By Fr. Efren de Guzman, SVD

 Let me just share with you some recent events that happened this hot and rainy season. Don’t be upset with my stories. Just pray. Remember, anything beyond your control is not so much your problem. And may the things happening give you inspiration to have a compassionate heart—ready to forgive and understand, trying to be flexible and adaptable in every opportunity and concrete situation.

January 30

In the upper mountain of Kifangondo a drunk policeman lobbed a hand grenade at the people who were at a funeral wake, we brought the seriously wounded to the hospital. To our horror, the culprit was tortured then imprisoned. People said that he was a feiticeiro, a witch or a person possessed by the evil one. This fetishism is part of the culture and some attribute it to deep dreams. Anything bad that happened in their lives –accidents, sicknesses death –has its human cause. They always try to discover the human source of bad luck with help of the Kimbanda (witch-hunter, seer, diviner). One who is accused of being a feiticeiro must suffer tremendously and die. You can imagine the abuses this leads to.

Even a member of the family can be accused of fetishism. One might Joao of Casas Novas (35kms. away) had a dream that his eight-year old daughter Cinia is a feitiseira. Immediately Zepa, the mother of Cinia, accompanied by some relatives, asked our help. We brought the girl to the Mexican Sister’s convent for her protection.

February 2

The biggest Paiol (underground bodega for storing ammunition and missiles) in Viana, 25 kms. from Luanda, exploded for more than three hours. More than twenty people were wounded in a nearby village, eight died. Reasons for the sabotage: lack of food and salary for the soldiers.

A week after this incident, nine generals of the UNITA rebels arrived in Luanda to join, a unified armed forces of Angola as part of a peace accord. In some isolated areas, like Cubal which is 320 kms. south, some demoralized soldiers and rebels are fighting each other over who controls the refugees!

February 16

A minute after I gave our SVD novice, David, a ride for his bible service in Nova Alianca (23kms. away) and I was already on my way to celebrated mass in Cacuaco, a drunk soldier fired a shot in the air and stopped me. He asked for money, I gave him one note of one million kwanza. (That’s 2 US dollars.)

March 7

Fighting is going on now in Zaire: Mobutu against Kibala factions. Kibala rebels are now controlling one fourth of Zaire. Our coordinator in the Commission on Refugee, Sr. Patricia, an American who belongs to the Maryknoll congregation, arrived to attend the Bishop’s conference and meet the refugees coordinators. We were touched when she said: “We continue to take up the cause of the refugees, whether we win or die; freedom will rise in Africa like the sun from the morning clouds.”

March 8

For all the beloved birthday celebrants for the month of March: Mama Hildegard (Germany), Tatay, Sangko, Benjo (Phil.), Tony Rebello (India), Horacio (Argentina): “May a kind word, a reassuring touch, and a warm smile be yours on your birthday and everyday of your life. And may you give these gifts as well as receive them. Remember the sunshine when the storms seem unending.”

March 15

Our old catechist M. Velho from isolated Zela (220 kms. away) arrived. He had walk for eleven days to reach our place. He had to make a lot of detours to avoid landmines. For twenty one years the people are waiting for the missionaries. By God’s grace we’ll start again. That old catechist said in our meeting: “It often takes the storm to prove the real shelter. In the tempests of life let the Holy Spirit teach our soul to rest in the Lord and wait for His sure help... for patience means awaiting God’s help without doubting God’s love.”

April 4

There are more than ten thousand street children in Luanda. The non-government organizations, the Church and the Government are working together to help these children. Today we held a marathon for street children around the capital to call the attention of the people to collaborate in alleviating the suffering of the street children. In the afternoon we started the baseball season for the Filipino contract workers in Angola.

April 7

At Mama Chica’s house of the orphans, her beautiful daughter Tana was giving practical catechism for the orphans. She asked “What is life’s heaviest burden?” none of the orphans could answer. One old man, Paj Tonio, observing at the door, answered, “To have no burden to carry.” His answer has special meaning for some lazy orphans. Then Tana added, “Without distress to push as to be with us in trouble.” As usual let me end my letter with a heartfelt song for you.

Now is the Time

1). Tired of waiting for changes from above
Tired of seeing our brothers and sisters living in misery
Tired of hearing about ruins and much suffering 
Can we face these challenges of life’s reality?

Refrain:
Now is the time to wake from a sleep.
Now is the time to think and reflect.
Now is the time to work together and act.

2). Tired of knowing destruction of forests
Tired of seeing the exploitation of the poor
Tired of hearing unemployment and hunger
Here and now—what must we do?

Exclusive Interview with
By Fr. Malachy Smyth, MSSC
Editor of Columban Mission (Korea)

Photo Courtesy: http://kbia.org/post/state-free-press-myanmar

Some years ago Daw Aung Su Kyi was elected president of Burma. The military marched in, ignored the election, put Daw Aung Su Kyi under house arrest and declared Martial Law. Since then all the worlds has been watching. The editor of MISYON’s sister paper in Korea, Fr. Malachy Smyth, went through a similar trauma under Marcos, should be sensitive now to the travails of the Burmese people.

Place. Rangoon – her residence – place of her confinement for six years.

Q. This journey you are on now, when did it begin?

A. It began in 1988, when the others of the Democracy Movement began their journey as well. We crossed paths together.

Q. What has it cost you in personal terms? Your husband, the children?

A. No more than it has cost other people who are involved in this movement. There are many people who have left Burma in order to pursue the movement for Democracy. They have left their families behind and for these people especially it is very difficult for then to keep contact or communication with their homes. Some of then have been out of touch for years. I am not in that position so I am far better off.

Q. What gives you the courage and the strength to keep going? Is it faith in yourself, in the people?

A. It’s a lot of things. I think it is ultimately the faith in the power of good. The power of justice, the power of love, the power of positive feelings. I think that is what it comes down to in the end. I could say it is because of the way in which my father and other leaders have inspired me. Because of the courage and dedication of my Colleagues. But it all comes back to the same thing, because they also believed in the power of good, the power of justice. So I think ultimately it is that.

A. I don’t think so, I have never felt that it is more difficult for me because I am a woman or less difficult for men and for women when they are involved in a struggle against an authority, a regime which is very, very harsh.

Q. Your time of confinement, the must have been very difficult for you? How has that changed you?

A. I don’t think that was difficult at all. People go on a lot about how difficult it was for me, of course, it was not easy because it was not what one would call a normal situation. But I was living in my own house. As you can see it’s not the most comfortable hose in the world. Yet it’s a lot more comfortable than prison. I sis not find it particularly difficult to be isolated from others. I had books, I had a radio which kept me in touch with the outside world. And naturally I worried about my children but no more than anybody in prison would.

Q. Do you believe in the power of people to shape their own tomorrow?

A. Yes, of course. I do believe in the power of people. But first the people have to be aware of the power themselves. Only when they are aware of their own power can they put in to active use.

Q. how would you critique the Culture here? Is it long suffering, complacency?

A. The people are certainly not complacent. They are very dissatisfied with the way things are. They are not all happy. But I think they are lacking a little in confidence in themselves. They need to be taught of the power of the “parlours” so to speak.

Q. Is there any element in Religion inspiring the people during these difficult times?

A. Well, I can only speak as a Buddhist. The majority of people in Burma are Buddhist and Buddhism does teach us to find serenity in the midst of trouble. So in that sense I think it strengthens us in order to face trouble. There are some who misinterpret Buddhism. They think it is a very passive religion. And there are Buddhist who think that Buddhism enjoins them to be passive. But this is not so because the basic tenet of Buddhism is belief in Karma, and Karma is not fate as such. Karma simply means ‘doing’. All it means is that you will reap what you sow. You will be what you make of yourself. So in fact Buddhism is a very dynamite positive religion. If only the people would understand it in the right way.

Q. In your message to the Beijing Conference you said, “It’s not the prerogative of men only to bring light in this world.” Would you comment on that?

A. Well, men and women are equally capable of bringing light where darkness is. And love where there is hatred and so on. so I think women have a very important role to play. In fact, I have found thee role of women to be very outstanding in our movement for democracy. Some of our most effective leaders have said how much they owe to their wives, their women folk who have stood by them very firmly.

Q. The drumbeat of pressure is growing all the time, where do you think it will lead?

A. I think it will lead to democracy.

Q. Any message you would like to send our leaders? Any appeal?

A. I think the time is past when we can ignore what is going on in other people’s countries. You cannot say it is not our business because it is someday else’s country. We fully appreciate the importance of international opinion and international efforts to help us. Of course, we rely chiefly on the strength of our people here in Burma. One has to be self-radiant, but at the same time we recognize that the support and help of the international community can promote our cause effectively. We would like to call on all peoples of the world to help us achieve justice and democracy in Burma.

I was sick and you visited me

Photo Courtesy : http://www.royal.gov.uk/List%20Images/List%20images%202/PSSOW/EMP-4483534.jpg

A year ago Diana, Princess of Wales, died in a car crash in Paris.

Our readers know that MISYON has been carrying the campaign against anti-personnel mines for a long time now. So we were delighted when Diana, Princess of Wales, took up the campaign. It gave a very high profile image to the anti-mine work and highlighted the horror of 26,000 casualties a year. These casualties are mostly children, women and farmers. The Holy Father himself has singled out these weapons as been particularly inhuman when he said, “I should once again like to make a vigorous appeal for the definitive cessation of the manufacture and use of these arms called anti-personnel mines. In many countries of the world they compromise the return of peace over long periods of time because they have been placed either on the roads or in the fields with the intention of causing indiscriminate harm to a maximum number of people. In fact they continue to kill and cause irreparable damage well after the end of hostilities, giving rise to severe mutilation in adults and above all in children."

Fr. Efren and the Landmines

Diana added the landmine campaigns to her many other charities: drug addiction, the homeless, AIDS patients. In her anti-landmine campaigns she went to Angola where Filipino missionaries and our Misyon correspondent, Fr. Efren de Guzman, has so often reported to us [Angola Diary] the terrible maimings and killing caused by the landmines. In Angola Diana actually joined a de-mining squad and she herself blew up a mine. All precautions were taken but what she did was not without risk.
Jesus said ‘suffer the little children to come to me’ –but right before our eyes we see thousands of little children being maimed for life by these landmines every year. Diana did her little bit to save these children.

Near the end of St. Matthew’s Gospel (Chapter 25), Matthew answers the question: “When all is said and done, what is the most important thing for a Christian? In answer, he draws a great panoramic picture of Christ coming in Glory and dividing the whole world into two groups –sheep and goats. The sheep are those who have fed the poor, visited the sick and the prisoners, clothed the naked and surely those who have tried to end the twenty six thousand maimings and killings a year caused by anti-personnel mines.

The Diana Enigma

Princess Diana was no saint but she did all of these things that Matthew mentions and more. Surely St. Matthew had people like her in mind when he described that cosmic scene. One of the key points of the parable is that the people who do these good things may not even be religious persons. “Lord, when did we see you sick and visit you?” As long as you did it to one of the least of my brothers you did it to me. Come you blessed of my father and posses the Kingdomw prepared for you since the beginning of time.”

Fr. Brian Gore and the Landmines

The Australian Catholic Bishops sent Fr. Brian Gore to an international conference on landmines in Cambodia, one of the worst hit places.

Fr. Brian Gore, a Columban, said Australians sold work much harder at changing the Federal government’s mind on efforts to ban the production and distribution of landmines.

“Landmines are insidious in the way they kill people indiscriminately –and yet our Government continues to argue that they are a valid part of an army’s weaponry,” Fr. Gore said on his return from the conference in Cambodia.

“In Cambodia I visited an 18 hectare site which alone will take nine months to clear of landmines. It is very painstakingly and dangerous work,” Fr. Gore said.

“But as one area is being cleared, more landmines are being put down elsewhere. Both the Government troops and the Khmer Rouge are still using landmines.

In fact, people are now talking about a “landmine culture” developing in Cambodia. Criminals are using them now and they are even being used in disputes over land.”

“So much energy in Cambodia is being put into landmines –paying for them, laying them, digging them up, burying the dead and trying to patch up those who are maimed. I visited a factory which is turning out wheelchairs as fast as it can –but it can’t keep up with the demand.”

“Landmines are the single biggest obstacle to development in Cambodia –and the problem is even worse in some other countries.

Aid agencies and church groups in Australia are planning a campaign to pressure Canberra to change its mind, including a Day-of-Action in August.”

The countries which have not banned landmines are China, India, Iran, Iraq, Pakistan, (Russia) and USA.

The Philippines is one of those countries which have banned landmines.

It is possible that Diana did more than anyone elsoe towards banishing mines, ad Mother Teresa more than anyone else towards relieving staration, simply by giving the world images whose power was overwhelming and irresistible.

By Ariel Presbitero

Japanese Filipino

On her favorite porch in front of her little two-room house, day after day, 78 years old Donna Cypriana sits quietly and watches as the streams of people pass along her street. I sense a little flicker of joy in her face ad she spots me, her ‘Japanese’ friend, approach. (For some reason, Donna Cypriana and most of the folk in this part of Brazil think we Filipinos are Japanese.)

Keeper of the Keys

Becoming Donna Cypriana’s friend didn’t come easy. Her little world is this little front space and her sparsely furnished sala and kitchen. Her son, Honesto, a cook in the nearby naval base lodges with her at night and on an occasional weekend, a grandson comes to stay with her. Her most important office is ‘Keeper of Church Keys’.

No Priest, No Key!

Saturday is ‘catechese’ day in the Nova Canna community chapel. As the local lay missionary, I have been assigned the weekly catechetical class for the children. This, of course, involves using the chapel; using the chapel demands opening the chapel; opening the chapel necessities acquisition of the chapel key. Until I came on the scene, only the priest was permitted this privilege. Requests from anyone else fell on deaf ears. The spacious chapel building would be just the place for the local youngster to practice different games and pastimes, especially the “Capoiera” the African dance famous through out Brazil. But Donna Cypriana stands firm. No priest no key!

I Don’t Like Anybody

Having been appointed by the pastor to handle the ‘Catechese’, I should have little trouble prying the key out of Donna Cypriana’s possession. But that’s not the case. To her way of thinking only an ordained minister of God could hope to handle the boisterous ‘maleducado’ youngster of the locality. Later, as I got to know they young rascals. I could sympathize with the good lady. In my approaches to her, however, I had to summon all my diplomatic and charismatic skills to persuade her that I was genuinely ‘bonifide’ and that I really had been trusted with the ‘Catechese portfolio. At last, however, I could sense that she was beginning ever so slowly to trust me. Her pessimism persisted nevertheless. “I’m old,” “I’m sick” “I don’t’ like anybody.” “I dying.” “You are wasting your time here trying to knock religion into those ill-mannered ruffians.” Apparently, it’s only since coming here that she encountered this segment of Brazilian youth. Most whom come from very poor family backgrounds and live in appalling conditions. Only rarely do they attend school and their education’ is acquired for the most part on the streets. 

Too Young To Be Sad

Though Donna C. and I had more or less reached a state of ‘détente’ and mutual acceptance, this does not mean that weekly access to the keys became any simpler. Every Saturday, the deal had to be renegotiated. I think both of us saw through this little charade. The time taken over negotiations provided her with a longer interlude of ‘company’ to relieve the loneliness and monotony of just sitting and watching the passers-by as she patched odds and ends of tattered clothing. The bit of chat and the little jokes I managed to produce gradually started to bring a smile to her old face and I found her confiding in me more and more. Still, though, she continued to greet me with “I’m sick. I’m sad.” “Me too,” I kept replying. At first, this look her by surprise; “You sad?” she asked, somewhat crossly. “What have you to be sad about? You’re too young to be sad.” Gradually that became our regular exchange of greetings. She began to realize that she wasn’t the only one who could be sad. The mood of her life, as if a mini-miracle, seemed to change.

I Am Dying

One day word reached us that Donna was very sick and unable to keep her food down. She wanted a priest. My Pastor, Fr. Cyril Lovett, and I immediately rushed to her bedside and found her very weak. Before she would draw her last breath, she said, she wanted to confess and receive Holy Communion. As Father Lovett saw to her spiritual needs, the assembled neighbours through that she was about to leave them forever, when I approached her bed, she grasped my hand and drew me close to her, “Meu filho.” You think that she whispered, “Voce nao vai me-ver amanha porque estou morrendo.” (My son, you will not see me tomorrow because I am dying.) My heart began to break and tears welled up in my eyes. All I could do was sit weeping in a corner by her bed and gazing at her serene face as she fixed her tired old eyes on her favorite altar that bore the statue of the Virgin Mary and a picture of her Son, Jesus.
 
As I made my way home, I felt the deepest sorrow. I couldn’t reconcile myself to losing the precious friend I had so recently made. I had always thought that she still had some happy days in store for her with her loyal son Honesto. I begged God to give her a little more time.
 
Well, it seems that for once, Cypriana’s pessimism let her down. Two days later, when I got to visit her again, she was sitting up in bed and greeted me with a broad smile. The color had returned to her cheeks and her rebellious stomach had decided to call off the attack. The old Donna was back and looked like she would be with us for some time to come. 

God’s Joke

I have never had a problem believing in miracles and this very real one in particular reinforces my conviction. God had played a joke on Donna Cypriana. 

Japanese Friend Forever

I now look forward again to my Saturday meetings with Donna. I shall be disappointed if she is any less cantankerous than before. It will still take a lot of wheedling to pry the keys out of her possession. Somehow, though, I feel that her pessimism will have mellowed somewhat and her view of life and especially youth will be a trifle less jaundiced. One thing I am sure of is I will be her ‘Japanese’ friend.

By Fr Joseph Panabang SVD

Photo Opportunity

Fr. Victor, SVD and our parish priest in Kintampo informed me that a certain Belgian, Mr. Leo took their picture to send to benefactors in Belgium. I said, “Tell Mr. Leo to send my picture instead. It will be more effective since I look thinner and more pitiful.

Which is Heavier?

We reached the Yara River and it was neck deep. Then I addressed this question to the group, “Which is lighter to carry, the car or myself?” “You, of course, Father” they replied. “Then, carry me over the river and we shall leave the car here.” I said to their chagrin Not only King Solomon is wise.

Original Ingredient

I was resting in the village after learning a new local language. at the same time, I was watching a mother with her baby on her lap stirring with her hand the fufu (boiled yam) in a mortar. Suddenly the baby boy urinated and like a fountain the urine went straight into the fufu. The mother simply removed the part which got wet with the urine and continued mixing the fufu. Since then I always have an uneasy feeling everytime I’m offered fufu.

The Danger Cap

At the palace of the chief, I was fascinated by one man belonging to the royal family who was always proudly wearing his yellow miner cap even outside the house. The chief requested him to remove it because the priest is in the group. “Precisely, it is a danger cap,” the man replied before he respectfully took it off to the laughter of the crowd.

A Tale of Parasites

Bro. John Heckel, SVD finds it always difficult to convince the village people that guinea worm are contracted by drinking dirty water. Despite his clear demonstration, the people still believe that guinea worms come from the evil spirits. Learning from the nurses’ experiences in the rural areas, he also accepted the people belief but added something which the nurses did not: that this evil spirits places the worms in the river or any stream so that when you drink the water, you take the worms. But if we dig a borehole and cover it, the evil spirit cannot go and spread the worms in the water. That settled once and for all what was once an insurmountable problem all over Ghana. With boreholes everywhere, guinea worm is indeed on the wane. Working in the mission, at times it is wise to build on people’s beliefs and convince them from within.

I Shall Retaliate!

A Holy Ghost seminarian studying in Zaire (now called democratic Republic of Congo) came home to Kintampo for his vacation. At breakfast he shared this story. Idi Amin, former president of Uganda, was invited by the Queen of England. After dinner he said. “Thank you, thank very much, indeed. When you come to my country, I shall retaliate”.

By Sr. Angela Marie, RGS

“She stunned us with her perfection. Fresh from another galaxy, she radiated an untarnished glory. Everything about her was an intimation of the divine images. We took turns holding her greedily absorbing her baby scent, and nearly falling over from giddiness and joy.”
(Gloria Hutchinson, Praying The Rosary)

The above quote from Gloria Hutchinson who describes her first encounter with her first grandchild is a perfect description of every newborn baby, girl or boy, brown, black or white. When we celebrated the bi-centennial anniversary of our foundress, St. Mary Euphrasia Pelletier, and he special gift to our gift to our community, we celebrated this unique ministry to new born babies and their mothers and Grace Maternity Hospital. It is a very and privilege ministry to yawning, crying, feeding, sleeping, “grace –full” babies, radiant mothers glowing with joy, pride, beaming daddies, smiling grandparents, some excited siblings and happy visitors.

Amazing Grace

These tiny and precious gifts of god to our world, I call “Amazing Grace” To look at them is a prayer, a beautiful prayer in thanksgiving for life! There is something extraordinary about these newborn babies – they radiate a special glow that fills one with awe, peace and a quiet joy.

Perfect Miracles

Once in a while, there are anxious parents like the parents of the triplets who were born pre-mature and were underweight. We baptized them right away; they are now doing fine and consuming gallons of milk. There are also babies born with holes in the heart or who need a liver transplant. Their mothers need comforting and prayers. There are also mothers who need someone to listen to their joys, their anxieties and their dreams for their children. For the most part, it is always nearly falling over from giddiness and joy welcoming God’s perfect miracles!

Heart Attack

To be with the children is to have one’s heart soar and dance when bones knit and heal, and surgical wounds disappear; when legs and limbs grow strong, and smiling faces wave “good bye” and God Bless” it is also to have one’s heart broken over and over again when teary-eyed nurses inform you that the surgery was not successful; the doctor gave pretty three-year old Lizzie only four months to live, and baby Gabriel has gone home to God!

Courage

“I thank God everyday – each day my son is alive... and recovering from pneumonia,” one mother told me the first time I met her and her twelve-year old son who has been at this hospitals for several weeks. She is young and vulnerable-looking but she is cheerful, strong and brave. Her love for her son makes me think mothers are among God’s most beautiful creature. Her son has cerebral palsy.

Sad, No Dad

At the hospital, their is a very little sign of pain except on the parent s’ anxious faces as they talk with the doctors or watch the children. Their toys surrounding them, there are patients with broken arms or legs, toes or fingers caught in an accident, in casts; burns on skins, stitches on surgical cuts that they display to me to me with pried, they are a happy group, playing together or alone, there may be a lonely child, like the little blonde girl who was sad and confused because no one ever came to see her after she was admitted. She told me she has “no dad” but she has a “variety of fathers”.

Also Pain

The intensive care unit is quiet, almost like a chapel, the babies in their incubators, sleeping peacefully, breathing gently. There are rooms with patients stuck with needless all over their bodies, wires all over their beds. There are babies who have not yet celebrated their first birthdays but have had major surgeries to fix their heart with holes, or receive organ transplants. There in much pain in this ministry: a ministry of encouragement, companionship and friendship, healing and prayers, of waiting and hoping and giving comfort, with the children, their families, the doctors and nurses and other volunteers.

All a Prayer

To be with God’s children and share their pain and suffering, their hopes and their dreams is a form of prayer. I thank God that each difficulty, every illness is an opportunity to see Jesus at work to strengthen our faith, I thank God for bringing these people into my life – a life enriched with God’s amazing grace

a Filipino Sister and her helpers gives a lead

By Sr. Conception ‘Ching’ Madduma, ICM

Sr. conception ‘Ching’ Madduma ICM has been working for many years in India with the mentally handicapped. She runs a school and trains trainors and teaches parents how to look after their mentally handicapped children. Her expertise is in the education and care of persons with learning difficulties. In some cultures mentally handicapped people are seen as non-persons. Sr. Ching has had a long uphill road. Here we give a little picture of one of her many faithful co-workers, Mr. Shiv Hari Singh.

Mr. Singh

Imagine a very thin (almost emaciated –looking), not quite medium-sized Indian man. He has short, straight and flat hair-prematurely white for his 50 or so years of age. He is rustic in appearance, and one is almost distracted by the red beetlenut-stained teeth strikingly evident when he smiles. However, he is characterized by his clothing...always wearing a dhoti (light, white clothing worn by most Hindu men). It is the proper dress at home or at school for this assistant principal and lecturer of the Tilmapur Sanskrit vidyalaya (school), Mr. Shiv Hari Singh is my close acquaintance.

Reincarnation

Yesterday I had a most revealing conversation with Mr. Singh concerning the origin and function of the Tilmapur School and our ‘connection’ with it through our special educational unit. We have been associated with the village and the school for many years now and are always warmly welcomed and highly respected her. The reason? Mr. Singh says it is because the people in the village thinks that I am a reincarnation of their late Baba (master)! This Baba was well-known in the entire area because he used to care, heal and pray over people who were mentally ill and mentally handicapped. They say he was “Baba Ji’ and that I am that I am ‘Sanyasi‘(sister). And so they believe I am his re-incarnation! Mr. Singh insists it is so.

Hindu Health Group

Here, too, the Hindu believers have a traditional special group. Mr. Singh is associated with it; and so are we, unintentionally. The Association was formed to conduct various educational and social services for the community-all free services. They conduct Sanskrit School. There are cultural affairs (Hindu celebrations), medical services and rural educational services for all the people. They (the local Hindus) see our work with the handicapped as integral to the care of the needy people in the barren countryside villages. For example, under medical services at present there is no one but us who are providing free-of-cost education and care of the mentally handicapped (the job once done by Baba Ji).

Our presence and our work in the school helped in doubling the enrolment in the last six months. We have revived many of the Association’s services. This prompted.
Mr. Singh says; ‘All people in this area think you are the re –incarnation of Baba Ji, and that is why they have such high regard and respect for you! They would like you to become a member of the Governing (Hindu!) Committee.”

The Crucifix

That reminds me of our moving into the Tilmapur School compound. Mr. Singh noticed that the crucifix which I had been hanging on the wall of the classroom in our previous place for 15 years or so was nowhere to be seen. Actually it was inside my bag, but I hesitated on hanging the cross on the wall of a Hindu classroom. He said, “There is no objection because Jesus is also my God.”

Path to Holiness

Mr. Singh is most faithful in doing translation works, in helping us in counseling families, in services to people in need, in accompanying us so often over the blistering sand dunes along the Ganges, or in the heavy monsoons, and the cold of winter! His interest in special education never wanes. He search for the way to God! He likes to read the Christopher book, Three minutes a Day, which I gave in his search for the ‘wedding garment’ called faith. His sincerity will be rewarded, I am sure, by the Lord who is the Way. The Truth and the life.

“The mystery of those with a mental handicapped---and we say the same thing for all weak and rejected people—is that they are a source of life and truth, if we welcome them, enter into communion with them, and put ourselves at their service....They give (us) life and hope. In our world, with its divisions and hardness, often full of hate and strife, they teach men and women they way to trust, to simplicity, to love and to unity.” (Jean Vanier)

Someone once wrote of how important it is to have a deep faith of your own when you are living and missioned with people of other religions. It is the ‘rock’ on which the firmness of heart and the temple of Christ rests. I recall the words of one person giving advice to a friend who had to travel: “Put on the costume of the country you visit; but keep well the right suit of clothes you will need to go home in!”

By William Kwong

We went to Kuwait for greener pastures. We ended up as...

First, there was an explosion, rousing me from my sleep. Boo! Was that the elevator? it sure felt as if the elevator in the condominium where we lived suddenly crashed down to the ground floor.

Then the phone rang. I turned on the light and looked at the clock. It was 1:00 am. There wasn’t anything wrong with our elevator. It was something worse, as I found out when I answered the phone. It was the secretary of our big boss, the managing director, calling. “Sir, the Iraqis,” she said frantically. “They are attacking us! It’s war!”

War. I trembled right where I stood. It was happening... what I had feared these past weeks. It was always in the news: the possibility of a Gulf War, Iraq attacking Kuwait
With the political unrest in the Middle East, I had some apprehensions about accepting the job as general manager of the Toyota Company in Kuwait in 1989’. But to me, getting this plum post was the culmination of a lifelong struggle to make something of myself.

A Tragedy in the Family

I am the youngest of seven children. My father has a flourishing trading business in Butuan City. There he leased a space in a building that served as our home cum store. My father sold everything -- from hardware, to groceries, to textile and agricultural products like salt, copra and rice, the business was so successful that he was able to build a three story building twp blocks away from where we lived. He put up a grocery store in front, and a warehouse at the back of the building. My parents opted to stay in our old house. But believing it was bad luck that no one in the family was sleeping in the new building, he sent all of us seven kids to stay there with some housemaids to look after us. The building was inaugurated on November 18, 1960.
Shortly afterwards, the building where my parents were staying was gutted to the ground. Fire broke out reportedly from a bakery at one end of the building and spread quickly throughout the place. My parents, two housemaids, and our dog were not able to get out. I was only six and our oldest sister was only 13 years old when our parents died in that accident.

Our two grandmothers took care of us. But without our parents providing for us, we had to struggle to survive. I shined shoes and sold newspaper. My siblings and I even sold plastics bags in the market.

It did not help that I suffered asthma. Because of my illness, I had poor grades in school. But young as I was, I knew how to pray especially when I had attacks. When she was alive, my mother taught us to pray the Rosary and the novenas. She encouraged us to attend catechism classes in our parish church.
One day, after suffering a severe attack, I went to church, approached the Blessed Sacrament, and asked God to heal me. There days after, the asthma simply left me and I’ve never had an attack to this day!

No longer bothered by asthma, I was able to finish high school and despite my low grades I managed to win a scholarship and go to college. Shortly after I graduated from college, Delta Motor Corporation, the manufacturer and distributor of Toyota in the Philippines, hired me – first as a mechanic, then as a staff in the rally and sports section. After two years, I became a manager. And soon, at age of 24, I became a member of the Toyota Motor Group.

My job brought me to various places around the world. In 1983, my company sent me to manage the After Sales Service operations of Toyota in the United Arab Emirates whose central office was located in Dubai. There, I met a woman I was to marry, Erren who worked as operation executive to Europcar Dubai. Erren and I already had a child – a charmer we named Princess- when the offer from the Toyota Company in Kuwait came.

Toyota gave me an offer I simply could not refuse, at that time, I easily fell into temptations. I loved the good life, the night life, I loved the things money could buy. I accepted Toyota’s offer and left for Kuwait in January 1990. At first, I stayed in a hotel and then in May, I moved to a condominium. By July, Erren and Princess, then one year old, were able to come and join me.

And then this. Barely a month that we’ve been together and now we were in the middle of war we had nothing to do about!
I told my boss’ secretary over the phone to calm down and then hurriedly hang up. I called Erren and told her the bad news, she stared at me speechless, her face ashen with fear.

“Come, let us pray the Rosary,” I said, trying to comfort her. Together we prayed the Rosary amid the eerie roar of Iraqi planes approaching from a distance. Boom,’ Boom,’ the condo shook again and Erren and I scampered to the window to find out what was happening. We saw Iraqi fighter jets slicing through the dark sky heading towards the Kuwaiti king’s palace. They fired missiles, hitting a building along their path.

“My God,” I thought, “what have I done? I have brought my wife and my baby right into the middle of the Gulf War! I can never forgive myself if something happens to them!

Escape Plan

I would have gone out of my wits, had the phone not rand incessantly. For a while there, I somehow forgot my own fears as my company officials, calling from their respective homes, conferred with me how we could secure our office.

We agreed to meet in the office immediately. I hesitated to leave my wife and baby. What if the Iraqis came right to our doorsteps and attacked them? I shuddered at the thought but I had an obligation to attend to. Reluctantly, I left Erren and the baby, and drove to the Toyota head office in Alrai.

The first thing we did was save valuable documents that would be destroyed if our building was attacked. To secure or sticks of spare parts, we hailed them down to the basement of our ware house and welded its steel door. Then, we copied important records in our computer into backup disks. We buried our valuables in an officer’s private property near the company compound.

Next, we immediately secured our people. The Toyota staff and their families totaled 89 people – 80 percent of whom were Filipinos and the rest Hindus and Pakistanis. We decided to gather everyone in a building Toyota had leased to be our staff house. Before daylight, rumors were going around that the enemy soldiers were already rampaging on the city streets. To protect our women and children – should the soldiers come barging into our building we put all the men on the first and second floors, married women and the children on the third floor, and the single ladies on the top floors.

Immediately, we gathered to pray for our safety. Most of us Filipinos were Catholics although there were some Protestants and Born Again Christians in our group. Then of course we had the Hindus and the Muslims among the Pakistanis. We Catholics took out a crucifix, images of the Sacred Heart, the Sto. Niño, and Our Lady of Perpetual Help, set up an altar, lighted some candles, and began our daily Rosary and novenas. Some of the non-Catholics joined us, while others opted to pray by themselves in other rooms. I told them it was alright, , but I suggested that we pray at the same time, even we prayed differently.

Then, I began, to think of our escape plan. How do you move 89 people together, amid the chaos of war, out safely to an airport where they can get a flight back to their homeland? The impossible task fell squarely on me as general manager of the company.

I gathered seven of my most trusted managers and we discussed how we could escape how we would escape out of Kuwait.
Our first option was go to Saudi Arabia. It could have been our fastest way out, because Saudi was just three hour’s drive from Kuwait. However, we heard the roads to Saudi were littered with landmines and that the Americans and their allied forces had set up their armory at the Saudi border. That meant we might be caught in the crossfire between the Americans and the advancing Iraqis.

Our second option was to go through Iraq itself and pass through the neutral zone up to Jordan where we could petition our respective embassies to fly us home.
We decided to go to Jordan. It was not going to be an easy journey. We would ride in our company vehicles and drive through our embattled city streets, then negotiate a 1, 500- mile stretch of desert land under the searing sun. It was a very dangerous trip, as we might encounter enemy soldiers along the way. But our third and last option was to stay and suffer the war.

We decided to escape. But when would be the best time to do that? We didn’t have a clue, we prayed some more, asking God to show the way. One day we were all gathered in the prayer room, when many of the people kneeling in front – about 30 or 40 of then – suddenly stood up, all to see what the commotion was all about.

“Look,” they were saying, “look at the candle!” and I saw it. One of the big candles on the altar had melted and formed into what looked like the image of Mary holding the Infant Jesus. We asked each other, “What could this mean?” We then noted that this was the ninth day of our novena. And realizing that, we knew we had received the sign we were looking for. It was our time to escape.

“Come on,” I told everybody, “pack up your things tonight. Bring all the food and water you can carry. Tomorrow, we go.”

That night, as we packed our things, Erren quietly told me, “No matter what happens, just save our baby!” I hugged her and together, we cried. (to be continued in the next issue.)

In our last issue we began the story of the remarkable escape of a group of Filipino employees of Toyota from Kuwait City as they fled the incoming forces of Saddam Hussein. We stopped where they were just about to leave. The story now continues...

As early as 5:00 a.m. the next morning, I went to the Philippine Embassy to inform the embassy officials that we were leaving. I submitted to the names of everyone in our group – an important information should we need to be accounted for.

When they found out we were escaping, the officials asked me if we could bring along the wife and two children of a labor attaché. The labor attaché was on an assignment in another country when the war broke out in Kuwait. I knew it was dangerous for us to bring along diplomats or their relatives because t this point, they no longer had diplomatic immunity and were hostage targets by the enemies. But it would have been so cruel to leave them behind. So I agreed to bring them along, and just took precautions that they would not be identifies as a diplomat’s relative. And so we prepared to go.

A long, Dangerous Journey

My family and one other family would lead a convoy. This included two Toyota Crowns, one Toyota Cressida. Two Hi-Ace vans, one coaster, and one Kia pride pick up. I assigned a prayer leader in each vehicle and we agreed to pray non stop until we reached our destination. Before we felt, we Catholics prayed rosary and I noticed the non- Catholics prayed with us. Then, we were on our way.

We passed through the city streets without trouble. But when we reached the dessert, our ordeal began. Outside, the temperature was 50 degrees centigrade. It was so long a ride that we consumed our food and water half on the way. Hungry and thirsty, I looked out on a stretch of arid sand. And I remembered stories we heard in the city that many of those who had gone ahead of us to escape the war had died in this desert.

“Lord,” I prayed in my mind, “please do not abandon us here. I am not afraid. I saw in the movie The Ten Commandments that when the Israelites escaped Egypt, and they were going hungry in the desert, You sent down manna from heaven. Lord, I don’t expect food falling from the skies, but please, show us where we can get food and water!”

I looked out once more, as far as my eyes could see, and I saw nothing but a sea of sand. Then, after a few minutes, out of nowhere, I saw a woman approaching us. I stepped on the brakes and greeted the woman in my broken Arabic.

She greeted me back in a different dialect. My heart skipped a beat, “We don’t speak the same language. How can she understand me”?
Undaunted, I asked her, “Where can we get food?”

She made some gestures, and I knew then that she understood my question. She motioned us to follow her. She led us to her house, a shack in the middle of the desert, and there she gave us food! It was not much but it was better than nothing. At least it buoyed up my people’s already sagging spirit. I easily pulled out some cash in my wallet and paid for the food, thanking the woman profusely.

Obstacles at the Iraqi Border

We made it to the Iraqi border! But there, we faced yet more obstacles. First, we had to report to the Immigration Office, a few kilometers away form the border. As we approached the building, we saw Iraqi soldiers handcuffing two Europeans. They dragged the foreigners into their military jeep and drove away. Earlier, we heard on our car radio that foreigners were being taken as hostages. We felt sorry for the Europeans and once more, fear gripped us.

I gathered my managers and told them to get everyone’s passport. I would go alone inside the Immigration Office and apply for exit passes for all of us. As soon as we gathered all the passports, my manager and I held hands together and prayed before I walked to the door.

At door, a guard was trying to control a hoard of refugees. They were pushing and shoving to get to the counter where immigration officials were sternly scrutinizing everyone’s travel documents. I don’t know, but after praying with my managers, I felt certain calm amid the chaos. Confidently, I walked to the guard at the door and asked him if I could talk to his boss. He led me to one of the immigration officers!

I talked to the officer in Arabic, requesting for our exit passes. Without much ado, the officers promptly stamped out passports! When I got out of our building, I saw my people still huddled in prayer. As I walked towards them, they all looked at me anxiously, their faces all pale. Careful not to catch any attention, I whispered to them, “Don’t make noise about it....I got our passes.  Now, just move slowly to our vehicles, without  fuss."

"Thank God," one of my managers sighed, as we all quietly inched our way back to our vehicles.  Yes, God defineitely had a hand in our getting our passes so quickly. You see, many people in the immigration office had been waiting for their passes for three weeks or so. I know we wouldn’t have gotten ours had we not prayed and asked God’s help.

But we were not out of the woods, or shall I say the desert, yet. From the immigration office, we had to pass next to the Iraqi Customs Office. There a customs officers checked all our luggage and allowed us to carry them all in. but what he said next nearly floored me.

“You leave all your vehicles here” he said. “What”? I said, hardly believing what I just heard. “How are we going to get out our destination?” I complained, and then pleaded, “Sir, please let us have even just one air-conditioned van for the children. Pity the children. It’s so hot in the desert..."

Without a word, the officer grabbed me by my shirt and dragged me a few yards outside his office. He pointed an AK47 assault riffle at my stomach and snarled at me, "Mister, one more complaint and you’re dead! And not one of your companions will get through!”

Then, as quickly as he grabbed me, the officer released me and shooed me out of the Customs building. Shaking all over, I went back to my people and told them we had to let go of our vehicles. So there we were standing in the middle of a long, seemingly endless highways, the desert all around us, our vehicles gone.

“Let us pray”, I said. We started praying the Rosary but hardly had we finished the first decade, a huge Mercedes Benz truck came rolling and stopped right in front of us.

There were two men in the truck the driver and his companion who got off the truck and approached us, as he walked towards us, one of my managers said, “Boss, this much be our ride. Notice how this man looks..."

Then man was 50 or 55 years old, well built, 5 feet 11 inches tall, with long dark brown hair, and sporting a beard. “Yes” said another one of my colleagues, "he looks like St. Joseph. This has got to be our ride!”

And so it was. The man came right up to us and offered us all a ride! And – you wont believe this – the Mercedes was a double-cabin type truck, and air-conditioned, too! The man kindly let the children and their mothers into the cabin, while the rest of my people, found themselves a place in the big truck. I took the seat next to the driver, thanking him endless for his generosity.

The Death Valley

Soon, we reached the neutral zone. We passed by what was known as the Death Valley because here war refugees died of hunger and thirst. Whenever preventatives from the United Nation came, the refugees scrambled for the food and water rations. People here killed even just for a glass of water.

On our way, we noticed on the other side of the road many vehicles returning to the Iraqi border. Some of the passengers were Filipinos and, recognizing that we were Filipinos, too, they shouted to us, “Go back! The Jordanian River is closed! They’re no longer accepting refugees!”

We were just four kilometers to the Jordanian border. We had already gone this far. God had protected us along the way and even provided our needs. Would He not let us into Jordan? We prayed the Rosary again. Afterwards, I talked to God once more: Lord, in The Ten Commandments movie, when the Egyptian soldiers pursued the Israelites, You parted the Red Sea so Your people could escape the soldiers. Lord, please open the Jordanian border and let even just our women and children in. but if it is Your will, please include us men, too. Lord, please touch the heart of the officer at the border so he will let us through.”

The guards at the border stopped our truck as we reached the checkpoint zone and officer approached us. I rolled down my window and greeted the officer in Arabic, “Assalam Mu Lay Kum. May the peace of our God be with you.”

“Mu Lay Cum Salam. And be with you also,” he replied. “Kip Halik? How are you?” I asked “Oh, I’m fine,” he said. “How about you?” “Inshallah Tamam. In God’s will, I’m fine, thank you," I answered.

“So what’s your intention?” he asked. “Oh, my intention is always good,” I said. “I only want to come to your country as a refugee because you know what happened to Kuwait. I have here with me my employees and their families. It is only through your county that we can all go home.”

Do you know that the border is closed?” “Yes, but if would will allow us, then we can go through.”

He turned and conferred with his fellow officers, then walked back to me. “Okay”, he said “You can get in.” Those were the sweetest words I’d heard since the war broke out! The officers signaled the guards to open the gate and they let our truck in. As soon as we were in, the guards closed the gate. We were all beside ourselves with joy! Thank You, Lord, I whispered, unable to control my tears.

We Filipinos headed for the Philippine Embassy while the others went their respective embassies. As my employees and their f families went into our embassy. I stayed behind to thank the truck driver. I offered to pay him, handing him all the money I got – 160 Kuwait dinar. He counted the money and the promptly gave it back to me. “Keep your money,” he said. “Someday, when Kuwait liberated, you can make use of it.” Then he went back to his truck and pulled out a big box. “Here,” he said, handing the box to me, “give this to your little girl and the other children.” I opened the box and, guess what, it was filled with fruits – apples, oranges, grapes and pears! I want to thank him and shake his hand. But he hugged me and said, “May God bless you all.”

He then turned, climbed up his truck and drove away. It was already night-time. I stood there waving goodbye, until I could no longer see the truck down the highway. And then I felt peace and a presence – God’s presence. I looked up at the night sky and again prayed, this time a thanksgiving prayer as I broke into tears. “Thank you, Lord, for giving us the old man...this ...” I stopped suddenly realizing...”your angel!”

Coming Home

Our Embassy officials readily helped facilitate our flight back to the Philippines. We also got in touch with the Toyota Company in Jordan and its president kindly attended to our needs.

Erren and I hardly had money when we had back to the Philippines. We had left everything in Kuwait. Now, we had nothing. For our home, we could only afford to rent a nipa hut that was very different from our five-star condo in Kuwait with its spacious rooms, swimming pool and health club. But I guess we can’t complain. We escaped from the Gulf War unscathed. We saved our baby!

Above all, I experienced God, His light shining on my loved ones, on the people under my care, and on me, amid one of the darkest moments of my life. And as if that was not enough. He gave me more. A pleasant surprise, really Kuwait was liberated on February 1991. Shortly after, my company sent me back to Kuwait to assess the damage done to our properties. Gloom enveloped me as I drove around the city. Dark ugly oil spills coated the streets. Billows of smoke rose from toppled buildings. The house of my boss was heavily damaged. I hated to see what happened to my condominium.

I heaved a sign of relief, though when I reached our place. The building stood erect. Since it was near the Palace and United States Embassy, the condominium, was heavily guarded. I requested a guard to le me checked my unit and he allowed me in, as he escorted me to my unit, the guard warmed me there might be nothing left in it.

“Before we came, looters had sneaked into this building and emptied the apartments,” he said. I bit my lips, preparing myself for the worst, as I unlocked the door of our house, “Alah Karim”, God walked by this place!” The guard exclaimed as we entered my unit. The apartment was intact. Everything in the house was right where I left it. I went around the rooms checking if something was missing. None, not even a single napkin was taken away! “Every apartment in this building was robbed except your,” the guard said. “you are most blessed by God.” I am. Truly I am.

Lord, You parted the Red Sea so Your people could escape the soldiers. Lord, please open the Jordanian border and let even our women and children in but if it is Your will, please include us men, too, Lord.

By Sr. Roslyn Rivera, CM

Some years ago there Carmelite Missionaries left the Philippines to assist in the Pastoral Youth Ministry in the Diocese of Ratchaburi, 130 kms. southwest of Bangkok. Sr. Roslyn Rivera describes their first tentative steps in a strange but hospitable land.

Hospitality

We spent the first few months studying the Thai language which was difficult. This experience brought a lot humbling situations. Like when I asked or the post office, I ended up at the train station. But hospitality towards the stranger. Another day I was driving to a village under the torrent of rain to bring something to close a family. The road was so bad that I did not realize how the close I was to the edge. I ended up by going into the ditch. The car got stuck. So I had to get down and walk back to the nearest house to asked for help. Two men readily came back with me after a few minutes, more people came on their bicycles and motorcycles, including children and women bringing with them a rope, hoe and spade to help pull out the car.

Culture

More and more each day, we get acquainted and familiar with Thai lifestyle, beliefs, culture and food.
Rice is basic to the Tai menu and they generally prefer hot and spicy food. Somtam, a papaya delicacy in the Northeast, is now served everywhere on restaurants and along the road side. As soon as we arrived in Thailand, we were brought to a native restaurant where seafood was served. After sometime a vegetable dish came which seemed to look like ‘huya-huya’ but we keep our dismay to ourselves and enjoyed the food.

Religion

One of the traditional beliefs that still plays a great role in their life is the erecton of a spirit house in their homes, public buildings and offices. They would offer food to the spirit dwelling in it so that it will remain contented. Their burial rite is a festive affair and the place of the wake is usually decorated with numerous lights. The Thais have a pride n their national identify that springs from a long adherence to tradition.

Pastoral Work

Sister Antonia Cazar and Cresencia Lopez are involved in the pastoral ministry, reaching out to the people around the neighborhood. They attend parish services of Buddhist and visit families and the hostel. I take charge of a small hostel owned by the diocese which provides safe and decent dwelling to girls who come from far and poor provinces and are studying at the Teachers’ College. Our small Carmelite community is becoming a leaven; a joyful family living in Christ.

To be witnesses

We ask the Lord to continue journeying with us. May He bless all our works that we may give witness to the Good News in this Land of Smiles.

By Sr. Marie Fay, SSC

This little story is typical of what so many missionaries do in far out places. This one had a happy ending. It was made possible because in the past people at home made sacrifices and sent help to Sr. Marie. We thank you for this help.

Victor’s home is in a village called Chiriac, high in the Andes mountains above the town of Recuay where we Sisters live. He lives with his mother and father, an older sister and their grandmother in a little shack n a very small farm.

One day h woke up crying, there was a searing pain in his hip. He had fallen off their donkey some time before and hurt his hip. How the pain was much worse. He had developed esteomyelitis, a painful injection of the bone.

The only place he could be treated was in Lima, a day’s journey by bus form Recuay. Victor’s parents were not able to afford the bus fares or the clinic expenses. His mother came to us with hope in her eyes that her son would one day be well again as she pleaded, “Sister, please, will you help us?”

Because of our good friends back home making sacrifices for us and sending us donations, we could say, “Yes, we will.”

For four years now victor has been in and out of plaster casts, in and out of Lima clinics. Every time he came back home his mother, who is tiny herself, had to carry him on her back for miles under a blazing sun up the narrow trail to Chiriac, and across rivulets. His father continues eking out an existence from the small farm. Still, every time they came for the travel money, they bought us a few fresh eggs or potatoes.

Last year after one of his operations, Victor wrote me a letter. I want to share this translation of it with you:

My very esteemed Sister Marie, I have the pleasure of greeting you lovingly, and with my short salutation to send you the following words:

Sister, here I am in good health, thanks be to God. I have recuperated quite a bit. Now happily I don’t have pain, I had pain when they operated on me and for about a week after. But is eased off little by little. Now it’s only the plaster cast that itches me!

Sister, I am grateful to you. If it weren’t for you, I would be dead and in the earth a long time ago. I always pray to our Lord for all the sick and the prisoners.

Sister, they took blood tests here and told my mother to go to the Blood Bank on the other side of the city. She gave her blood for me. I’ll say goodbye with a big hug and a kiss on the forehead. Chau, Chau, Victor.

This year Victor made his confirmation with ninety five others having attended the weekly classes for six months. He is back to school, too, which means walking up and down the trail from Chiriac to Recuay. So the dream his mother had for victor came true

By Sr. Josefina Santos, SPC

A Filipino Sister makes a pilgrimage to China and reports on the difficult situation of the divided Church.

No in my dreams did I ever imagine myself walking on Chinese soil. If someone had told me when I was a child that I would one day see China. I would have said. “You must be joking.” And yet this impossibility became a reality on August 21, 1996 when I set foot in Beijing, the heart of China, with a group of 53 parishioners of St. Margaret’s Church.

Things have Changed

In Beijing, we saw the usual tourist spots: Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, the Great Wall, the Heavenly Altar, the Thirteen Tomb of Ming Dynasty. Having had prior permission from the Chinese religious authorities, we were able to visit the Immaculate Heart Conception Cathedral (the first Catholic Church in Beijing), the savior Cathedral, and tomb of Matteo Ricci SJ, as will as the China Catholic Institute of Philosophy and Theology were Mr. Anthony Liu Bai Nian, Vice President of the Chinese Catholic Patriotic Association, explained to us the Government’s policy on religion. At Saviour Cathedral, we were warmly welcomed by Bishop Fu Tieshan, Bishop of Beijing. What was remarkable was that we were allowed to hold the Eucharistic Celebration at the main altar of these churches and seminary .whereas tern years ago, our parish priest, Fr. Peter Leung, said he could only celebrate Mass in sacristy.

'New' Religious Sisters

Accompanied by a lady government official in Shanghai, we visited the beautiful St. Ignatius Cathedral, the famous mountain Shrine of Our Lady of Christians at Shesba, a house of formation for Sisters, a convent of old Sisters, a home for old consecrated virgins, a printing press and a research centre run by the diocese. We were lucky to meet the Bishop of Shanghai, Bishop Jin Luxian, at the Convent of the Presentation of Our Lady, home of the old Sisters. ‘New’ religious Sisters however are being formed in another place. We were told that the old and the new Sisters cannot live together, and that the Superior and the Novice Mistress of the new generation of Sister received their religious training in the States.

The mere fact of being in china in my religious habit stands out among the conflicting emotions that I felt. It is with a deep sense of achievements that I with five other Sisters (including Sr. Marie Noel Aranda from Iloilo City) walked the streets of Beijing (especially the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square) and shanghai and met with Government officials in my religious habit. Even without words, I felt that just my very presence was a witness to the many people we meet that God exists. For many, we were probably the first religious Sister that they have seen and identified as such

Our presence elicited curious looks and some amusing responses. Those who recognize us immediately greeted us with delight. One made the sign of the cross; another put his hands together in a gesture of prayer. Others requested us to have photos with them while some outrightly asked us who we were.

Divided Church

As a missionary, being called being to witness to this great people with an ancient history and culture is truly humbling and challenging. The vast majority of the new generation of China today has grown up without the knowledge of God. The Church itself is divided: one part controlled by the State having no link with the Holy Father, and the other, underground. But there is hope. The faith planted by the first missionaries is still alive. The great cathedrals and churches which survived the revolution symbolize not only the past but also the future the Church as well. On one side of the wall in the modern church of Christ the Kings in Shanghai is an impressive larger-than-life mural of the Good Shepherd with His sheep for me that picture is a sign that the stray sheep will one day come back to the fold. Then there will only be one flock and one Shepherd!

Meeting the old Sisters in shanghai also left an unforgettable impression on me. My first reaction, of course, was delight, but their living conditions moved me so much to pity. About 40 Sisters in their 70’s or 80’s live in this crumbly old two-story building, which is situated near the cathedral.

Simple Life Style

The old Sisters, dressed in poor peasant costumes were having their secondary meal when we arrived, though it was only little after 11 am. To communicate we somehow managed with our broken Mandarin French. Fortunately one of us is fluent in French. Sisters of the same Congregation (Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul, Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, and helpers of the Holy Souls) sat on wooden stools around square wooden tables. Each had a meager portion of rice, vegetables and meat on white tin plates, but there were no glasses nor cups at all. They probably drink somewhere else later.

Back in Hong Kong, my pity was changed to admiration. Are they really to be pitied, I reflected? Perhaps, I living a very comfortable lifestyle, am the one to be pitied more. Perhaps they are saints, hidden, but nevertheless real.