Everyday Mission

MISSIONER NEWSLETTER – Spring 2026

Sarah Bueter, El Salvador

It is easy to search outward for inspiration. Central America holds no lack of inspiring individuals. Exemplars of the faith! People making a difference in the world under situations of duress! Visionaries! Holy men and women! In March, we celebrated the witnesses of St. Oscar Romero, Rutilio Grande, and victims of La Laguna massacre, a village in the parish.

It is easy to search outward for inspiration. Only to find that it can be right under your very nose.

I heard the story while I was making pancakes. The New York Times Daily story featured an Indiana county that successfully defended itself against an incursion of an AI data center.

New York Times Podcast Headline from Feb. 16, 2026

Intriguing, I thought, I grew up in Indiana. My parents live there.

The story goes that a county in Indiana, studied the environmental and social consequences of AI data centers, engaged its citizenry, and rejected the proposal.

At the time, I was preparing workshops for 300 pastoral agents in the diocese of Chalatenango on Catholic social tradition, including on care for creation, for climate change and the threat of mining are pressing issues the Catholic church faces here.

Imagine my surprise when the county featured was St. Joseph county…my county. Oh, and it featured my own dad’s advocacy efforts. Not by name, but in spirit.

My dad has always been a curious, observational man. He is the kind of father who hauls his children out of bed to watch a Midwest thunderstorm roll through, or who tells stories of Perseus and mighty Pegasus under a blanket of stars. When we paddle the Galien River, he pauses to catch the sound of sandhill cranes. Look up when you walk, he tells us.

Mr. Bueter teaches a group of students under the night sky that would have been disrupted by a planned AI data center had it not been for the efforts himself and others in the local community.

His is a tender eye: simultaneously curious toward the world and deeply enamored by it. He’s taken thousands of photos documenting the seasonal changes to the same tree outside the house. Photo reels show speckles of stars, smears of comets, and spirals of galaxies. Sunlight refracting against the geometry of Indiana snowscapes. Eclipses and transits of planets. His world is illuminated by such elemental, ephemeral, empyrean events. A world full of signs and wonders.

Several years ago, before AI data centers headlined our collective consciousness, my dad began to use the scientific method to document night sky quality over time.

He had been paying attention to discreet county ordinances and codes that permit either the flourishing or exploitation of Indiana’s natural resources, living out a citizenship reminiscent of Wendell Berry’s “membership”, though I don’t know if he’s read Wendell Berry. He logged data in seemingly obsolete patches of cornfields.

Suddenly, that obsolete patch became the site of contention regarding AI data centers. And my dad had the light pollution data on it.

Nobody told him to do this. Nobody cared if he drove into the cornfields to record magnitude-per-arc-second-squared data points under a night sky.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t flashy.

He just did it, without fanfare, without self-righteousness, without expecting credit. Because it was the right thing to do. The protective, caring, responsible thing to do.

Sarah kayaks in El Salvador under a shared sky with her father and his crew in Indiana.

In contrast, my work in El Salvador risks defining mission to a narrow criterion: live in a foreign country, struggle against ants and snakes, loom a foot above everybody, speak with an accent, and work directly with the poor.

But what Dad is doing is mission: it’s the same work of the Holy Spirit.

Right under our noses.

It looked silly, too, you know? We chided him for his nighttime projects, his persistent, scrupulous observing: to what end does this serve? But don’t expect to be an inspiration to some without being a joke to others.

Richard Rohr wrote of this: “God hid holiness quite well: the proud will never recognize it, and the humble will fall into it every day–not even realizing it is holiness.”

The Lenten season began with the Gospel of Matthew: when you pray, do not pray so that others may see you, but in secret. I believe that this is what my dad is doing, praying in secret, praying through action, praying in ways hidden to everybody else.

These small examples burn bright in our despairing world. Small acts do make a difference. Goodness appears humble and hidden. Holiness is close by. Close enough to reach out and touch it.

Please support my mission in El Salvador with a donation through the link below.

I also invite you to walk with me as a “COMPANION IN MISSION.” Companions in Mission are friends and generous donors who give financial gifts on a regular (usually monthly) basis. For more information, visit Become a Companion in Mission. Thank you so much for your generosity!