy of exclusion and corruption. Haiti’s beautiful landscapes, beaches, forests and water resources are kidnapped by the indiscriminate exploitation and pollution; its artistic and musical soul is kidnapped by violence and pain, its sense of creativity and hospitality is kidnapped by discouragement and isolation, its sense of freedom and community is kidnapped by oppression and injustice, its pride and joy are kidnapped by fear and sadness.

I will offer my celebration for you, “Ayiti cheri” (dear Haiti), with the hope of being able to celebrate together as soon as possible.

I humbly ask you, my friends, to join my voice during mass when the priest invokes the gift of Peace: “Lord Jesus Christ, who said to your Apostles: Peace I leave you, my peace I give you, look not on our sins, but on the faith of your Church, and graciously grant her peace and unity in accordance with your will.”

Peace be with you “Ayiti cheri”!

May the Lord come through the locked doors and give you Peace now!