El Salvador Mission Trip: A reminder of the Body of Christ’s diverse beauty  

By: Katie Rotuno, Racial Equity Task Force Member

“I picked an interesting time to leave the country,” I couldn’t help but think to myself last November, as I prepared to join our St. Dominic team of volunteers heading to our sister parish of Santo Domingo in El Salvador. The week before I traveled on my first mission trip, the U.S. was facing myriad heightened tensions. Every day seemed to bring another headline: The FAA was cancelling flights. Our government was experiencing the longest shutdown in its history, SNAP funding was being cut, ICE was arresting hundreds of immigrants, many of them Latinx individuals with no criminal records. When I told my friends and colleagues where I was traveling, some responded with: “Is it even safe to go there?” or worse: “Isn’t that where the U.S. has deported people?” I found myself having to compartmentalize everything I was personally feeling about my homeland.

But as our plane touched down in El Salvador, it was time to embrace being a stranger in a new and unfamiliar place. What I experienced in those few days in the city of Chiltiupan held up a mirror to countless issues we face here in America. It also reminded me of the importance of diversity, equity, and inclusion. While we were walking around, my group witnessed the military patrolling the streets with the police. We were informed that martial law has been fully in effect in El Salvador under President Nayib Bukele. The military are required to be accompanied by the police who know and enforce the law. The soldiers are not there to engage with civilians. We were told how people in the country have been rounded up and thrown into prison without legal representation. People with no criminal record. These folks are then imprisoned for years at a time with little to no chance of getting out. While I never personally feared for my own safety, the anecdotal stories reminded me of the immigration arrests happening in the U.S. People’s loved ones being thrown in prison, with no legal representation.  

Although our hosts let me know of their nation’s military presence and crime crackdown, their reports seemed in sharp contrast to the warm welcome my group received. As I connected with the Salvadorans during home visits, school visits, a visit to our medical clinic, distributing food, sharing meals, through music, dance, and prayer, I constantly thought of Pope Francis. On World Youth Day in 2023, he famously told the young people gathered: “There is space (in the church) for everyone.” At the end of his speech, Francis encouraged the crowd to chant “todos, todos, todos!” Meaning, “everyone” in Spanish. I have at-shirt that has this phrase on it. I wear it with pride. Throughout my time in El Salvador, tears of frustration formed in my eyes. Because I wondered why this concept of “todos, todos, todos” is still so often foreign to so many in the Catholic faith?

Because here I was being shown gratitude, love, compassion, and acceptance from the Salvadoran people. To see my new friends embracing me with constant kindness was a bit surprising, because honestly, at times I felt like a circus act. Being a member of the music ministry, I often noticed while I was facilitating connection and prayer through song, that people were looking curiously at my numerous tattoos, my fair skin, and light blonde hair. I was aware that even with my white privilege, I felt I was being perceived as the “odd man out.” I do know some conversational Spanish, but I certainly wasn’t fluent in the language. But that didn’t seem to matter all that much. I was only met with grace and gratitude. I was truly experiencing Pope Francis’ philosophy of “todos, todos, todos.”

Nobody cast me out. Instead, I was invited in. I was invited to clap along to hymns in Spanish, to dine on home-cooked pupusas (Salvadoran’s most popular main dish),to dance a cumbia. I looked into the eyes of people who had endured such suffering, poverty, loss, and hardships. People lacking access to food, water, shelter, healthcare, the basics in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Not once was I told to “Just learn Spanish! or, “Go back to your country!” While the people of Chiltiupan were aware their American friends were here to help and provide, I felt they provided us with much more.

I came home to the states with a renewed flame of spiritual fire. To carry with me these lived experiences of “todos, todos, todos.” We are so fortunate at Saint Dominic to have this play out in so many ways. To have our Racial Equity Task Force still going strong post-pandemic. To collaborate with our amazing hermanos y hermanas Herbert, Jesus, Oscar, Raul, and the entire team at our partner parish in Santo Domingo. They are constantly living this message, working around the clock. Not just as our translators and guides on these trips, but humbly and honestly going out and caring for the most vulnerable in Chiltiupan, and the surrounding communities.

We are also so fortunate to have many parishioners serving our Cleveland community partners -- welcoming the stranger  and those who have been “othered,”  meeting the needs of the poor and struggling members of our city. I am so grateful that I answered the Holy Spirit’s call to go on this trip when I did. I needed to be reminded of the beauty of this diverse body of Christ of which we are all a part. Todos. Todos. Todos.

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