Hers is ministry to community in pain. (Mary Blatz, pastoral
director at Mount Caramel Cambodian Catholic Church in Long 
Beach, CA)(Ministries)
Leslie Wirpsa 
          National Catholic Reporter 
Vol.33 No.12
Jan 24, 1997
p.15
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COPYRIGHT @ 1997 National Catholic Reporter 

            LONG BEACH, Calif. -- For Mary Blatz a day of ministry could mean 
            anything from advocating against welfare cuts at a community 
            meeting, to analyzing the nightmares of people who saw their 
            families slaughtered by the Khmer Rouge, to a shopping trip with a 
            struggling seamstress to Chinatown's fabric shops, to playing games 
            with local youngsters who call her "the lady who loves kids." 
            For all practical purposes, except for administering sacraments, 
            Blatz is the priest at the Mount Carmel Cambodian Catholic Church, a 
            tiny, lay-run parish located south of Los Angeles in Long Beach. Her 
            assignment as pastoral director here is one few clergy would -- or, 
            because of language limitations, could -- rush to take. 
            With the urgings of two bishops, the parish wooed Blatz from New 
            York and a teaching position at Columbia University's American 
            Language Program almost five years ago. 
            She arrived in Los Angeles in 1992 two weeks after the riots that 
            followed the Rodney King verdict. Living and ministering with two 
            others in an intentional community, Blatz tries to live the example 
            of Christ among Long Beach's 50,000 Cambodian refugees the largest 
            concentration of Khmer people outside Phnom Penn, most of whom are 
            Buddhists. 
            Hers is a ministry to a community in pain, to a people who watched 
            thousands die, including half of the Catholics and nearly all of the 
            priests of their country, during the bloody reign of the Khmer 
            Rouge. Hers is a presence in a community for which, as she says, 
            "life hasn't been normal since 1970." 
            "What these people went through was a holocaust.... All of them were 
            persecuted.... Then they had years in the (refugee) camps. Maybe 25 
            percent came with some education that could have a bearing on their 
            situation here. There are no reserves in this community. It's a 
            completely new immigrant population," Blatz said. 
            Here the reality of the cross provides a daily backdrop for a 
            journey of faith lived in community. aWe are walking through the 
            pain. That's Christian life. It's exciting. There is a resurrection. 
            There is some way. But you have to walk through the pain," Blatz 
            explained. 
            At Mount Carmel, this way of evangelization is traveled in very 
            small steps. The first step was "presence and friendship" -- the 
            three women living together in the house that once served as a 
            rectory. From there they facilitated the formation of a core base 
            community of 10 families, drawing 100 or so people for worship and 
            lectionary-based sharing. That life of faith has since dovetailed 
            with a life of action. aWe are trying to move from being an 
            emergency to being a mission. A lot of basic groundwork has to 
            happen," Blatz said. 
            But before that foundation can emerge, the Cambodian refugees must 
            heal from their trauma so they can reconstruct bonds of trust. This 
            collective pain has forced the women to design new models of 
            ministry. 
            "They don't like meetings, for example, because (in Cambodia) they 
            worked 16 hours a day (in labor camps) and had four-hour meetings, 
            only four hours of sleep. They are not interested in church 
            organization through meetings," Blatz said. 
            It has also taught these ministers profoundly Christian lessons. 
            "You have to understand how to forge an accepting community. Here we 
            are challenged to the ultimate to understand about forgiveness." 
            Blatz said that a community model of worship is essential to the 
            psychological and spiritual health of the refugees. "The whole 
            objective of the Khmer Rouge was to strip them of their culture and 
            identity. So this community needs to exist as a community. When 
            people are told just to go to the pews, it is not effective," she 
            said. 
            Blatz, raised in a large Irish-German Catholic family, who holds a 
            graduate degree in pastoral ministry and catechetics from the 
            international institute Lumen Vitae in Belgium, has also learned 
            about Buddhism. "Religious dialogue with the Buddhists is important. 
            People don't want to be separated from the Buddhist community," she 
            said. 
            Blatz learned about being church and creating community during the 
            30 years, off and on, that she attended St. Mary's Parish in 
            Coltsneck, N.J., a congregation widely known for progressive 
            community (NCR, Oct. 18, 1996). "That parish was different. When you 
            went on Sunday, you were really fed. There was always something you 
            could be involved in," she said. Service to refugees in New Jersey 
            and later in refugee camps in Hong Kong and Indonesia led her to the 
            Cambodian people. 
            She said she remembers the day they phoned her at her parents' home 
            about the L.A. job. "My mother shouted, `Mary, there are two bishops 
            on the phone for you,'" Blatz said. 
            That's when a unique form of ministry began. "When I came here ... I 
            tried to be quiet. I knew I couldn't be a splash in the Cambodian 
            community, that it had to be a quiet and warm entrance. I knew I 
            wouldn't know what to do, but here were three empty and warm 
            buildings where I had to be a spirit."