I had only two issues with the immersion trip to Jamaica. One, it was over before I had a chance to unpack the last can of mosquito spray. Two, the natives continually misspelled the name of their own country.
Well, regardless of their insistence, I prefer my version: Joymaica.
There was no shortage of joy during our one-week excursion. It wasn’t only seen and heard; it was felt. It penetrated the depths of my soul and settled there, shaking me from my slumber. I can run down a long list of things we have at home that Jamaica doesn’t. But what Jamaica has and demonstrates in abundance—unashamedly and indisputably—is joy.
It is a classic case of quality over quantity. Throw out all the numbers. The 4% Catholics in Jamaica. The 95% of children born to single mothers. They matter, sure. But then they don’t. Back home, we are too process-oriented in our parishes. Everything has to go according to the book. You know, basically the kind of stuff t…