El Chocó in the Bronx: Three Catholic nuns venture to the South Bronx, with faith.

Above, Members of St. Pius V lead a Good Friday procession down Morris Avenue in the Bronx

When Sister Cecilia Archuleta learned that she would be leaving her church in Colombia to serve in a South Bronx church, she admitted that her first emotion was fear. After hearing so much negative news about the South Bronx, no one could blame her.Sister Cecilia remembered that I was a native of the South Bronx and telephoned me at work in Nevada to ask questions about what she should expect of life in the South Bronx.I hadn’t lived in the South Bronx for years, but knew that the area she was being assigned to is still dangerous, but I also knew that the Hispanic Catholic community would welcome her with open arms and protect her.

I gave her the good, the bad and the ugly and we prayed together before hanging up.”I expected to see drug dealers on every corner and eyewitness shootouts,” exclaimed Sister Cecilia, 36, one of four Roman Catholic nuns who came to New York last year. ”They told me the South Bronx was the worst of society.”
But things haven’t been so bad. Occasional gunfire, yes, and even a gang rumble. Yet apart from these and a few other minor troubles, Sister Cecilia and her three colleagues, Sisters Lupe and Teresa Pinto, and their Mother Superior, Raina Mercado, are having a grand adventure in a once-notorious neighborhood. They may even leave the place in better shape than they found it.

The four nuns came from the department of Putumayo, Colombia before coming to the Mott Haven section of the Bronx last year to help remedy a shortage of nuns at two churches, and to provide a touch of home for the area’s growing population of Colombian immigrants. Two of them work at St. Rita’s Church, College Avenue, and the other two at St. Pius, East 144th Street, both in the heart of the South Bronx’s Colombia, Puerto Rican and now, Mexican communities. All four of the sisters live in a convent at St. Pius.

I grew up in St. Rita’s and St. Pius V district which is Mott Haven. That area consisted mainly of Puerto Rican’s, Dominican’s, Colombians, West Indians and African American’s. I cannot recall any Mexican’s but now; there are about 25,000 ethnic Mexicans in the southern end of the borough.

Since they arrived, the four nuns have cut their own paths through the borough’s gritty precincts. They visit immigrant families late at night, often the only time the families can be together to meet with them. They poke around the local bodegas and restaurants in search of el comida de Colombia: Arepas, Sancocho, Ban déjà paisa, ajiaco, lechona, arroz con habichuelas.

”When we first got here, everyone just stared at us,” said Sister Cecilia, describing their daily strolls. ”Now, everyone waves and says, ‘There go the sisters.’ ”

In a neighborhood where many residents are poor, the nuns stand out — part oddity, part inspiration — for having willingly chosen a life of poverty. Even their traditional white and black habits of the order of St. Pius can prompt amusement. ”Don’t you ever change clothes?” a little boy asked Sister Teresa the other day.
Now back in my day, that type of question would have earned me a slap across the mouth from Mother Superior Theresa, my former Principal at St. Pius V.
At the churches, the nuns perform an array of services, helping with baptisms, distributing Holy Communion and teaching catechism. Their toughest task, they say, is making their religion relevant to people struggling to build new lives thousands of miles from their home and amidst bleak times.

Many families who attend the two churches are plagued by alcoholism, sexual and spousal abuse. Many of the men who left their families behind in Colombia, Mexico and other countries have started new ones here.
”The biggest problem here is family unity,” Sister Isabel said. ”We dealt with the other half of that when we were in Colombia.”
For those kinds of problems, they have found, theology is not always the answer. When a young man complained that he had been cut off from seeing his 15-year-old sweetheart by the girl’s father, they told him to get a job so he could impress the girl’s father with his sense of responsibility.
”You cannot say that everything is spiritual,” Sister Lupe said.
Sometimes, they offer no advice at all.

”In Colombia, like many other Hispanic countries, there is a lot of machismo, and the women are discriminated against and strenuously discouraged from taking any strong stances, and this ‘Latino mentality’ persists even in the United States,” Sister Lupe said recently during a break from services.
”The woman may not receive the money she needs to run the house, and she may have no one to talk to about these things. Someone just needs to listen to them.”
In their twelve months in New York City, the sisters have learned their way around the Bronx and even ventured into Manhattan. Armed with only their passports, the sisters often use a car given to them by a priest for sightseeing trips. Occasionally, though, they are left baffled.

”The other day, we went to this place — where was it?” Sister Cecilia asked her colleagues.
”Somewhere up there,” Sister Teresa said, pointing at a wall.
”White Plains?” Sister Lupe asked.
”No, White Plains is in the other direction,” Sister Teresa countered.
”Something called Sam’s Club?” Sister Lupe offered. ”Have you heard of this?”
No sooner than Sister Teresa finishes uttering those words, a young Latina walks up to her and asks her for directions to Lincoln Hospital. “We knew how to get there, but couldn’t tell her so we hopped in our ’83 Chevy and drove her and her baby there,” Sister Cecilia said.
Yet even though they are often lost, the sisters say they long ago abandoned their fears of the South Bronx or of any other place in New York City.
”Somehow,” Sister Lupe said, ”We always find our way back home.”