Death of the Unknown Brother

It happened in Talca, I want to say. 

 

Chile is not a place in Latin America known for violence, but it happens. 

I lived there three times, for stretches of 22 months, 4 months, and 6 months. In my first visit to this Mediterranean climate, beauteous land sandwiched between the ocean and the snow topped mountains, I knew of the most acts of violence compared to the other two, which in sheer amount of time and exposure makes sense. But the acts were deadly assaults, which make or made little sense to me.

 

The first two happened in Concepcion, a city where my mission was based and where I served for half a year. Two young men that were in my social circles were knifed to death. Well, one of them, the one I met and spoke to, was hunted down and savagely beaten, the story goes. Possibly worse than just a knife that took him. A church brother that I knew tried to stop it, but to no avail. This young man lived in a poor area of the city that I visited a few times. Not my ward that I was assigned to as a church missionary, but walking distance from my sector. I went there more the month that I was made a district leader and able to conduct baptismal interviews for the missionaries there.

Two young men cut down in the the youthful prime of their lives. No pun meant. One was a member of my faith; he had a sister serving a full time mission like me. The other was a brother of one of my associations through church. So sorry to hear, when I found out a few months after moving from the city on the big river, up stream to the tranquil little town resting on the same huge flow of water.

Two young men died in Santa Juana while I was there, too, but there in a peaceful town their fate was the river itself. It was  not the cruel fate of some killer in human form but nature and chance, or happenstance itself.

I might have been living in Santa Juana, or maybe a few months later in Angol when I heard of the brutal death of the brother, an older man maybe in his forties or fifties, in Talca.

I never have spent time in Talca, a good sized city for the country. I sped through in buses a few times, but I do not know the place. Maybe once had a bus stop there.

I spoke with a few younger Chilean men who knew him and looked up to him. They were mystified and crushed. Perhaps the death of the unknown brother, (his name may have been Juan, or Pedro, or Mario, or Marcelo, I am not sure...), was a blow to their good faith and confidence in life.

He was a strong member of the faith, our newfound religion in a Catholic country, a man who was physically strong and spiritually endowed with power.

Killed in the street, not sure why.

Could the motive have been money, in a robbery? Sure, people are hungry and forlorned, scorned in a society of haves and have nots. Chileans see the U.S. and other countries and many of them feel jilted when it comes to money, opportunity, wealth. In this case it might have been an overzealous robbery gone bad, or simply played out in tragedy. Guys with money sometimes deserve to be robbed, some would argue.

Or, was it pure malice? Was it an act of drunken stupor, or psychotic hate?

Random, random... 

Where was God to save this man? those of little faith proclaim...

I think some Chileans may have lost a lot of faith with his senseless death. 1991. Summer, it was. Maybe January, I cannot recall with clarity.

 

But, having observed quite a few Chileans before and since, many have lost their faith in other ways and for other reasons. Not all due to poverty, but that is possibly the chief reason that many do. Hard to say.

 

Justice. Fairness. All those issue become complaints. Many legitimate, for sure.

 

Why does God favor some above others? Marx has his ideas... No God above there. Only the power of work and humanity.

Can there be a God, all-knowing, all-loving, and if so: why am I (we) cursed with this lot?

Death and torture have happen unabounded a few times in their history.

People lose their faith in God, man, government, religion, business, politics, their spouses, all manner of things, including themselves, maybe their communities, or neighbors, or police or judges, all the time. 

Some Chileans, mostly those who knew him, seemed to have lost a big chunk of their faith upon recognizing his death. I am not sure how many. Could more have been more inspired in the wake of his death? Possibly? I cannot tell, there is so much we do not know.

But, I simply wanted to raise the memory of an unknown man, known to quite a few in one corner of the world, but spread the word that he existed, was loved, and like many of us, made a large impression and made the world a better place for his life, his way of living it.

Gracias, hermano.

Thanks for living the way you did, and may your ignominious death not detract from or erase the memory and significance of your goodness and impact.

I did not know you directly, but indirectly I knew you, and I recognize worth and impact.

For me, an American, a guy born middle class in the the Middle West, a boy favored with opportunities to live, choose, grow, work, operate as he chose in a neighborhood where we left doors of vehicles and homes unlocked for long hours, including nights, where we did not fear robbers or thieves, guns or knives.

Nevertheless, we all die sometime, through violence, at times, through sickness, more often, through so many ways.

But we are all counted.

I count you, dear unknown brother; we will light candles and regale your memories in countless ways.

This is one.