My Colombian Connection
                                --by Philip Vanderlin, OSB

Bogotá, Colombia, called the Athens of America, was founded on August 6, 1538, the same day that Monasterio de Tibatí was founded 422 years later. I spent over half my life there in a monastery, situated north of the city that today has a population of eight million. To use Chesterton´s words, life in Colombia has not only been a pleasure “but a kind of eccentric privilege.” I have been constantly amazed and blessed since that first day I arrived, August 21, 1967, six days before my 25th birthday, and forty days after making solemn vows. I found the climate of 56 degrees and the altitude of 8,590 ft. to my liking.

Early in that year, shortly after Abbot Robert West was elected, discussions about closing the Assumption Abbey major seminary were rampant. I was studying first year theology with four fellow monks. With the closing of the seminary and the eventual sending of the simply professed monks to another seminary, I toyed with the idea of asking permission to go to our priory in Bogotá. I consulted Fr. Lawrence Wagner, the Prior of Tibatí and one of the founders, and Frs. Thomas Jundt, and Benedict Pfaller, whose counsel I respected. To my surprise their responses were positive.

As far as I knew, no junior monk had asked to go to a foreign country before finishing studies or being ordained. When I approached Abbot Robert with the idea, his immediate response was, “When do you want to go?” I began making arrangements for a visa from the Colombian Consul in Minneapolis, Fernando Torres. He was the brother of the Colombian guerrilla priest, Camilo Torres, killed a year earlier, and made famous to the English-speaking public by Australian writer and priest, Walter J. Broderick. I knew no Spanish and had never been in an airplane. It was a leap in the dark and I prepared myself with prayer and reading. Upon my arrival in Colombia, Prior Lawrence arranged for a tutor. Cecilia Battista, school librarian, spent a few hours daily teaching me the basics.

After some weeks I was sent to the monastery in Medellín (a distance of 400 miles by land and 180 by air) which was founded by monks from Montserrat in Spain in 1954. I was there for three months (Oct.-Dec.). I prayed with the monks and spent the rest of the time studying Spanish. Every day a monk would come to my room and practice speaking with me. I was also introduced to the literature of Miguel Cervantes, who was nine years old when Bogotá was founded, Don Quixote of Mancha and his trusty squire Sancho Pancha. I was so enthralled I wanted to read it in English. During the decade of the 1980s when I made my famous Sunday “paseos” around the savannah of Bogotá, I dubbed my bicycle “Rocinante” (Quixote’s horse). Every time I hear the song “The Impossible Dream,” from the musical “Man of La Mancha,” I think of my stay in Medellín.

I had the adventurous pleasure of accompanying a group of monks and Carmelite Sisters on a fifteen-hour trip from Medellín to the Gulf of Urabá to visit some indigenous people in the jungle area of Titumate. It is a three-hour boat journey across the gulf from Turbo, a partly-marshy town, distinctly African in flavour. We spent a week there conversing with the natives, who offered food and supplies. Che Guevara was killed (Oct. 9, 1967) in Bolivia and I was introduced to the social and political issues of Latin America. Recently I was reminded of these events watching the movie, “Diaries of a Motorcyclist.”

At this time the Medellín monastery was preparing to make a foundation in Usme, south of Bogotá. Prior Lorenzo Ferrer, who was leading the group, invited me to his office one day and to my surprise invited me to join them. Being a newly solemnly professed monk in a foreign country, barely speaking the language, I thanked him for his invitation and replied that I saw no viability in the offer since I was committed to Tibatí. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had agreed. This is the group that lived 25 years in Usme and then moved to Guatapé in the department of Antioquia and is flourishing today. I received no further invitations to join.

Returning to Bogotá early January, 1968, I began my second year of theology at the Javeriana and spent the year with some of the finest Jesuit teachers and writers in Latin America. Since then I have associated Jesuits with coffee. It was a Jesuit, Francisco Romero, who, in 1732 propagated the planting of coffee as a penance for his penitents. The Peruvian priest, Gustavo Gutiérrez, was just beginning to teach his liberation theology with a famous conference in Chimbote, Peru, in July. It might have been presumptuous to study theology in a foreign language with Jesuits. A note to me from Prior Lawrence on June 12 read: “Make or break, see this year through at the Javeriana. … Persuade yourself to be cheerful and light-hearted; work hard, but don´t take life too seriously.” Good advice for someone learning a new language, a new theology and drinking many cups of coffee in between.

Three events during the year brought relief and joy from the long hours of study. The first was a community trip during Holy Week to the southern part of Colombia; Popayán (suffered a major earthquake in 1983), Pasto, Ipiales and into the border town of Tulcán, Ecuador. Seeing seventeenth century churches still standing was awesome. I remember walking the streets of Popayán and a passerby greeting me with “Buenos Días, Padre.” I was not wearing clerical garb. You either have the “cara” of a “cura” or you don´t.

The second highlight was a week I spent in Cali during semester break at San Pedro Seminary in Cali with Fr. Nicolás Walsh. He founded San Juan Bautista parish in Cali in 1966 from the Boise, Idaho, Diocese. He became Bishop of Yakima in 1974, Auxiliary Bishop of Seattle in 1976 and is buried in the Benedictine cemetery near Jerome, Idaho. The third was the visit of Pope Paul VI the end of August. Tibatí hosted a few bishops from the States, including Bishop Hilary Hacker of Bismarck (the bishop who ordained me two years later). For a young monk in a foreign country all this was novelty.

1969-70: Trading the Jesuits for the Benedictines

I was happy in Bogotá. There was never a time I was not happy in this republic of contrasts: poverty and plenty, violence and virtue, drug lords and dreamers of a better world. Learning a new language and studying theology were challenging. I returned to the States at the end of 1968 and from January 1969 to May 1970 spent some of the best months of my academic life with the monks at St. Meinrad in southern Indiana. I enjoyed hours of conversation with my friend and mentor, Fr. Adelbert Buscher, who had given us a retreat in Bogotá a year earlier, and who died on Aug.

1, 2002. I went through the four semesters without a break. I wanted to finish my theology and get back to Colombia and its coffee.

I was ordained a priest on May 22, 1970. Abbot Robert sent me to be temporary Chaplain at St. Alexius Hospital in Bismarck until Fr. Gerald Ruelle, (one of the founders of the monastery in Bogotá) finished studies in the east. I heard my first sacramental confession and recently had the opportunity of reminding him of this experience. A long and fruitful friendship began and continues with Sr. René Zastoupil, who saw to it that I got my share of popcorn.

It was a privilege to lunch with Abbot Cuthbert Goeb, who was living in retirement at the Hospital. Upon my return to Bogotá he wrote a few times. One letter dated August 31 reads, “By the way, if you ever get to a place where you can get some palm tree seeds put some in your next letter for the old man.” I never did send them, and where he is, he doesn´t need them. He died June 29, 1973, and I was able to be at his funeral.

1970-74: A Burnt-Out Case or Travelling Monk

I was enthusiastic about returning to Bogotá in August of 1970. Fr. Francis Wehri, the Rector of Colegio San Carlos since 1966, assigned me to teach Religion in First and Second Bachillerato (sixth and seventh grades). I was a teacher for five years. One semester I taught Geography and English. Towards the end of the fourth year I began feeling burnt out trying to make Religion an interesting experience for young teenagers. I remember one case in particular. Francisco Santos was a boy who could not sit still in his desk for five minutes. He was constantly asking to do something or go somewhere. Today he is Vice-President of Colombia.

I was somewhat oblivious of the problems which led to the famous December, 1973, meeting in Richardton about the future of Tibatí. All the members of the Colombian priory attended. A letter arrived in May, 1974, asking me to be chaplain of Annunciation Priory in Bismarck. In December a letter from Abbot Robert said, “I am sure that you are aware that your name has come up as a possible candidate as chaplain at Annunciation Priory . . . you were there long enough a few years ago for them to put you rather high on their want list . . . much depends on the faint hope for the Tibatí foundation or how real it is.” Despite my frustrations as a teacher, I was fully involved with my community and work in Bogotá, so I declined the offer. But before my cup of patience and tolerance ran over, a happy invitation and experience came my way.

Prior Pedro Alurralde from Los Toldos monastery in Argentina came to Bogotá to write a commentary on the Rule of St. Benedict. During one of our conversations he casually invited me to visit his monastery. Fr. Lawrence overheard the conversation and invited me to accept his invitation. I was delighted. It was decided that I visit a few monasteries on my way to and from Los Toldos. During July and August of 1974 I spent 53 days visiting 12 cities in four countries (Peru, Chile, Argentina, Brazil), 10 Benedictine monasteries, 3 Benedictine convents, 1 Trappist monastery and 1 Dominican monastery. St. Rose of Lima and St. Martin de Porres became “real” saints for me and I wanted some of their spirituality. I was a young and adventurous monk.

History came alive for me as I walked the streets of Lima, and could visualize Francisco Pizarro handing a Bible to Chief Atahaulpa, who flung it to the ground – a gesture which blew the Empire of the Incas apart. Augusto Pinochet seized power in Chile in September, 1973. I visited the country less than a year later and did not walk the streets of Santiago. Living in Las Condes monastery and listening to baffled monks, I was introduced once again to the social and political problems of Latin America.

There are no longer signs of “Evita” around Argentina, but the musical was a great success. Jacobo Timmerman was living his personal tragedy, which he told about in his book Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a Number. Two years later Isabel Perón was detained and the military began its reign of terror with kidnapping and disappearance of university students tragically portrayed in the movie, “La Noche de Los Lápices.” I witnessed monastic life thriving in Los Toldos and then visited four monasteries in Brazil, three with schools thus fortifying my hope for Tibatí. To witness the monks balancing monastic observance with academic commitments was truly admirable. Of course none of this happens without sweat and tears.

1975-76: Making Music

I returned to Bogotá refreshed and began my fifth year of teaching, but it was clear to me and Fr. Francis that it would be my last (although in August of 1982 he asked me to teach American Literature to which I declined). God works in mysterious ways for the good of the group and the individual. Holy Week of this year saw Fr. Francis and I, with a group of students, taking a train from Bogotá to Santa Marta and staying on the ocean a few miles from the city. I thought my swimming skills were good since I directed two summer camps at the Abbey in the sixties, water skiing being my favourite sport.

One day I lost my balance and the tide took me out into the ocean. I thought surely I was drowning. Fr. Francis saw what was happening and began screaming, “auxilio.” I was bobbing up and down with visions of the end and experiencing a fear I have not known since. Suddenly a young native man from out of nowhere was dragging me back to shore, depositing me on the sand, my feet bleeding. In shock I don´t remember thanking him and regret I did not ask his name. To this day I wonder who that young man was and where he came from. He disappeared shortly after rescuing me and remains on my prayer list. From this incident I remember the wise and amusing saying, “God don´t come when you want Him, but He´s right on time.”

Fr. Valerian became Prior in 1975 and appointed me moderator of the liturgy committee, sacristan and chaplain of the Sisters of Colegio San Carlos, which meant Mass and confession on Saturdays. It was a relief to be out of the classroom and working on song books and liturgy with more time for reading. To this day we still use the song book that was done that year. An important event in July was the Second Latin American Monastic Encounter with Tibatí as host and counting the presence of one hundred monastics from throughout Latin America. I was sacristan, and preparing for all the liturgical events was exhausting, but at least I wasn´t in the classroom.

1976-93: Trips to Banks and Lawyers with Intermediate Stops at the Caribbean, Rome and Barcelona.

In the summer of 1976 Fr. Lawrence was asked by Abbot Primate Rembert Weakland to be business manager of Sant´ Anselmo in Rome. I was on vacation in the States and upon my return to Bogotá, Fr. Valerian met me at the airport and said he had something to tell me but it could wait until the next day. I wondered but lost no sleep over it. After breakfast the following day he summoned me to his room and said we needed a business manager to replace Fr. Lawrence. He asked me if I would be willing to take the job. I mentioned my inexperience and lack of knowledge but if that was his will I would be willing to do it for a year. I was business manager for 17 years. I shall not forget Alfonso Lloreda, one of our lawyers, who helped me with many legal matters that were often beyond my comprehension, inviting me for lunch as we mused over investments.

There are 100 letters from me to Fr. Odo Muggli in the business office of Assumption Abbey from Oct. 17, 1976 to March 4, 1981 and another 225 to Fr. David Wolf until May 17, 1993. These letters give an idea of my administration and other comments in general on life as a monk in Bogotá. From January 1, 1984 to September 1, 1988, I wrote 56 letters (chronicles) to the Assumption Abbey Family Newsletter. I resumed writing in 1994 until June, 2005, my last. They total 168 letters.

Throughout my 17 years as business manager I was able to escape from monetary matters and enjoy some pastoral experience . This will always remain part of my best memories in Colombia, more so than trips to banks and lawyers. Holy Week, 1978 (again the following year and once again in 1997) found me on the Island of Providencia evangelizing the natives, at the invitation of Bishop Antonio Ferrandiz, who died in 1998. The islands of San Andrés, Providencia and Santa Catalina lie to the northwest, opposite the coast of Nicaragua, more than 500 miles from Urabá, the nearest point on the mainland. In April of 1986 headline news reported that the Foreign Minister of Nicaragua was claiming the islands for his country. Colombia relaliated by affirming they would defend the islands even if it meant sacrifice of lives. Every time I hear Harry Belafonte sing “Island in the Sun,” I think of the islands and their people, and worry not whether they belong to Colombia or Nicaragua.Everybody knows that historically they belong to Colombia.

In 1980 Prior Valerian invited me to go to Rome for the Theology Renewal program at Colegio Sant´ Anselmo (March 3 to May 13). I left Bogotá on Feb. 27, the same day the M-19, a guerrilla organization, besieged the Dominican Republic Embassy in Bogotá and took 15 ambassadors hostages for 61 days including the Apostolic Nuncio, Angelo Acerbi. I was delighted with the opportunity and to this day am grateful for having had the experience of visiting Italy and Spain, to hear people like Kathryn Sullivan, Anscar Chupungco, Ambrose Wathen and Gerard Bekes lecture, and to see the Benedictine shrines of Norcia, Subiaco and Monte Cassino.

A special day was March 21, the Feast of St. Benedict. We were celebrating 1500 years since Benedict´s birth. A group of us assisted at a Mass presided by the Secretary of State, Cardinal Agostino Casaroli, in the Abbey of Monte Cassino. During World War II the allied advance was held up at Cassino and the Abbey was bombed flat in 1944. I was two years old and remember being told later that an uncle of mine was among the casualities. In the afternoon we returned to Sant’ Anselmo to concelebrate Mass with the Argentinian Cardinal, Eduardo Pironio. During Holy Week the late Fr. Andrew Wolf and I travelled by train to Florence, Padua, and Venice. I visited Montserrat in Spain, the mother house of the Medellín monastery. I still hear echoes of the Boys Choir, noticing how some of them tried to trip each other as they processed up the steps to the church for a Vespers performance with the monks. Boys will be boys, but their voices were celestial.

I returned to Bogotá on June 14 with a note from Prior Valerian waiting on my desk: “Welcome back! I´m glad you´re back to take on all the accounts again, because I was going in circles at times with all there was to do.” I was back again battling and balancing account books. One day the Prior handed me money to deposit in the Year Book account. I said, “I´ll spend my heaven counting money.” He replied, ”That´ll be hell.”

Once in a while I was interrupted with some pleasant experiences and some tragic ones. In 1981 I replaced the pastor of two towns, Beltran and Cambao, on the Magdalena River, a short distance from Armero, the city destroyed by a volcano in Nov. 1985, killing 30,000 residents. In Cambao I presided at my first wedding as priest on Dec. 19, more than 11 years after being ordained. Since then I have presided at 59 weddings in Colombia, the common case being a Colombian woman marrying a foreigner in a two language ceremony. I wonder if they are all still together? I hope and pray they are, and each year remember the anniversary.

I especially remember Oct. 12, 1982. I was returning to the monastery when I noticed a young boy on the side of the road in distress. I stopped and discovered that the swish of a machete blade had almost severed his thumb which was hanging only by a sliver of skin. I rushed him to the hospital. The doctors were able to save and attach his thumb. I hope wherever he is today he is able to use that thumb normally.