By Fr Edito Casipong CICM

Fr. Edito Casipong, CICM is a Filipino missionary assigned in Haiti since 1994 and now serves in the Parish of St. Louis on the island of Gonave. Here he shares with us how important it is for missionaries to take a break once in a while.

Becoming a workaholic is one of the dangers that face many priests and religious in the world today. These are people who have a strong compulsion to work and tend to feel guilty when they are not doing something. I can’t be sure of the reason or reasons – perhaps they are occupied or even fixated on the “urgency of the kingdom”. This urgency demands an immediate and decisive response, without delays or excuses. As the gospel of Luke says: “No one who puts the hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the Kingdom of God.” (Luke 9: 62)

There are very likely many other reasons as well. Yet the reality remains that we are limited. We do tire; we do get burned out.

Day off for laborers

Aware of this reality we, the pastoral team of La Gonave, decided we needed to “waste” some time. We are a team of eight people: three CICMs, three Brothers of Incarnation, and two diocesan members – a brother and a deacon. We agreed to set aside one day each month for this purpose. Each parish takes turns in being responsible for the plans of the day. All our members are convinced that recreation is an integral part of our pastoral and missionary involvement. So we give it a significant place in our ministry.

The island of La Gonave is approximately 354 miles long and 9 miles wide. It is situated about 15 minutes west of the national capital of Port-au-Prince, La Gonave has two parishes: St. Isidore is located in Anse-a-Galets, which is on the northeastern side of the island, and St. Louis King of France, which is located in Pointe-a-Raquettes on the southwestern side.

Beach escapade

Last December it was Anse-a-Galets turn to show its talents and creativity in organizing that very important and most awaited recreation day. They proposed that we go to a beach on the island called Point Sable. A two-hour distance by motorboat, the beach was ideal because it was situated right between the two parishes.

Away from the real world

The place was marvelous, uninhabited and beautiful – a kind of paradise. The white sand and the crystal-clear seawater were breathtaking. Everyone was glad to see each other. There was a mood of celebration. The provisions were brought ashore, a fire was lit, music was played…the real thing had begun. We danced, cracked jokes, laughed, ate, sang and swam. The sound of Haitian music (calledcompas) and the semi-wild but still cultured noise of the recreation echoed from both ends of the beach. The whole place was filled with a festive spirit.

Here, we were all very at ease. There was no pretense, no masks, no role playing – just ourselves. We were all happy and free from all problems and concerns. We also felt a deep communion with each other, with nature and with the Creator.

Battery recharged, relationships renewed

As all beginnings have their end, at around 3:30 pm everyone started to prepare for home. Although tired and exhausted, we returned home with great contentment and renewed energy and enthusiasm toward resuming our pastoral and missionary activities.

Rejuvenation is so important. It truly gives one the opportunity to refresh relationships, rebuild the spirit and review our commitments and how we approach them. We are rejuvenated and ready to serve once again!

Salamat sa Missionhurst

By Sem Jun Estoque

Nowadays young people are taking longer to mature. Those going for the priesthood are no exception. The Philippine bishops have set up a special seminary for those who decide later in life to become a priest and are already professionals. Jun Estoque has taken this road and tells us all about it.

The very first time entering the seminary came into my mind was when I was still in fourth year high school. Before the last quarter of that year, the Columban Fathers, led by Fr. Michael Martin, came to our school, Kabankalan Catholic College, and made a vocation campaign. Twelve of us from our batch decided to take the examination conducted in Himamaylan Parish. Soon after we were informed that six of us passed and will be qualified for the search-in the following weekend. During the search-in, the late Fr. Edward Allen, together with Frs. Brian Gore and Michael Martin, interviewed us. The last stage of the discernment was the live-in to be held at the Columban House in Batang, Himamaylan. Unfortunately we were not able to attend because of our tactical inspection in school. We then told each other, “We are not really meant for such vocation.”

All roads lead me to priesthood

However, my contact with the Society did not stop there. Time passed, I entered college and finished my Bachelor’s Degree in Elementary Education. I worked in our Diocese as volunteer Diocesan Youth Coordinator for several years and was offered a teaching opportunity at Kabankalan Catholic College. During these years, the desire to enter the priesthood had once again been triggered. I can say that my work in school and my involvement in the parish and in the Youth Commission allowed this search of vocation to nourish and develop.

After seven years I decided to approach the then Bishop of Kabankalan, Most Rev. Vicente M. Navarra, D.D. and told him that I had decided to pursue my plan of entering the seminary. This delighted him. It was through him that I got to enter the Holy Apostle’s Senior Seminary in Manila, a seminary that caters to the needs of the so-called ‘late vocations’ – those men who have earned a college degree and still wanted to serve God and his people through priesthood. I was at first hesitant. The Seminary was too far, it would require a lot of adjustments, not to mention the distance from the family. But Bishop Navarra told me to just try it.

It pays to be patient

I did inquire but the examination was already over and I had to wait for another year. So I went on with my teaching job, looking forward to entering the seminary the following year. While waiting, various experiences and opportunities came my way which became my source of encouragement.

Before I knew it, I was already heading for Manila for the examination. When I went home after several days, the result from the seminary was already sent. I immediately opened it and to my great delight, it said that I was accepted for the next formation year.

My parish priest, Fr. Baltazar Bandua, was the first one to know about it and then I immediately went home and informed my parents about it. Mixed emotions were felt at home. On this year I left my teaching job and went to Manila for the seminary formation.

Designed for latecomers

Holy Apostles Senior Seminary was indeed fit for a professional like me. This was the response of His Eminence Jaime Cardinal Sin, D.D., Archbishop of Manila, on the challenge and the call of the Universal Church to establish and develop institutions destined for the formation of those who are called to the priesthood at a more advanced age. An institution that with the help of the bishops of the region or of the country be planned and equipped to correspond fully with their established purpose. We were ten in the batch that were accepted, all coming from different dioceses of the Philippines with various cultural upbringing and professional backgrounds – engineers, educators, dentist.

To really live up to the call of the formation, we are living according to the four pillars of formation known as CASA Formation – Community Life, Academic Life, Spiritual Life and Apostolic Life. Each of these pillars complement with each other. In my four years in the formation, I saw that all of these pillars are attainable if being coupled with openness and acceptance of one’s limitations.

Letting go of comfort zone

The very first thing that I encountered in the seminary was the difficulty in adjusting with the new environment as compared to the one outside the seminary. There was that pain of separation. I had to let go of my personal career, my comfort and security in my family and friends. There was also this challenge on how to accept the limitations of my fellow seminarians while trying to face my own limitations, too. The cultural differences and professional background also play a big part in the formation.

But indeed I can say that my decision to follow the Lord was really in proper timing. The call is always there, only that the response of each one comes in various degrees and stage in life. I might have responded long before, but it was not the right time for me. God’s call is always in the right time. As our seminary always carries the message, “It’s never too late to serve the Lord. You can still be a priest!”

By Cheri Mapa

I was brought up to consider myself part of a privileged class. Born into a rich landed family, from the time I was small I was used to getting everybody’s respect. We were also brought up by our parents in Christian values.

All eight children always had what we wanted and were allowed to develop our talents. I myself studied classic ballet for 11 years. Ballet was my true passion — all my life. I would never have given it up for anything in the world. But when I met the Focolare Youth for a United World, my life opened up to new dimensions.

By living the Gospel along with these young people, I discovered God as Love, and realized that His love makes all people brothers and sisters no matter what the differences – in status, class, positions. Ballet no longer filled my heart. My life started to open up to other people. Beyond the walls of my ballet studio, another world was waiting to be discovered.

My concrete step

To do something concrete for the others, I started teaching catechism to children in my parish. I also took an active role in student assemblies in my high school and got involved with several youth groups. For some time, I had the chance to live among tribal people helping out in projects for their community.

Along with some friends, we regularly visited homeless families who lived along river canals or railway tracks. Once I was able to organize a dance workshop for their children. It was an unforgettable experience where I discovered that dance can be a gift, a way to share with many youths the joy, depth and beauty of this art.

Dance for Joy

A few months after my stint with the National Ballet Company of the Philippines, I had a chance to perform for the Pope at the World Youth Day in Manila in 1995. Elated while dancing for him, I wondered, “Will heaven be like this? Will I be this happy when I meet Jesus?”

Making a difference

Once we were planning for my 18th birthday, I took notice of the Gospel reading at Mass: “if you are about to hold a banquet, do not invite your friends, but the poor.” I thought, this was what God wanted from me! Why wouldn’t I prepare a party for children of poor families instead of holding a debut for myself? My family also agreed to this departure from tradition, and we organized a more special birthday party.

It turned out to be such a wonderful party that two of my friends also decided to hold a similar party on the occasion of their 18th birthday. A very elegant lady, a famous actress, present at the party was very impressed. From that day, she started helping us with our social action program in the neighborhood where these children came from.

The other face of Jesus

There still was a big wall left standing before me and it was right at home: the wall between our helpers and my family. I couldn’t expect my parents to change the situation. Their lifestyle resulted from a tradition and culture that they themselves had acquired over time. It could certainly be changed, but the first step had to be taken by me.

By trying to love in a Christian way, I discovered Jesus was also present in our driver. From that moment on, I felt I couldn’t isolate myself on the car seat behind his back and read, sleep or listen to music. I started sitting beside him, conversing with him in order to get to know him and to show him that he was important to me. After some time he told me about himself, a very interesting life full of adventures.

Peace offering

In order to establish a new kind of relationship with the household helpers, I started making my own bed and cleaning my bedroom by myself. Sometimes I would give them simple presents as a gesture of friendship. It wasn’t easy for them to respond to my attempts to establish a dialogue with them. But one day, one of them came to me to ask advice on how to get along better with another helper. Here was my good chance to listen to her with all my heart: her problem was my problem.

The final wall

Another time the whole family ate out for lunch at a restaurant. On such occasions, we would give the driver some money for his lunch. But this time I didn’t feel right just letting him go and have lunch by himself. So I got into the car and we went to a McDonald’s restaurant nearby. This was something rather unusual to do for people of our social class, but I felt that by doing that, we had built a small piece of that new world I dreamed of. The last wall before me had finally crumbled.

I knew that this minute act of love didn’t amount to a great social revolution, but it was proof that change is possible. And as a matter of fact, that is what happened – to me, my family and our relationship with the people around us – without my having to say too much.

Salamat sa New City

By Bo Sanchez

When I was single, I did everything with lightning speed. I remember it took me only nine minutes to eat breakfast, shower, dress-up and get ready to drive off to wherever. No kidding. When I got married preparing to leave home takes me a little bit more time. (About one hour and fifty-one minutes more.)

Don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining. You see, my wife is a woman. (Thank God.) If I wanted to continue my quick pace in life, I should have remained single. Or married another guy, which would look strange especially that I am a preacher.

You see, I am a typical male that’s totally goal-fixated. Men are creatures of purpose while women are creatures of process. Let me explain it another way: As a man, I don’t care much for the journey – just the destination. So the shorter the trip the better. My wife, however, loves every inch of the journey. She walks leisurely, hums a tune, pauses for scenery.

That’s why each morning she enjoys a cool shower while I just try to get moist. And that’s why she treats as near-sacred her time in front of an open closet, choosing and re-choosing what clothes to wear. I, however, just grab what I wore yesterday. But more importantly this is the reason why my wife majors in relationships. And I don’t think much about them. Because relationships don’t have purposes, the relationship is the purpose.

Like if I sprint out of the house while stuffing breakfast in my mouth, my wife takes delight in a slow meal where food isn’t the only thing shared, but conversation, stories, warmth and laughter. She also has the time to regularly stop her work to check on the state of our friendship, she asks, “Do you love me?” When I respond, “Yes, I do”, she teases “How much?” After I tell her, “Very much,” she peacefully goes back to whatever she was doing. This dialogue is repeated about fourteen times in a regular day. Because of her, I learned anew an ancient truth: That friendships are the most sacred, most precious, most life-giving stuff of human life. They are our richest treasure!

My friends are many. God is my first Friend. I consider my wife to be my best friend. And I have my family and my community as wonderful and beautiful friends. As I waste my time with them and wonder whether I am accomplishing anything, I have to hammer this reality to my head: Friendships are not about goals or purposes or results. Because friendship in essence is the journey and the destination. I have now learned that relationships are more important accomplishments.

That time-efficiency is second only to love-efficiency. That nurturing friendship is the greatest thing that I can ever accomplish in life. In essence that’s my purpose for being. (Male thinking, hmmm?)

Salamat sa You can make your life Beautiful

By Sr Tammy Saberon SSC

Sr Tammy Saberon, a Columban Sister, was missioned to Hong Kong from 1982-1991. Then she was recalled to the Philippines to do vocation work from 1991-1996. After her renewal in England for one year she received her new mission assignment to Myanmar. Below she shares with us how she is.

Have you ever been to a place for the first time and yet you feel as if you were there before because the welcome you received was so familiar and intimate? This was our experience when we visited Myitkyina in Myanmar for the first time.

Out of Myanmar

Myitkyina is St. Columban Diocese. The Columban Fathers and Sisters worked in this place as missionaries in the 1940s. They worked hard to bring the Good News in the Kachin State, the Northern part of Burma, now Myanmar. One of the Columban ministries that greatly helped the natives was education. The Columban mission was cut short when the Burmese government in 1996 sent all foreigners and missionaries out of the country and took control of all the schools founded and administered by the foreign missions. All the Columban Sisters left that year while some of the Columban Fathers stayed behind for ten more years. Columban Bishop Paul Singtung Grawng, the first Kachin priest, since then, has taken the responsibility of caring for the Diocese for over twenty years without help from outside.

Mission re-opened

Early in 1999 Sr. Roberta Ryan, member of our Congregational Leadership Team, visited Myitkyina to see the possibility of re-opening our mission there. A few months later, Bishop Grawng sent a letter of invitation for the Columban Sisters to work in Myitkyina Diocese. Sr. Kathleen Geaney, our congregational leader, and her council considered the Bishop’s invitation by forming a Myanmar Mission Team composed of four members. And on March 26, 2001 Sr. Ann Rita and I left for Myanmar.

When we finally arrived in Myanmar, I knew that we had arrived in the place which was the home of the Columbans for many years and we were only “coming home”. The people welcomed us as if they were welcoming the same Columban Sisters who served and loved them years ago. When a little girl came up to me and gave me a bouquet of flowers, I could not hold back my tears.

Fruits of their labor

It was very touching when we met the former students of the Columban Sisters as they recalled their experiences regarding the dedication of the Sisters in their mission to the Kachin people. Certainly, they had sown the seeds while the local Bishop, the priests, sisters and catechists watered them and God made them grow. It is amazing how the local Bishop and the Church managed not only to survive but to spread the Good News. Today, Myitkyina Diocese has the largest Catholic population in Myanmar, in spite of the military regime. The good news is that the ceasefire between the military and the Kachin rebels since 1994 has never been broken so there is peace in the Kachin State.

Youth power

The Kachin people are simple, untouched by the sophistication of the western society. Their faith is pure and their zeal to spread the faith goes beyond the border of China with the help of their young people who continue to volunteer to go to the remote villages to spread the Good News. Young priests are assigned to remote parishes for ten to thirteen years before they get their renewal course abroad in places like the Philippines and Rome. The Columban Catechetical Center in Myanmar produced over five hundred professional catechists. We were there during the Silver Jubilee of Bishop Grawng and he gave recognition to these catechists. What is interesting was that out of the over five hundred catechists only 29 were women catechists. When asked why, their answer was because the catechists are sent to mission in remote villages in the jungles and they stay there for weeks while their wives take care of their children at home. These catechists receive little allowance but the community where they are assigned support them during their stay.

Since the day I was welcomed here in Myanmar, I knew I had come home. And just like the first Columbans who had come here years ago, I know I am going to have many delightful stories to tell.

The Church in Myanmar is very much alive. Brave, young missionaries go in over the mountains to China crossing the border to bring the Good News, despite many dangers. La Tawng was one of the catechists in Myitkyina Diocese. However he caught malaria and died during his mission in the mountains. His death was a great loss to the local Church but it has also caused many more youth to become mission volunteers. The Kachin youth volunteers leave their homes and families to serve for ten months up in the remote villages of the jungles of their widespread diocese situated to the east of China and west of India.

It is our delight to introduce to you this new section in Misyon – Our Hideaway.  A venue for the youth to express themselves and to share with our readers their mind, their heart and their soul.

We are inviting you –students and young professionals – to drop by Our Hideaway and let us know how you are doing.

 Cautious

By Anabelle Badilla

One weekend, my officemate and I were invited by a friend to take a break at Costa Aguada, a beautiful island resort in Guimaras.  It was my first time to travel by water in a pump boat for the whole one-hour and a half.  As we were docking, I kept admiring the clear, blue water and saying aloud how much I wished I could jump into it and swim.  But it would be impossible for me to do that as I have a terrible fear of deep waters.  I can swim but never in waters above my head.  My companions didn’t stop coaxing me to try it and reminding me that my other chance might not come anymore.

Promise me an ice-cream

I remembered the first time I joined in an inter-school essay writing contest in college.  I had always dreamed of winning in a writing competition and it just remained a dream, as I didn’t believe I could at all be capable of getting qualified – until that day.  I saw the invitation on the bulletin board in school and my classmates got more excited than I was about it.  They kept telling me I could do it and that if I didn’t, I could always join in another contest.  When my best friend promised me an ice-cream treat if I joined, I said yes.  But it was actually more of wanting to get over it once and for all.  The moment I set foot inside the air conditioned room, I was sweating endlessly, butterflies in my stomach almost made me puke, the pen I was holding seemed to have lost its weight and I couldn’t feel my feet on the ground anymore.  I was calling out to all the saints I could think of and promising God to be a really good girl if He helped me get through it.

I did get through it.  I landed third place – among the three of us that participated.  But it was all worth that dreadful first-time.  I got a trophy, a medal and a P300.00.

Conquering the unknown

And now I was about to have to try just another first-time.  I looked at my friends who grew more and more impatient and looked like they’re ready to throw me into the water.  I said to myself, “They’re absolutely not promising any ice-cream treat after this and I’m absolutely not having any trophy or a medal or 300 bucks if I get drowned here.”  But something inside me just wanted all this to be over. The brave may never live forever but the cautious never live at all, so goes that line in the movie,Princess Diaries.  Then as I made this life and death decision of jumping in that 50-feet, shark-infested (at least as I suspected) sea water, my world turned into slow motion, my heart throbbed like a drum…and off I jumped!

I had to let out a scream as soon as I did that.  Not of fright but of relief.  I was already floating in the seawater which I later found out to be just eight-feet deep.  I was alive. And happier. And braver.

In that instant I discovered that my fears often spring forth from my ignorance of what lies ahead or beyond.  I am always afraid of what I didn’t know, so I only stay where I think I’m comfortable and safe.  And because of this not just big things but even little but beautiful things in life pass me by – unnoticed.

The Good Harvest

By Gee-Gee O. Torres

It was a Sunday, but I had to get up early.  I crawled out of bed wiping the sleep off my eyes, grabbed my knapsack and mindlessly threw in my things, took a quick shower and off I went to wake Dad up, my ever loyal bodyguard and driver, who was still sleeping soundly like a child.

How could I?

As we were leaving the house, how I wished I didn’t have to go.  I had a stressful week, coping with all the deadlines in the office.  I just wanted to rest and sleeping for five more hours was exactly what I had in mind.  But how could I?  I was already on the road while the rest of the world was fast asleep.  Dad just drove down the road quietly, listening to the jazz music from the car stereo, without any clue of how much I wanted to go back to sleep.

Life’s beauty

I saw the sun slowly coming out of the velvet blue sky.  The vast green rice fields swayed to the rhythm of the gentle morning breeze, the same breeze which caressed my sleepy face.  All this beauty which unfolded before my eyes was enough to cheer me up.

Amay

Dad and I arrived in the farm.  It was time to harvest the palay.   The people had already started.  Each one minding his own paddy field.  I admired them for their expertise in the art of holding the scythe as it cut through the ricestalks.  At a distance I saw Amay, the ten-year-old son of one of our farm helpers.  He looked smaller than his age – a few inches taller than the palay, but he worked as fast and as briskly as his father who was just in the next paddy field.  It broke my heart to see Amay in this state.  At this age, he was supposed to be in school playing with the other children and listening to the teacher in the classroom.  His parents enrolled him in Grade I twice but he found it hard to pass the subjects.  So for obvious reasons here he was in the middle of the ricefield, helping his father bring home a few kilos of rice for their dinner table.  As I watched him I felt a sense of growing anguish that somehow his chance in life have been diminished before he has even begun.

Maybe

I walked down the rice paddies and distributed to the people the bread I had brought especially for them.  The people greeted me with a smile and said thank you. The bread I brought wasn’t much but it was enough to make them stop and take a little rest.  The day went on and so the harvesting.  Then it was time to gather the ricestalks and pile them in the middle of the field where a roll of plastic mat was neatly spread out.  Again Amay was on the go, a big bundle of ricestalks on his head which made it difficult for him to watch his unsteady steps.  As he laid down his load, he heard the thresher begin roaring.  I saw his face glow with a glint of hope – maybe tonight we would have special meal on our dinner table – fried fish on our plates.  As I watched him and as I watched the precious grain separate from the straw, I thanked God for a bountiful harvest.  A harvest which gave people life, hope and joy.

Smiling to myself I watched the heaven fold another day.  The sun was now quietly bidding goodbye, giving way to the moon to rule the night skies.  The day had gone so well.  So had I.  It was not just an ordinary day out in the farm.  It was a day full of discoveries – about myself and about life.  As I went to bed that night, I thought of the people in the farm, especially Amay.  I didn’t know exactly how but I now had a clearer picture of how I could help them.

P.S.  Send us your stories (at least 500 to 1,000 words) at PO Box 588, 6100 Bacolod City or e-mail it to us at misyononline.com  Don’t forget to include a photo of yourself.  It would make the difference.

By Carol Ducos

Fifty years ago, Zambales was slowly recovering from the destruction of World War II and insurgency problem was at its peak. It was within the main zone of conflict and operation. It was during this period that the Columban Fathers arrived and started organizing Christian communities. Most of the new priests were very young and were newly ordained, full of zeal to evangelize and transform the community under their care.

For a start, the Columbans focused on education whose core was Christian formation. When they started their mission, there were only two Catholic schools in the province. The Columbans put up high schools in parishes out of their earnings, from parish funds and foreign donations, and bought private institutions. This was how they acquired St. James School, originally named Subic High School, a nonsectarian institution established in 1945 and owned by prominent families of Subic.

On July 25 last year, the Columbans celebrated their 50th year in Zambales. This was also the feast of St. James. In this special occasion, the Columbans were honored with the blessing of the Columban Fathers Hall in St. James’s School. Each of the classrooms bears the name of a Columban priest who had served in the Diocese. Frs. Francis O’Kelly, Pernard Mulkerins and Fintan Murtagh graced the occasion. They were among the many Columban priests who served the people of Zambales. It was a very nice affair attended by Bishop Deogracias Iñiguez and many diocesan priests.

As the Columbans were redefining the meaning of faith by education, they were also transforming Christian communities. They organized the parishes and remote villages with the active participation of the people. They immersed themselves in the lives of our people, especially the poor, and learned to speak our language.

To our dear Columban Fathers, you had your share of patriotism in a foreign land you chose to serve – six Irish Columbans perished during the Battle of Manila in 1945. In Philippine history, they are known as the Martyrs of Malate. You left Subic some 25 years ago, but as long as the Church and the schools are here, the Columban spirit is here to stay. You have touched our lives and will always have a special place in our hearts.

By Jeri Westerson

“Don’t come back Catholic!” My husband called cheerfully to me as I drove away to the Benedictine Monastery for research. I guffawed. Who me? Catholic? I was a Jew in name only. I called myself an atheist and felt that way. I was raised in the tradition of American Judaism: a lot of religion but no faith. I was content. My life was going well. My marriage was great and we had a smart, loving son.

I’m a writer, but my current novel about medieval monks was foundering. The notion came to me to interview real monks to get a better handle on the main character, and so I got up the nerve to locate a monastery within a day’s drive. I wondered if I would be welcomed, not only for the frivolous purpose of writing a novel, but also because I am a woman and a Jew.

“Of course!” said Abbot Charles of Prince of Peace Abbey in Oceanside, California. “To really get the feel of it, how would you like to stay a few days as our guest?” Immediately I agreed, but worried about being in such an alien environment.

Disturbing reality

It was a long first day, I interviewed the monks, walked the grounds and familiarized myself with the reality of monastic life. But at the end of the day while I readied myself for bed, many ideas ran through my mind. I knew that these men found comfort in their utter devotion to God, and it struck me how completely they surrendered their lives to an idea and a Being that did not exist for me, I considered. What was I missing? Why did I feel so comfortable here and so alien with other Jews and Judaism? There was always something missing in the Old Testament. I couldn’t relate to its message no matter how much I pondered it. This, in itself, was a disturbingly frank revelation. It turned everything I believed about myself on its ear.

But wait a minute, I thought. Wasn’t this supposed to be about monks? When did this become about me?

Over my shoulder there was a metal crucifix on the wall. Years ago, the presence of such symbols would have made me nervous. I wasn’t nervous now. Was it a mature appreciation? Familiarity? Something else? It might have been the place, so quiet and dignified. It was also the monks: confident, certain. There is comfort in that, even to an outsider. It was in the midst of these strained reflections that it happened. It is difficult to describe in feeble human terms and I have tried ever since in many different ways. Plainly, it was this: There was a sudden, distinct feeling of an immense presence coming from outside and all around, but also deep within the empty shell of me. It prodded and pushed from the inside outward. A voice that was not a voice said two humble words, but did not actually use words: Wake up.

Tiny voice inside

In that instant the atheist, the Jew, knew with every ounce of her frail humanity that this voice was that of the Holy Spirit. Quite literally, it scared the hell out of me. I could now see the hollow emptiness with which I live my life; the reason goals, once met, had no real meaning; how one had to keep striving for the next thing, the next rush, and sometimes – though this was not part of my vocabulary at the time – the next sin.

My mind whirred with the incomprehensible. I simply couldn’t be thinking what I was thinking. Was I having a religious experience? Worse, was I having a Christian religious experience? But even back in the Divine Office the next morning, it was becoming difficult staying objective. “Behold the cause of our joy,” the monks chanted in the church, and I could not help but gaze at the modern Byzantine painting of Jesus behind the altar.

The sky was getting brighter through the windows behind the monk’s choir, but I still saw the sparkle of lights in the distance. The playful crows and crickets were loud in the early morning light. “I will hear what the Lord God has to say…”

Mind over heart

I had been an objective observer, documenting, listening and always writing. Yet later at Mass my objective heart and mind were inexplicably opened wide, and in flooded a newness of emotion that I was unable at that time to comprehend. I stood there and wept without understanding, without truly realizing the full magnitude of what the Holy Spirit had done as He slowly drew me in.

On the drive home I wondered what my husband – a Christian in name only – would think about these feelings I was having. I decided to say nothing. I knew I was impressionable and that the feelings would probably dissipate in a month’s time. All would be forgotten like an agreeable dream, and only the sensation of something pleasant would remain.

Reluctant yielding to truth

But to my surprise the feelings were more intense even after that generous month. Like a persistent salesman, God had gotten his foot in the door and now it was pried wide open. I finally confronted my husband. “Umm . . . I’ve been thinking about converting.” Dead space. It’s interesting how many configurations the silent face can go through with all its many muscles. Cautiously, he said, “You know that means accepting Jesus as the Messiah, right?” “Yes. I do. At least I think I do.” And then the next bombshell. “I’m … also thinking about becoming Catholic.” “Catholic?” My husband’s sentiments reflected my own. How could I accept being Roman Catholic? “Do whatever makes you happy, but don’t do it for the wrong reasons,” he cautioned, meaning I shouldn’t get carried away with my love of history and pomp. I had done my research. I knew that the Catholic Church was the apostolic Church, the direct line from the apostles, and all other churches from that. The Catholics also had a Mass every day. That was important. It meant they took it seriously, and now that this had happened to me in the way that it happened, I took it seriously, too.

But, Catholic? I began to re-read the liturgy I had accumulated for research for my book. I started to read the Gospels. A month went by and I realized that the only way to solve this once and for all was to go to Mass and talk to a priest.

I found the nearest Catholic Church, noted its address, and then hesitated. What was I doing? Was I going to turn my back on my ancestors, on all that I had known? Couldn’t I just be inspired to be a better Jew now that I believed in God? But I couldn’t shake the feeling that the ship had sailed. What did I believe?

Struggle of a lost heart

I drove by the church at every opportunity, even if my errand took me in the opposite direction. For a solid month I drove by that church. Finally, I got the nerve to go. I parked on the street, not yet willing to even park my car in the church parking lot. I crept in and sat in the back. The reading that day was from Paul about the conversion of the Jews. All right, already! I said to God. I’m here, aren’t I? And there I was again at Mass, tears of joy streaming down my face as they had been at the Monastery. Joy of the Mass, the words of welcome, the love and openness that I was just beginning to understand to be Jesus.

I went immediately to talk to the priest who, after a neutral conversation, gave me some books. Once home I pored over them. Everyone knows that Catholics are against this and that, but I never before wondered what they were “for”. With all my misconceptions and knowledge of medieval history, I – like many people – still viewed the Church in that medieval, stilted light. I honestly didn’t think with my liberal background that I could accept becoming Catholic. I’d start here, I thought, and then go “church shopping”, find one whose philosophies I could accept.

Thinking man’s religion

I leapt at Bishop Wuerl’s The Teaching of Christ and challenged it. “I bet Catholics don’t believe in this,” I said with some vehemence, and, when I looked it up and saw that they did, I frowned. “Okay. But I bet they don’t believe this.” Again, I was foiled. I read on. I was truly surprised – and incredibly pleased – to discover that the Church is indeed the “thinking man’s” religion.

This was not the Catholic Church I ever heard of. Where had I been? I couldn’t accept everything right away, though. Like faith itself, God reveals slowly, illuminating through experience, waiting for the ripe opportunities for acceptance. Much of it was very hard. It took a complete turnaround in my thinking. I attended daily Mass but had to go further. Growing more comfortable in the new skin of Christianity, I came to long for the Eucharist, but I also came to the realization that I would have to be baptized first. It is the reality of the Jew that he is a Jew at birth. To believe suddenly in Christ is a hurdle in itself. That, in my eyes, made me a Christian irrevocably. I had already been baptized with the Holy Spirit, I thought. All I needed now was a little water.

Old and New Testaments

I saw in the church bulletin something about adult baptism classes. Classes? At first I thought, “Why can’t I just go down to the river and do it?” Yet the more I thought about this physical acknowledgement which most Christians take for granted, I became extremely frightened. Once baptized there was no backing out. This was the Big Commitment. My fear and hesitation only made me realize how unready I was for such a step. My history gathered around me. The voices of my ancestors groaned in my ears. Never had I been so Jewish as when I thought I was giving it up.

But then Deacon Ron, the teacher of my RCIA classes, pointed out that Scripture has two testaments. It’s not that we abandon the old, he said. It’s that the new is the fulfillment of the old.

Finally, the spiritual bath

No wonder I couldn’t embrace the Old Testament before. It wasn’t finished!

Since I had started RCIA late, I was to be baptized at Pentecost. To bind me to this new journey along with the old, I asked my priest if it would be appropriate if I were baptized in my father’s Jewish prayer shawl. He saw no reason against it, and so I waited early in the church by myself, enveloped by my past while hoping in the future.

The baptism itself was startlingly gentle – no thunderclaps. It was receiving the chrism and then the Eucharist that overwhelmed me with emotion. I believe heaven smells like chrism. I could look back with awareness at all the stages of my life like a string of beads and how God led me to the only moment where I could accept him.

I sit in the front pew now, no longer the stranger in the back, and I take Communion with my Catholic brethren. My son was baptized six months after me, and two years later, my husband has expressed an interest in becoming Catholic. Today, I am a lector, a Eucharistic minister to the sick and homebound, the youth choir director, confirmation teacher, and am now in the process of learning to assist in teaching the adults in the RCIA program.

It feels like a lot. Sometimes too much. But I don’t worry. At last, I have faith.

Salamat sa THIS ROCK

By Sr Rosita Austria ICM

Sr Rosita Austria is a Filipino missionary working in a hospital in Congo, formerly Zaire. Three years ago, some anti-Angola government rebels followed into Congo and attacked the hospital where Sr Rosita and her fellow Sisters treated some Angolan soldiers who sought refuge after an encounter with the Angolan rebels. Below she tells us of that terrifying experience.

It was Sunday, November 28, 1999 at 4:30 am. Noises of heavy firing and falling glass windows awakened us. We heard voices outside shouting “Matar” (meaning “kill” in Portuguese). The Angolan rebels surrounded and attacked our hospital. Their reasons: the Congolese people allowed the Angolan soldiers in Congolese territory and we treated the wounded Angolan soldiers in the hospital. The Angolan rebels came for revenge.

Terror with the rebels

We hid under our beds, trembling with fear. The rebels killed two of the Angolan solders who were admitted the day before. Other patients were killed, too. They looted the hospital. They did not spare the operating room, the dispensary and even the little things of the sick. It was around 7:00 am when the firing stopped.

At gunpoint

Suddenly we heard a strong knock on our door. Flor, our Congolese postulant, opened it and she raised her hands up in fear. I was behind her. Before I realized it, the rebel had his gun on me. Trembling, I showed them my cross and the small statue of the Virgin Mary, pleading and crying. I could not believe it when after a few seconds of tremendous fear the rebel who was about to shoot us slowly put down his machine gun. The rebels then entered our room, took a can of corned beef, some cubes of sugar and quaker oats, then left.

The exodus

At 8:30 am we, together with our patients, managed to get out of the hospital. Flor and I were separated from the other Sisters. We just followed the village people in exodus, together with our patients. We all knew that the rebels would come back. So we had to hurry.

It was raining and we had to walk barefoot because of the muddy soil. My hands were sore and numb from holding on the thick cogon grasses and branches of trees as we trekked along. I tried repeating my mantra prayer while trying not to get my feet stuck in the mud: “Lord Jesus, have mercy on me…have pity on us…”

Grueling journey

We climbed mountains, we crossed rivers. I almost drowned in one river. The water was up to my neck and the current was too strong. We were tired, dirty, hungry and scared – but we had to continue walking. I was crying silently. I pitied the mothers with their babies on their backs and bundles on their heads. Men carrying their chickens, dragging their goats, even their dogs. I pitied those children looking for their lost parents; those parents looking for their lost children. We were a band of hungry refugees in the wilderness fleeing the Angolan rebels.

The people looked at me with pity as I struggled to walk. I was the only foreigner with them and they told me they were touched by my being with them in solidarity with their sufferings.

Free at Last

We finally reached a barrio – 20 kms away from Kimpangu – and stayed there to rest for two days, eating almost nothing. Meantime our Sisters tried all means to look for us. Finally they were able to trace us. Our Superior was able to negotiate with the military and on the third day in that barrio, Flor and I with our guide started again our journey to Nkwilu-Ngongo to meet our Superior. It was a joyful reunion. We left for Kinshasa, the capital of Congo, where all our Sisters were eagerly waiting for us.

Its been three years now and yes, it is over, but not for our African brothers and sisters. Forget not Africa, even if the media ignores it. Forget not our longsuffering brothers and sisters – the hungry, the sick, the dying.

By Fr Luis Sabarre OMI

The last year has seen the collapse of the Argentine economy and near revolution in the streets coming not from the poor but from the middle classes who have seen their savings in the banks destroyed through the collapse of the Argentine peso. But Argentina’s troubles began further back in the ‘80s when the ruthless military government introduced what was almost a reign of terror. One feature was the snatching away of people and making them disappear…sometimes by dropping them from helicopters into the sea. Everyone was scared and even the Church did not speak up as it did in the Philippines. However one courageous group of women, mothers and relatives of the ‘disappeared’, started their famous silent walk around the Plaza de Mayo which fronts the Palacio Rosada where the President resides. These women have become known as the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo. Fr. Luis Sabarre, a Filipino missionary in Argentina, takes up the story.

It was 1982 when I arrived in Argentina that I first heard about the much talked-about “Guerra sucia” or the dirty war. The last coup d’etat in the country on March 24, 1976 brought down the government of Isabel Peron, the legitimate successor on the death of her husband, Juan Domingo Peron, founder of the Peronist Party. Isabel Peron was the first woman president of Argentina. The military junta found her to be weak and unable to handle the government and to control the resurging unrest of the populace due to the constant threat and disturbances of the guerillas influenced by Che Guevara.

Military operations against civilians

With the military in control a series of massive operation started all over the country against university students, workers, professionals and religious people. Bombs and explosions, skirmishes were frequent occurrences during this period. This war against the so-called subversives was later on dubbed as “the dirty war”.

Lost People

On the part of the military government the war, they said, had to take place to save the country from chaos and restore the democratic process, then the situation would return to normal. The means they claimed were legitimate so they performed tortures and kidnappings, which brought worldwide attention to the famous “desaparecidos” – the missing or lost people.

Madres de Plaza de Mayo, they are the group of mothers whose children and relatives were victims of the military campaign who were either tortured, killed and dropped into the sea or into a common burying ground. Other victims, pregnant women, were sequestered and after giving birth were either set free or counted among the “desaparecidos”. Their newborn babies were then given away to military couples or taken over by childless couples.

Protest March

The weekly marches and manifestations of the “Madres de Plaza de Mayo” still go on to this day and is a constant demand to shed light on the whereabouts of their respective sons and daughters and grandchildren or give any indication of their present state.

Plaza de Mayo

1983-2001: After 18 years since the first “Plaza de Mayo march”, for the more than 30 thousand missing people only a few were able to get information on the tragic destinies of the “desaparecidos”. Many questions remain unanswered to the present day on account of the amnesty announced by the new democratic government that took over in July of 1989. Almost all of the military junta officials were given amnesty and so they were given freedom to move around and even out of the country. Some were tried and condemned but the majority is still around.

Only time will tell, if it will ever come, when the real culprits are all brought to trial and the demands for a reconciled country will arrive to a real solution and peace for everybody.

By Fr Shay Cullen MSSC

Fr Shay Cullen is known in Olongapo and throughout the world for his work with children and his attempts with his team of lay leaders to rehabilitate them after their horrific experience of being abused. Children have become targets of pedophiles and drug pushers and in recent years have, even at the tender age of nine, been forced into armies in Africa or as couriers in various ways. As a result Fr Shay himself has become a target by those people whose nests he has disturbed. Here he shares with us his vocation story.

When people ask me to write something about being a missionary priest I look to some special experiences that help me understand my mission as a Columban priest and discover human and social realities that challenge me to live a more meaningful life to help others.

When I first became interested in becoming a missionary priest with the Missionary Society of St. Columban I was still in high school. Before I made a decision to go to the seminary I left Ireland, became an overseas worker and got various jobs in England. The first job was in a food-processing factory, then in a hotel and later in a restaurant. A few months later I decided to follow my dream of living a more interesting and adventurous life, doing good for others in a distant land wherever that might be.

Heart for the poor

It was later when I was assigned to Olongapo City in the Philippines as a priest that I began to see the hardship of the poor people and especially the young who were in despair, surrounded by so many personal and social problems, that I saw my mission in more practical and spiritual ways.

There was a village of fisher folk close to the PREDA Justice and Center Bay on Subic Bay. I was helping them to organize themselves into Christian community and to defend their rights to their homes and land. The mayor threatened them with eviction and demolition.

After years of resistance and lobbying for justice, troops and gangs of workmen surrounded the village early one morning without warning. A little girl escaped the cordon and ran through the cemetery to call us to help. I rushed there with Alex Hermoso, our social program director. We were threatened with pointed weapons. It was too late to stop it. The demolition had begun.

Spirit of nonviolence

Despite the guns and goons of this cruel tyrant, the people stood their ground nonviolently. They linked arms and prayed. They tried to form a line to protect their shacks and shanties. Some held and hugged their crying children and defied the threats and intimidation. They refused to evacuate even when some were beaten and mauled.

They resisted even when they were dragged away and their simple homes were torn down before their eyes, their belongings scattered. The old grandmothers wept, the children cried and screamed in terror as the troops manhandled their mothers and held back the men with pointed guns. The village was two-thirds demolished in one day, homes destroyed over their heads. In the days that followed they helped each other carry away the remains of their homes to trucks, comforted and cared for each other, shared food and then were able to make a few jokes, smile and move to a resettlement that we found for them and start again. The community survived.

Where God is

Jesus was there in these people, they, the wretched of the earth, the unwanted and throwaway. He chooses to show Himself to us in them. That is where Jesus is and where I wanted to be, on their side. That’s where God’s power is.

There were many incidents when I could see Jesus revealing himself in the suffering of the victims of violence and abuse. One day a distraught teenager came to me in the parish in Olongapo. His name was Francisco and he came to make what he said was to be his ‘last confession’. He was despondent, depressed and on the verge of suicide. He had a loaded gun and was trembling and crying and ready to use it on himself and wouldn’t let me come closer. I was afraid he would get angry with me. The gun shook in his hand and I thought it would go off. I finally got him to tell me his story. It was an account of childhood sexual abuse and physical brutality. He was only ten when it began and he already endured a young life of rejection and neglect. He was made to feel guilty too, as if he was to blame and now he felt his life was worthless, he was nothing. I convinced Francisco he had friends ready to help him and stand by him. There was nothing to be guilty about because he was an innocent victim, I told him. God was with him I said and had brought him to me for help. I reassured him that his abusers would be made to answer for their crimes in all justice. He raised his head and looked at me with a glint of hope. I promised I would protect him and together we would fight the abusers. His shoulders shook and he cried and believed I would keep my promise and he trusted me enough to turn over the gun. It was fully loaded on a hair trigger.

Equal justice

There were many more similar cases like Francisco and with counseling and therapy they all recovered and found the faith and the courage to demand justice against their abusers and be healed.

Together, fighting for justice in court against the abusers, we made some dangerous enemies. That just made us all the more determined to see it through. These children courageously faced their abusers in court and relived their worst nightmares like Francisco in the courtroom. The accused frequently drew their fingers across their throats in a threatening gesture but in the end they were found guilty and sentenced to long prison terms where they could not harm other children.

It was an experience of deep healing and eventually they forgave their abusers even though the criminals had not repented. They were empowered and I felt empowered, too. When I see young victims of violence desperate for help and then responding with courage and strength I feel determined and empowered to help them all the more. I want to free them from filthy jails or sweat shops or the enslavements of brothels and sex bars and stand by them in their fight for justice.

Power from within

This is a kind of personal empowerment, like when I was with the villagers and they linked arms to hold back the armed troops and the politician’s goons with ledge hammers and battering rams. That is a powerful feeling of solidarity and unity that passed along the line to all. It helps us get through a bitter and painful injustice but it plants the seeds and the commitment to do more to prevent such power being abused and concentrated in the hands of a political tyrant.

That personal experience of God’s power flowing through that line of struggling, resisting people to me and on to others helped me realize that it had to flow on to the whole nation. Empowerment like that united the village in nonviolent resistance; it didn’t save the village but it was a powerful experience in solidarity and commitment to justice.

There was a greater experience of social empowerment when thousand and thousands of people are linking arms in faith and trust in opposing the monumental evil of violence in nonviolent and peaceful ways. They are speaking out, they are pouring out their pain and demanding redress, change and social justice. They are crying out that God’s Kingdom be realized here and now. There is an extraordinary spiritual reality that comes alive. It is real and powerful and fear is replaced with hope and courage.

Divine presence

I believe God is truly present. It is as if Jesus was standing in the temple confronting the authorities and saying to us “do this in His memory, do as I have done it, for in this there is salvation for a whole people”. Many have to be empowered and awakened to a love of justice and truth and a commitment to human and civil rights. Building the empowerment with and through victims of violence is a healing process for all and it helps unite and organize opposition to evil.

This awaking of society and empowering civil society means that the people have to be helped to recognize the roots of injustice and admire and uphold the dignity of every individual as made in the image of God with inalienable rights to be protected, respected and affirmed. This is the path to people’s empowerment.

I feel empowered when together with other victims of injustice and violence, I have been stoned and beaten, insulted and humiliated so I know what it means to be in a position of weakness and helplessness. I know too how important it is to work for empowerment through the combined mutual faith and courage of the many. Evil governments, oppressing and robbing the poor, have been brought down through such an empowered people united in their love of God, truth and justice.

Freedom in truth

One of the most inspiring passages in the Gospel reports the words of Jesus when he says, “Whatsoever you do to the very poorest of my brothers or sisters you do it to me.” It was with the outcasts and the downtrodden of society that Jesus chose above all to be with for most of his ministry. He identified with them and challenges us to discover Him in them. With this, we cannot be silent and just turn away from the abused and the oppressed poor. We, together with the poor, the victims, the deprived, have to stand in the temple of reality, speak out and end the silence that is consent to evil. The truth must confront the world, speak out from the housetops, call the killers and the torturers to repentance and act to stop their crimes against the innocent in nonviolent but effective ways. These are ways determined by time and circumstance that dig out the truth and reveal the roots of abuse and human suffering and does justice for the victims. Evil and violence have to be overcome with justice, repentance and forgiveness, there is no other way. We can work towards this despite the opposition. We are truly empowered with God’s Holy Spirit.

Being close to the victims of abuse and those on the margins of society I can feel a little of what they feel. I see their endurance and courage, and amazingly their sense of humor in the face of cruel adversity. The poor, even when beaten down, falsely accused, tortured and deprived of everything, live on to survive with their dignity, torn and tattered but intact. Jesus suffered the same, I find strength in Him as I find Him with the poor and want to help them, to be with them and take up their just cause. When I made this kind of commitment I knew I had to be ready to endure what they suffer, too. That was the challenge of being a missionary priest.

You may contact: Fr. Shay Cullen MSSC
PREDA Foundation Inc.
Human Development Center
Upper Kalakalan, 2200 OLONGAPO CITY

We do not have the answers to every question – but the very asking of the question is the beginning of the answer. So why don’t you send us your questions and let us together find the answers to our questions.

WHY DO WE HAVE TO CONFESS TO A PRIEST?

I do not want to go to a confession on a one-to-one basis. I prefer to ask forgiveness for my sins from God personally. Or would general absolution do?

Of course, we can confess our sins to God directly. God is always merciful to us and He is always ready to listen to us and welcome us back into His arms. But a Catholic confession to a priest is a sign of reconciliation, of one’s willingness to be reunited with the Church and God.

Priests are God’s representative, they are authorized by Jesus to absolve sins in His name (Matt 16:19). When you go to a priest for confession, he can give you his consoling words, share his own views and most of all, pray for you.

You can also go for general absolution which is only given very seldom.

CHURCH INFALLIBILITY

Did the pope’s apology for the inquisition threaten the Church’s infallibility?

The Pope is only infallible when speaking on faith and morals to be held by all the faithful and when he does this EXPLICITLY and that is very rare. So the Pope’s apology did not affect this. Infallibility has nothing to do with the sinfulness of the Pope himself or of the Church’s members. We are a sinful people in a sinful world so there are many things to be sorry for and to ask forgiveness for and to apologize for. Though not everyone has been in favor of the many apologies which the Pope has made during the period of the millennium.

By the way, in my opinion, the “Infallibility” of the Pope actually limits his power because by tying it down to explicit and specific cases you avoid people taking his every word as Gospel… that would create chaos. The last time infallibility was invoked was for the doctrine of the Assumption of Our Lady into Heaven, that was 1950.

 

BIBLE OR TRADITION

Why do we have to look for the Catholic teaching in the Catechism of the Catholic Church? Is our Bible not enough? I do not think we should base our teachings also on Traditions. In Mark 7:8-9 and 13, Christ rejects tradition. “Neglecting the commandment of God, you hold to the tradition of men.” The Bible is enough to base our lives on. All the answers are replied in the Bible. It is our manual of Life.

As I understand this question, you have one basic problem. You feel that the Bible alone is adequate source of full Christian Revelation. That is the position of most Protestant churches, though not all. That is not the position of the Catholic Church or the Orthodox Church. Consider this: St. Paul was writing in the fifties of the first century. You are aware of his letters and you may be surprised to notice that in his many letters he NEVER quotes to gospels “St. John says…” or “St. Mark… says” and so on. The reason is simple: the Gospels were not yet written and would not be written for maybe another fifty years in the case of St. John. So when telling the Corinthians about the Last Supper, he does not say, “It says in St. Matthew or St. Luke …” rather he says: “It was HANDED ON to me.” Now the word to hand on by word of mouth in Latin is traditur from which we get the English word tradition. The early Church knew what it knew by Tradition. And even when the Gospels were written St. John said, “If all things that Jesus said and did were written down the whole world would not be enough to contain the books.” A bit of poetic exaggeration but I think we get his point.

Even after the last Gospel was written (which Catholic, Protestant and Jewish scholars put at about the year 95) there was still argument among Christians as to which of the many Gospels and Holy Writings should be included in the Bible. It was not until the middle of the fourth century that Church councils finally fixed on the present books, so excluding the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, The Shepherd of Hermes, The Epistle of St. Clement and many other beautiful Christian writings. It is true that Catholics often stray from the teaching of the Scriptures and need to be brought back but the Scriptures themselves are the Child of the Church and would not exist without it and ultimately it is the Christian Church as a community and not the individual who interprets these writings. Otherwise, you get two genuine Christians, both believing in the scriptures – one concluding that Jesus is Divine, the other concludes that He is only human.

SECRET MARRIAGE

Is there such a thing as a ‘secret marriage’? Is it valid?

Strictly speaking there is no such thing as a ‘secret’ marriage because by its nature marriage is a public act declaring to the community that this particular couple have become husband and wife. It would be chaotic if no one knew who was married and who was not. Lots of problems would arise as you can well imagine. But for various good reasons, sometimes financial, people might like their marriage ceremony to be discreet or private. But those marriages will still be registered in the official books which are open to the public.

CIVIL WEDDING FIRST

If the couple gets married civilly and they decided to get married in church after a few months or years:

A.) Will they need to go through pre-cana seminars or have marriage banns said?

No, they will not need to have the marriage banns read but since a pre-cana seminar is normally required they will have to go through this. It is arranged by the parish. However, if they have been married civilly for a long time the parish will probably not insist on this.

B.) Can they get married by themselves, I mean them and perhaps a witness or two?

I assume you refer to private ceremony done quietly in the church and not in the glare of the parish Mass. The answer is yes.

C.) Can they just present their marriage contract to the priest and ask him to grant them the church’s blessings?

This seems to be almost the same as your question ‘b’ except that there has to be two witnesses present. The witnesses represent the community in this case. And although quiet and private it will not just be a blessing but a regular exchange of marriage vows. Not secret but private.

By Gee-Gee O. Torres

Our Assistant Editor, Gee-Gee Torres, met Sr. Anna and Sr. Angel, two of our admirable Filipino missionaries in Korea. Here she shares with us something of what was in their hearts when she met them.

 

Lord, you know what I am ready for

Sr. Angel Libron, SSPS is from Davao. Before she became a Sister, she had a very promising job in an airline. However she wanted something more, more than just having a good job, something that would give meaning to her life. She would go every Sunday to the Smokey Mountain in Tondo (which has now been totally developed into a government housing project) and spend the day with the people there. This one day in Tondo meant a lot to her. When she was in college she thought joining rallies was enough to be in solidarity with the poor, but she realized that this was not enough. From the faces of the poor people in the Smokey Mountain she knew there was something more.

Sr. Angel eventually found her way to the Holy Spirit Sisters. When she took her final vow, their Superior asked her to give the names of the three countries where she would like to be assigned. However, she forgot to write the three countries in her letter to their Superior. It was too late when she realized it. So she just prayed, “Lord, you know what’s in my heart. You know what I’m ready for. Just send me to the country where you know I’d grow deeper in your love.” She was sent to Korea in 1996 and until now she continues to grow deeper in God’s love.

There is no place like home

Sr. Anna Domingo, SPC arrived in Korea in 1997 after fourteen wonderful years in Italy. She is teaching English to Korean aspirants, postulants and novices in their community in Korea. Despite her busy schedule, she finds her own little way to keep in contact and help our Filipino migrant workers. She visits them in their homes and talks about Christian values. On Sundays Sr. Anna also helps in giving Communion during the Filipino Mass at Hyehwahdong Catholic Church.

Sr. Anna said, “Being in another country is not easy because there is no place like home. But every mission poses different challenges and has something special to offer. You just have to know how to recognize it when it comes your way.”

By Francis Xavier Shigeki Ishikura

In an unexpected way, a Japanese married to a Filipino found his way to the Catholic faith. Here he tells of his journey and how his wife, Leonila, became instrumental to his change of heart.

My first encounter with the Catholic Church was through my wife, Leonila, a Filipino from Bulacan, who is a Catholic. It all began after our marriage when I had to drive her and our children to church. At first, once a month, then twice or three times until ten years passed in no time.

The smiling faces of the members of the church and the frequent contact with them built my friendship with them. Meanwhile my two children were baptized and I became the only one left in the family who was not a Catholic. I asked my wife would it be possible for a person like myself to become a Catholic. She was very happy and she eagerly answered, “Yes.” With her affirmation I began to attend their Bible study group. This was a group of Filipino mothers who faithfully come to church and study the Gospel every Monday morning for an hour and a half, after their husband and children leave for work and school.

The ‘yes’ that did it all

For a year, under Fr. Toyama’s guidance, I studied and learned many, many things about the Catholic Church. Then one day, Father surprised me with his invitation to receive the Sacrament of Baptism. My heart was full of joy, yet at the same time full of doubt. Was I really worthy to be baptized as a Catholic? With mixed feelings, I agreed to be baptized into the Catholic Church. I looked forward to the day when I would stand before God as his child and receive his Sacred Body. While counting the days to my baptism I looked back to my unhappy life before I married Leonila. Those were not fortunate days, full of vices and violence towards others. It was a dark, depressing life.

Because of my wife

At last, I have discovered and experienced God’s love, leading me to the grace of Baptism. Needless to mention, my own joy, the joy of my wife and children and all the members of Karai Church, where I was baptized, was beyond words. I cannot express enough my gratitude to these special persons who helped me to get out of my dark past. And very important of them all is my wife to whom I am most grateful for.

Keeping this grateful memory in my heart, I will strive to live out this wonderful grace.