The family of Christian de Cherge, one of the seven French Trappist monks killed by Algerian terrorist in 1996, released his last testament, a Dieu (To God), “to be opened in the event of my death.” Some extracts taken from the translation by the monks at mount Bernard Abbey, Coalville, Leicester are given below.

If it should happen one day- and it could be today- that I become a victim of terrorism... I would like my community, my church, my family, to remember that my life was given to God and this country.

I ask them to be able to associate such a death with many other deaths which were just as violent but forgotten through indifference and anonymity. My life has no more value than any other. Nor any less value.

I should like, when the time comes, to have a clear space to be forgiveness of God and of all my fellow human beings and to forgive with all my heart the one who would strike me down.

I do not see how I could rejoice if this people I love were to be accused indiscriminately of my murder. I know the scorn with which Algerians as a whole can be regarded. I know also the caricature of Islam which a certain king of idealism encourages. For me, Algeria and Islam are something different, they are a body and a soul.

I have proclaimed this often enough, finding there so often that true strand of the Gospel, in Algeria itself, in the respect of believing Muslims.

For this life given up, totally mine and totally theirs, I thank God who seems to have wished it entirely for the sake of that joy in everything and in spite of everything. In this, I thank you...

And you also, the friend of my final moment, who would not be aware of what you were doing. Yes, for you also I wish this thank you – and this ‘adieu’ – to commend you to the God whose face I see in yours. And may we find each other, happy ‘good thieves’ in paradise, if it pleases God, the Father of us both. Amen

By Ben Yalung

He is driving the helicopter through the clear sky when suddenly, an enemy chopper comes out from nowhere. Burly men in the chopper aim machine guns at him. They shoot and hit the engine of his helicopter. They chopper is exploding any minute now! Quickly, he checks the parachute strapped on his back. Then in a second, he jumps out of the chopper. The men at the other chopper. The men continue to fire at him, but he escapes their bullets and he lands safety on the ground.

“Cut” I shout and everyone applauds. Yes, this is not real. It’s only for reel. The man who jumps out of the helicopter is one of our most popular action stars. For a moment, he savors the applause of actors and actresses, cameramen, production crew members, and fans watching us. Then, he runs to me giving me the credit for this yet another fantastic scene of a film which, undoubtedly, will become another box office hit. It will earn me more money and make me more popular.

In this world of make believe, it is easy to lose one’s hold of life’s realities and easier still to live an ungodly life. The lights, the cameras, the extraordinary human being vulnerable to life’s temptations.

I happen to be a successful businessman I earned a BS Economics degree from Letran College and after college, I engaged in various businesses, I was in financial services, agriculture, telecommunitions, real estate, and electronics. I put up a film laboratory which provided film editing and sound mixing services for movie companies.

I met Elizabeth in our school’s prom night party in 1966. We married on January 14, 1969, and we were blessed with seven children.

I started as a film producer in 1985. I was then in my early 30’s very young in the industry. But I was able to make my way through the industry. My first film, Cain at Abel, which was directed by Lino Brocka and starred Philip Salvador and Christopher de Leon, bagged the FAMAS Best Picture and eight other awards including the Best Actor Award.

Inspired by this instant success, I decided to pursue a career as film producer and director. I made anything that would make money. At that time, sexy films were making good at box office. So I made a number of them. Then action films became popular. Every time I found a good action story, I directed the film myself. Unlike other directors who relied on the services of stunt directors. I did my own action choreography. I made such blockbusters as Commander Dante, Philip Salvador’s first money-maker. This was followed by a series of action films for such actors as Fernando Poe Jr. and Bong Revilla, all of them making money at the box office.

With my success came the intoxicating material rewards. I bought every material comfort money could buy – a mansion, cars, a yacht, a helicopter. Then came starlets hovering around me hoping to land a role in the films I was making. Naturally, I had any woman I wanted, betraying my wife.

Money, women, fame. I had all of them. Yet, I felt a gnawing emptiness deep inside me. I tried to find meaning in my life by reading spiritual books. But the inexplicable longing in my heart could not seem to be satisfied. That’s why an invitation from a friend, Cherry Pie Lazatin sounded interesting to me.

She came to me one day in 1986 while I was making the movie Moises Platoon, which starred Bong Revilla. She said there was this seminar for spiritual renewal designed for the movie producers like me to be held in Tagaytay, and would I like to attend? It happened that my movie was just about done and I had time to spare for the seminar. So I went up to Tagaytay for what I for what I later found out was the Life in the Spirit Seminar.

On the first day, I found the seminar boring, what the speakers were saying I had already read in my spiritual books. I was glad I brought along my radiophone, so then, I made use of my time communicating with my secretary in Manila to check on my businesses.

But then, on the second day there were speakers who narrated their story of conversion. One of them, Bingbong Crisologo, founder of the Loved Flock Community, impressed me with his story – how he grew up a spoiled son of a powerful politician in Ilocos, how he was involved in the burning of an entire barrio, the residents of which were his father’s political rivals, how he was sentenced to life imprisonment for this crime, and then, how he found the Lord in jail and received His forgiveness, and how he amazingly obtained his freedom from prison. I thought, my life was a lot simpler that Bingbong’s. Yet, if God forgave this man and gave him a chance to live a new, decent life, how much more would God grant me a chance to live a more meaningful life!

As the seminar progressed, I realized that everything I had – my talents. My money, my fame – all of them came from God. Every good thing that happened to me happened because He allowed it.  Yet, I had failed to acknowledge Him, let alone thank Him for everything tht He had done for me.

A final portion of the seminar was the Baptism of the Holy Spirit. Facilitators laid their hands on me, asking the Holy Spirit to dwell in me and give me a new life. ans as I sat there, I closed my eyes and asked God to forgive me for neglecting Him. Then, I distinctly heard it – a clear Voice telling me, “I will use you.”

“Use me, Lord.” I answered. And right there and then, I made a 180 degree turn from my old life to a new one. I promised God I would stop womanizing and being too materialistic and that I would use the talent and resources He gave to me to bring people to Him.

After the Life in the Spirit Seminar, I was led to the Oasis of Love Community, a group of people in the movie industry who have had a spiritual renewal and have dedicated their lives to serve God even as they continued their careers in show business. Here, I learned more about living a Christian Life.

And this paved the way for the meaningful experience I so longed for. May association with renewed showbiz people led me to financing Kristo, a film about the passion of the Lord Jesus Christ which starred mostly the renewed actors and actresses in Oasis of Love. They did the movie at 50 percent lower than their usual asking fee.

I myself did not expect substantial return of my investment in this movie, I thought. I couldn’t possibly make a killing at the tills like my action or sexy films had done for me. But you know Kristo, shown for 15 days during the Lenten season, grossed P33 million in Metro Manila and P5 million more in provinces! From then on, the movie has been re-run during the Lenten season. It is, to date, the longest running film ever in the history of Philippines movies.

I donated the profit I earned from Kristo to Oasis of Love which used the money to put up a retreat house in Tagaytay. I used the capital money I earned back from the film to pout up a Cinepost, a post production dedicated to making wholesome movies that promote Christian values. Cinepost is the only movie company in the country with state-of-the-Art sound technology sound technology like the Ultra Dolby. It’s the Lord’s movie company, so it might as well have the best facilities. It has produced Ama Namin, starring Christopher de Leon. And I am now looking forward to following this up with Our Lady of Fatima Story and some religious movies for television.

This, at last, is the meaningful work I had inspired for, the meaningful life I so wanted to live! There may be no business like show business. But there is nothing like God’s show business.

In this world of make believe, it is easy to lose one’s hold of life’s realities.

Salamat sa Kerygma!

By Gee-Gee O. Torres

Fr. Leo Ochoa, SDB is from Isabela, Negros Occidental. He was sent to Thailand while he was still a cleric and for the past 25 years he has been devoting himself to missionary work there. He kindly agreed to be Misyon’s guide in Thailand. He helped Editorial Assistant, Gee-Gee Torres, contact the different Filipino missionary groups. He drove her to almost all the places she went to. Here Gee-Gee tells her story about Fr. Leo.

Off to the South

We set of to the south of Thailand. We left Bangkok at four o’ clock in the morning to avoid the traffic. On our way down to the leprosarium in Ronphibun, Fr. Leo reminisced on his 18 years in the South. His story about the Karens caught my interest.

The Karens

The Karens are one of the seven hilltribes in Thailand. It is presumed that they originated from Tibet or Burma and have been living in Burma since 739 AD and are thought to have started moving into Thailand a couple of hundred years ago.

Karens build their villages at low altitudes. They are sophisticated farmers, and their villages are well laid out and permanent. They are unfortunately under much pressure as a result of land shortage and competition from Thais and much of their traditional style of life is being destroyed.

Fr. Doctor

Fr. Leo first met the Karens in 1985. The tribe leader went to the parish in Hua Hin. He was looking for a certain priest whom he called “Fr. Doctor”. Fr. Leo who was the parish priest then asked him, “Why are you looking for that priest?” “I’d like to ask for medicine against malaria,” answered the tribe leader. “Twenty years ago there were Salesian priests spending their vacation hunting at the border. They use to give us this medicine.”

Knowing that malaria was rampant in the Villages Fr. Leo packed some medicines for malaria and gave it to the tribe leader. He wanted to see their situation and so he went with the tribe leader to the village. The family of the tribe leader gladly welcomed him and called Fr. Leo ‘Fr.Doctor’.

Educational Program

Fr. Leo eventually gained their trust and was able to build good rapport with the villagers. The villagers told him about their wish of sending their children to school. He suggested that it would be best to send the children to the parochial school of the Diocese of Suratthani. The people agreed with Fr. Leo’s suggestion and so an educational program from kindergarten to elementary was initiated.

St. Thomas Chapel

St. Thomas was later on built in the village and it served as a “bridge Church” to get to know more Karens and introduce the Gospel to them. The chapel started with one family and as Catholic families started migrating to the village, the Catholic community gradually grew with Karen members.

Typhoon Gay

After several years in Hua Hin, he was transferred to another parish in the South. When typhoon Gay hit in Thailand in 1989 his new parish was one of the places hardest hit. The typhoon left the place devastated. Many lives were lost; many houses and schools were destroyed; crops were damaged.

Food Basket

He wanted immediately to help the victims of the typhoon but he could not. He was sick with gout and could hardly move. He stayed in his room at the second floor because the first floor of the convent was flooded. The local sisters living opposite the convent made an improvised pulley and attached one end to the window of Fr. Leo’s room and the other end to the window of he Sister’s house facing Fr. Leo’s room. They placed food in a basket, hung it on the pulley, then Fr. Leo would pull the rope at the other end to get his meal

Who are You?

During the typhoon calamity the Karen people saw how the Church helped them. At this point they began to wonder and ask, “Who are you? Why are you helping us?” "We are followers of Jesus and He tells us that we are all sisters and brothers. Thus, we are helping you,” said Fr. Leo. This was his last parish assignment. The following six years he was assigned in Bangkok and was involved in programs for the youth.

Visit to Chiang Mai

When Fr. Leo became the National Youth Director in 1995 he went to the North and visited youth groups in Chiang Mai, the second largest province in Thailand. Fr. Leo’s visit to the North reawakened his dream of working with the Karens...again. This year he is realizing this dream. He has been given a mission assignment to survey the situation of the Karens in the North.

The Karens are living along the border of Myanmar and Thailand from North to South. But majority of them can be found in 3 provinces: Mae Hongson, Chiang Mai and Tak. There are about 250, 000 Karens living in 15 provinces of Thailand.

Fr. Leo Writes to the Editor

Dear Fr. Niall,

Thank your very much for sending Gee-Gee to Thailand. I am sure that we have gained much from her visit. She must have really done a lot of good and encouragement to many of us, to me in a special way!

Her coming made me ‘homesick’ – homesick for my Columban family! I always wanted to show my gratefulness to the Columbans but had no opportunity until Gee-Gee visit to Thailand.

I was a knight of the altar of Fr. Robert Burke and Legion of Mary members of Fr. John Holloway during my elementary years. It was from them that the seed of my vocation developed I wanted to join the Columbans but no local vocations were accepted yet during those days. Fathers Bob and John gave me some options and I chose to join the Salesian at the DBTC-Victorias. I was sent by the Salesian Fathers to Pampanga for aspirantate.

I won’t be a Salesian, a priest, a missionary now, if it were not from the examples and support of those two beloved Columbans. Of course, I couldn’t also forget the continued support of Fr. Bernard Cleary and the others. Yes, they were all good Columban missionaries in Isabela, Negros Occidental.

My becoming a missionary priest is still a mystery to me. My family was then very poor. How did Fr. Holloway arrange my stay at the seminary without me paying is still a mystery to me. the more grateful I feel to the Columbans – their ways of making things possible, ways of offering possibilities to those who have less in life.

To make this spirit of gratitude more tangible was my determination to remain a missionary to proclaim God’s love to all. My simple task of driving Gee-Gee around to visit the Filipino missionaries as much as her (and may) schedule allowed was very encouraging to me. I found out that the Filipino Missionaries were really loved by the Thai people. The main reason was that they dialogue with them, they are one of them!

Father Leo

Introduction

The visitation is the story of Luke’s gospel which tells of Mary’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth. Mary was pregnant with Baby Jesus and Elizabeth was pregnant with John the Baptist. The story tells of how John even from his mother’s womb recognized Jesus still in Mary’s womb. As a result Elizabeth received the Holy Spirit.

The Visitation

Luke 1:39-56

Focus

The focus of the gospel becomes eventually Mary’s hymn of thanksgiving to God called the Magnificat
and also the fact that Elizabeth was filled by the Holy Spirit as a result of Mary’s visit. Something to ponder.

Listening to the Word of God

Have one member of the group read the Gospel carefully. Then let another member of the group read it again after a short silence. It may need to be re-read a couple of times as the thoughts are quite dense.

Sharing the Word of God

Ask each person to mark a word or phrase which struck them. Let them share this word or phrase with the group and say why it struck them.

Action Response

To Jesus through Mary. The lowly maiden, Mary, was the means of bringing the Holy Spirit to Elizabeth and bringing Jesus to us, Let the group share how they plan to make Mary part of their spiritually. Maybe some of the groups are members of the Legion of Mary or some other Marian Group.

Prayer

Remember that the words of the Holy Mary were spoken first by the Angel Gabriel and by Elizabeth later. So let us remain in silence for a few moments seeing ourselves in the presence of Mary and Elizabeth. Then assign a leader from the group, let us together gently and devoutly pray the Hail Mary.

Auring and the late Pilar Tilos

By Auring Luceño

“Don’t look too far in the future, Auring. Live life each day for you will never know what will happen tomorrow.” These were the last words I heard from Pilar that evening a few hours before she died. Auring Luceño tells the story of Pilar Tilos from Negros, her co-lay missionary in Pakistan

She felt tired

Pilar on that last evening had planned our return to Shadbagh. She told me she was feeling very tired and would need rest so we decided not o rush the next morning and I’d wait till she was ready to go. When she didn’t come down for breakfast the next day we didn’t worry as she seldom took breakfast the next day and I had her instruction not to wake her up. Later in the morning people started worrying. Four of us lay missionaries and two ordained Columbans knocked loudly on her door while calling out her name and when there was no response we knew there was there was something wrong. The door was forced to open as it was locked from inside and there we saw Larps, as we called her, peacefully lying in her bed as if in a very deep sleep. Among the many things we saw on top of the small table beside her bed was a copy of the Columban Mission turned to the article “In the House of the Lord” which she must have been reading that night. Later in the afternoon when we washed her we discovered her rosary beads in her clasped hands.

Murree

When memories are all you have, remembering thing to do. One of the beautiful memories I shared with Larps was the two and a half months we spent in Murree doing the language course and then the annual Columban Retreat. Larps shared with me about the death of a very close friend of hers and gave me a copy of the poem “Miss Me But Let Me Go”. She asked me to read in the event of her death. She asked me to read the poem before her, making sure I’d deliver it with feeling. In one of our Saturday evening prayers she reminded me of the poem and I once again read the poem to her. Then there was these evening walks which the three of us never missed especially when the moon was full, and the computer, guitar and piano lessons we tried to teach each other to make the most of the lovely opportunity of being in Murree.

Back to Lahore

Coming back to Lahore after Summer Larps and myself were enrolled in an art course for faith and development. Since Murree, she felt commuting to and from the studio was too much for her at times. She’d miss some classes. She always made the class livelier. Being harassed by men while traveling or crossing the railway bridge made mobility more difficult for us. Keeping each other company and protecting each other kept us going. Among the beautiful gifts that Larps had shared with us was her sense of humor. Being able to see the brighter side of things even when at times all looked so dim; the joyfulness of spirit and such a big heart for the marginalized shared in her simple and humble ways. Caring for the sick, she has touched a number of lives with her acupuncture, acupressure and herbal medicines healing not only the body but he heart as well.

Lights around Pilar's grave

Ready to Die

It may take some time to heal the heart but I’m at peace in the knowledge that Larps was ready to die, and somehow prepared for it. A few months before we left for Murree, we bought her a dress which she liked so much. Thinking it looks too elegant to be worn in Shadbagh, she kept in the locker saying she’ll wear it at her funeral. She reminded me of the dress a few days before New Year Came. That same day she taught me how to put make up on her face the way she wanted it done in the event of her death.

Happiest Christmas

During our Columban Review of Life before the day she died, among the number of things she shared was the experience of Christmas which she considered to be the happiest since she came to Pakistan and the joy of being part of the Columbans, saying; “You are my family- I will miss you all.”

I heard and saw all of these and I kept them all in my heart. Yes, Larps left at her own pace and at her right time, having tried to live out her commitment to the full she is indeed a soul set free.

By Sr. Mercedes Yañez, rvm

I live in an old people’s house in Italy. The ‘olds’ love to dance, to chat, to take a walk as they wait for their last moment to part from this world. Our main activity here in Casa di Riposo with the old people is journeying with them, listening to all their tales of past successes and failures, health problems and aspirations.

One Last Party

So, in between my work in the office as the directress of Casa di Riposo, I find the time to be present to them. Every month we have a day to celebrate their birthdays. It’s a day they always look forward to – a toast of champagne, a gift, a cake to sliced and shared, and most especially a special dance for each celebrant! So on this occasion I try my lost tango, waltz, cha-cha, lambada. Sometimes one dies on the very same night after the birthday party, and then we are left with the memory of that last dance.

Mission Challenge

Another challenge is how to inculcate in these old people some solidarity with the poor. Over here in Italy the people have so much, their lives have been so full and yet some are still not contented. There’s so much waste of food and things. When I try to tell them about famine in some countries, the sufferings of war some respond indifferently saying, “Well, that’s their world,” Anyway, we all our have our own wants and needs so I shall go on patiently and wait for them to realize how grand their lives have been, that most of us cannot thank God enough for all this bounty.

Mystery of Life and Death

There are times when I don’t sleep the whole night in order to accompany one of the old people in their last agony, the part of their journey I love most to be present at especially when one breathes his last and goes home quietly to our Creator. Then I’m left alone, trying to grasp the beautiful mystery of life and death.

By Fr. Ernesto Amigleo, cicm

Reforms, we need political and economic reforms! President Suharto and cronies, resign!

Lower the prices of commodities and gasoline! Stop corruption, collusion and nepotism!

These are some of the basic and widespread demands of the university students all over the country, inscribe on their colorful banners. For a economic progress and stability to be the country, , thereby earning the title ‘Father of Development’. Those slogans seemed not to fit Suharto. Unfortunately, however, his authoritarian rule resulted in increasing corruption, collusion and nepotism which grew unabated for the last several years. His inability to deliver the much needed reforms were to a large extent the major reasons why the people had lost confidence in the leadership of Suharto. And so the students staged protest demonstration to make the leaders know that something went awry with the country

Massive Upheaval

Days, weeks and months of demonstration peaked last May 2-, as the nation celebrated its 90th anniversary of Awakening Day. On this day, a nationwide peaceful mass rally participated by millions of people, mostly students, had put the country in a tense situation – a mood reminiscent of 1966 in which General Suharto took power. It seems the widespread rally was an eruption of many years of suppresses anti Suharto feelings. In the capital city of Jakarta rumors were circulating that there would be more bloodshed all over tacks and 35 thousand security forces were deployed all over the city, putting barbed wires in major streets of the city to prevent the masses from rallying – thus displaying a massive and intimidating show of force which created an impression that the city was in a state of siege.

‘Hang Suharto’

In Ujung Pandang, I took part in the mass demonstration. Riding together with the members of Protestant university of St. Paul, I witnessed an estimated 150 thousands people, mostly university students, riding on motorcycles, buses and trucks, heading to the city’s central park of Karobosi. As early as 9 o’clock in the morning, the park was transformed into a sea of humanity. With colorful bands imprinted with ‘REFORM’, YES!’ tied around their heads, the students listened to their heads, their leaders who alternately took the stand to deliver their demands. From the park they rally moved on the major streets o the city. As our vehicle joined the seemingly endless procession around the city. I saw and heard school children on the side walks shouting with their fists up to the sky: ‘Hang Suharto!’ ‘Hang Suharto!’ Some of the older people were laughing, but I could not afford to laugh. I only said to my self, “This man (Suharto) has really lost the trust of his people.” On the other hand I was touched seeing the generosity of some people – firms and factory owners and housewives, the group of Catholic Women’s League and some members of the Catholic youths serving thousands of plastic cups of drinking water, as a sign of their solidarity. On the sidewalks were soldiers and policemen watching and making their ‘reform sign’ by putting their thumbs up as an expression of their unity and sympathy with the people.

Suharto resigns!

The nationwide clamor was so loud and clear that finally, on the following day, President Suharto, once dubbed as the ‘smiling general’, appeared pressured and utterly desolate on television to announce his resignation, thus ending his 32 years in power. His resignation immediately changed the mood of the whole country. From a tense and frightened atmosphere to great jubilation. The country was in a stat of euphoria. Fear vanished and there was a fresh hope to the nation that had been chained for more than three decades of authoritarian rule.

Demands for Fresh Elections

But with the ouster of Suharto, People Power does not stop there. It is bound to continue until the last vestiges of the Suharto regime will be wiped away.

Remembering Edsa Revolution

As images of People Power- Indonesian style-play on my mind during these last few days, I cannot help out recall, way back in the Philippines 13 years ago, the final days (Feb.22-25, 1986) of the Marcos regime. I remember vividly during those days when my activist aunt, uncle and I joined the hundreds of thousands of Filipino demonstration in front of Camp Crame. I also cannot forget how, on the night when the news spread that Marcos had fled, a couple of Filipino confreres and I hurried to join the masses to Malacañang Palace. We were there up to past midnight. For these two historical events, I am happy to say that I’ve been privileged to witness the power of the people toppling down their nation’s authoritarian leader. Having witnessed these two events as they unfold before my eyes, I have become convinced all the more of the powerful message expressed in Mary’s Magnificat: “He has put down the mighty for m their thrones and lifted up those who are downtrodden.” (Lk 1:52)

By Bo Sanchez

How to pray when you’re not a priest or nun but a regular office employee who rides the Tamara FX to work for two hours, raises three kids who need help in their homework and does the family’s laundry during weekends.

Do What Works

There is no one way of praying. Continue to search for the way of prayer that enriches you, that blesses you, that allows God to speak to you more or work in your life more. You’ll know. Because I’m a writer, I pray by writing in my journal. And that blesses me immensely. I get up from my prayer time refreshed, restored, and energized! If you were to tell me that this isn’t the proper way of praying and that I should kneel down and be quite for thirty minutes, I’d tell you to ask Him why do I feel more blessed with my improper way of praying and feel totally bored and tired with so-called ‘proper’ way. Does He like to torture me and make my time with Him totally unenjoyable?

I don’t believe there is a proper way, as I said, there are days when my prayer means I’m in front of my computer writing my journal. There are days when I get my guitar and pluck a tune. There are days when I just sit before the Blessed Sacrament and gaze at Him.  There are days when I do kneel down and worship Hi, in silence! After some years, you’ll develop a set pattern, and that is great. Just ask yourself what works and blesses you more. But this principle must be balanced off by another principle essential to good relationships.

Do What’s Right

Sometimes, something doesn’t work but you know it’s the right thing to do. So do it and you’ll find out in the long-term that it will work!

Let me give you an example. While driving on the road one day, I began to pray with this urge to thank God for all the blessings in my life. I knew it was the right thing to do. So I rattled off a long list of blessings that I was thankful for: friends, work, health. I began to mention each friend, each piece of productive work, and every physical movement I could do! But you know what? At that particular time, if given a choice, my prayer wouldn’t be thanksgiving but supplication because that’s what I usually do while driving. I intercede for people. But because I did what I believed was right my heart begun to catch on, to dance with its beat. After awhile, I loved thanking the Lord. It filled my heart with so much joy with so much joy and gladness. I felt more blessed then ever. (It worked!) Today, it’s a major staple in my prayer-while-driving practice.

Be You

Because prayer is a relationship and not just a ritual, it’s important that you face God as you are. Share to Him your deepest emotions. Don’t just rattle off songs, ‘nice’ and ‘proper’ prayers without disclosing how you feel at that particular moment, and what you’re going through.

If your do just the ‘proper’ things with your husband (For example, cook for him, serve him, make love once a week,) without sharing your inner world to him as a best friend would to another best friend, your marriage is in grave danger.

Same thing with God. Your relationships with Him must be totally honest. And intimate.

Tell Him everything, at the end of prayer time, I feel a sense of connection and bondedness with God because I’ve just shared to Him either my excitement, my sorrow, my hurt, or my happiness. He knows what I’m going through, and I see Him actually sharing my excitement, my sorrow, my hurt, or my happiness with me.

Enjoy it

I believe that prayer should be fun. Really enjoyable. If it isn’t, do something about it. I don’t believe God wants you to suffer needlessly.

I’m grateful to God for giving me friends who have successful and strong marriages. They tell me how they enjoy their weekly communication time together. Sure, there are days when the husband feels lousy and would rather watch TV, or the wife would rather talk to her girlfriends about the latest shopping hit in town rather than talk to one another. But they tell me that as they remain committed to deeply sharing with each other their lives in their weekly dialogues, they end up enjoying it immensely.

There are days when their dialogues are very exciting. There are days when it’s more mellow and relaxing. There are some days when they just have to plow through it and be committed to talk even if you don’t feel like doing it. Prayer is like that. There are highs and there are lows in your prayer graph.

But I believe that your more common experience should be one of enjoying your time with God. “In your presence, there is fullness of joys, and at your right hand, there are pleasures even more.” (Psalm 16:11)

Closing Words

My relationship with God is the most important relationship in my life. It takes top priority. Because of this, I schedule short time of prayer each day and unless emergencies crop up, I usually am able to keep my time with the Lord

It doesn’t have to be long. Sometimes, I’m able to spend only fifteen minutes with Him. At other times, when time permits, I stay longer even reaching an hour.

But do you see now what I mean by relationship and not ritual?

It doesn’t bother if I have a short prayer time because throughout the day, I commune with Him. And He communes with me.

It’s not how long, what posture, what pattern and even how you perfectly keep your prayer time each day without missing one or else.

In the end, it’s about love. Not about laws about prayer.

In the end, it’s about you and God. And how intimate both of you are.

Believe me. There’s nothing quite like it in this world.

Salamat sa Kerygma. Available at most shopping centers

By Peng Reyes, cicm

Sometime ago we all watched Laurent Kabila as he advanced victoriously through Zaire and overthrew the dictator Mobutu and changed the country’s name to Congo. Fr. Peng Reyes is there now and tells us some of the inside story.

I was already at home in med-September 1996 when the Battle of the Great Lakes in Central Africa exploded. It was called the Battle of the Great Lakes because it involved at least five countries located near the great lakes of Tangayika and Victoria.

Great Exodus

My vacation in Philippines was a bit prolonged not because of the war in my mission country, Zaire, now democratic Republic of Congo, but because of my failing health. By the time I got back to Zaire this time, there were at least three kinds of exodus events happening:

First, the hundreds of thousands of Rwandan and Burundi refugees in their camps were either forced to return to their respective countries of origin or pushed into the equatorial rain forest toward Kisangani if they refused to take the road back home.

Secondly, most of the former military loyal to the then ailing President Mobutu and some government officials vacated their posts, and took with them to exile their ill-gotten wealth looted from the Public Treasury, church property and resources of foreign companies.

And lastly, many female pastoral agents, missionaries and even local sisters working in the danger zones were asked if not encouraged to take refuge in safe cities either in or out of the country because of unavoidable circumstances like looting and at times blood-shedding. These all happened while Laurent Kabila., the incoming President, advanced slowly yet surely toward the major cities yet unconquered.

Kabila, Kabila!

Everywhere, the rebels seemed to be welcomed by the populace according to their vast and varied conceptions: as liberators, as an alternative government, as elements of foreign domination or simply as the enemy of the people. I heard and saw them passing by on foot near our parish located in one of the popular quarters of the Capital City to the applause and acclamation of crowds: Kabila... Kabila...Kabila!

A Country Destroyed

The hysteria of liberation did not last long considering the huge and immense work the people had to do in reconstructing a nation devastated for many years by both government and military officials not to mention some foreign capitalists.

Mission Stations Abandoned

In the meantime, the dioceses and mission stations of the North and East of Democratic Republic of Congo, not excluding my own parish in the interior part of Kisangani, were looted; some totally destroyed and more still abandoned by their pastors, missionaries and local clergy. The Church, after all this, has to pause for awhile to examine her conscience and re-think a new mission and vision.

Miserable Wanderers

According to the last statistics, there are some 340, 000 Rwandan refugees and 44, 000 Burundi refugees still unaccounted for. These refugees have been wandering on foot across rivers and forest in the equatorial region of Congo without food, medicine and shelter for more than half a year now to flee their blood-thirsty slaughterers. How many of them are still alive? How many of them could still be saved?

Where were they?

The International Community has long been discussing what term to use “Massacre” or “Genocide” to describe the lamentable fate of thousands of Hutus and Tutsis. But the International Community delayed or even disregarded the pressing appeal of many NGOs and Human Rights Groups to send an International Protection Force that would assure the safety and protection of the countless refugees in their camps. Why did the United States, France and Belgium send a number of their military troops to Brazzaville to protect their own citizens while refusing to do the same service in behalf of the faceless and defenseless refugees? Do European and American citizens more that the African?

An Interesting Thought

Looking back on this sad and complex story one element is clear. Could the massacres have taken place without the unconscionable commerce in arms carried on by certain countries which claim themselves to be bastions of human rights? Just a thought to keep in mind!

By Fr. Enrico C. Eusebio Jr., sj

June 20, Biyernes nang gabi iyon, umuulan at walang kuryente, noong dumating ako dito sa Nigeria, sa Lagos, sa parokya kung saan ako nadestino, Christ the King Catholic Church. Mababaw ang tulog ko noong gabing iyon, puyat kinabukasan, pero napasabak na agad ako sa trabaho. Tinulungan ko ang sangol. Kinahapunan, 4:00 hanggang 6: 30 ng gabi, nagpakumpisal kami ng tuloy-tuloy at walang putol. Kinalingguhan, namuno ako sa kaunaunahan kong Misa dito sa Africa. Grabe at nakaka-overwhelm na karanasan iyon! Bagong karansan para sa akin ang makaharap ang 2 libong taong ibang-iba sa hitsura at kulay ko.

For a Filipino and Asian like me, coming to Africa and encountering black people is a totally novel experience.

White Man

It was to our great surprise and amusement that after hearing much greetings of “E kabo!” during our initial weeks and months in Nigeria, we soon realized that we were being called “oyibo!” (“White man!) By the common man and woman, and especially the children, on the streets. What can be more amusing for us Filipinos than to be called “White man!” right? We were hypothesizing that perhaps here in Nigeria, anyone who is not black is white. But then, even some of us Filipinos are darker that some Nigerians, So perhaps, it is more accurate to say that here in Nigeria, the land of Black Peoples anyone who is not African is an “oyibo”.

Identity Crisis

Kapag naglalakad ako sa kalye, madalas sinisigawan ako ng mga bata ng ‘Oyibo!’ Sa loob-loob ko lang, tawa ako nang tawa. White man na pala ako dito sa kulay kong ito, na ang tawag nila ay ‘yelow’. Madalas naman kung pinapahula ko sa kanila kung taga saan ako, lagi nilang sinasabi, ‘China!’ kung sinasabi ko, ‘Wrong’ try again,’ ang madalas nilang sinusunod na hula ay ‘Japan’ ‘Korea!’ at pati ‘India!’ minsan nga, may biglang ng ‘France!’ Aba, nagmumukhang French na pala ako dito sa Nigeria!

Inspiring Experiences

In the Tagaytay Mission Orientation Course for missionaries which we attended, veteran missionaries advised us never to compare our mission areas with the Philippines and our own culture. Just observe and look and realize that we are not their saviors, and that we are even not learning more from them. That God has been there before us, that the place we are stepping on is holy ground. That was a very helpful advice, but that mission attitude does not come as automatic reaction it one is new to the mission work; in a sense, it has to be learned, indeed even painfully learned. Sometimes, I just catch myself complaining: Bakit sila ganyan, bakit ganito, bakit ganoon, mabuti pa ang Pilipinas at ang mga Pilipino...Ooops! Teka nga muna, mali yata ang ganyang pag iisip. And these experiences, definitely key moments inspired by the Holy Spirit, help me back to the missionary spirit of hope and joy in serving these people, our brother and sister Africans, to whom I am sent.

Harvest Thanksgiving

I have already presided at a number of Harvest Thanksgiving Masses here in Nigeria, and each of them lasted for 4 hours! After the usual offertory collections, the harvest thanksgiving by various, individuals and groups begin. The emcee calls these groups to come dancing to the altar, bringing their thanksgiving offerings in cash or in kind, while the priest sprinkles them with holy water as they drop in their offerings. This goes on for about three hours. Kaya naman halos mamanhid ang braso ko sa kakabendisyon! The liturgy is so full of joyful songs, dances and in this one discovers the lively sense of thanksgiving and celebration of Africans. This harvest tradition of Nigerians is well-entrenched not just in local Catholicism and Christianity, but in Nigerian culture itself. During the pre-Christianity times, they were already practicing this tradition, and this was directed in thanksgiving to their gods. This was reoriented in Catholic doctrine and practice by the early missionaries, and since then, the harvest has become one of the focal points of the year in Nigeria liturgical life.

Opportunity to Serve

God has been so good to me. This opportunity for me to minister to Nigerians and Africans has been one of the greatest things the Almighty has done for me. And I thank Him giving me this beautiful opportunity to serve him and His African people as a missionary. Hindi madaling mabuhay nang malayo sa kinagisnan at sa Bagong kultura-tatamamaan ka ng culture shock, umaatake minsan and pagkabugnutin at init ang ulo, ang homesickness at kalungkutan-pero nagbibigay kapatagan, kaginhawaan, at kaligahayan ang Panginoon. He comforts, reassures, refocuses my vision when blurred.

Continuing the Diary of Msgr. Desmond Hartford

Friday, 31 October

Slept quite poorly. Bananas, sky flakes, and coffee for breakfast. Then to the river to bathe and wash our clothes. The local sultan was waiting for me at the hut when I returned. He had a letter from Aleem Elias Macarandas. Elias is a very good friend of ours in the dialogue movement. He assured me in his letter that the MILF are now in charge of my security that I’m in safe hands and it is only a matter of time until I am released. More rain so most of the time is spent under the mosquito net. One of my guards is interested in English. We spend some of the afternoon translating phrases from Maranao and Visayan into English. It is frustrating to think that many people are worried because of me. This is the part of the powerless. Being held at gunpoint leaves one very few options. I feel that at times I should be more resistant. A trust has been built with my guards. Today just one guard assured me that they had nothing to do with my kidnapping.

Saturday, 1 November

My mind was very active during the night. I slept from 8pm until 11 pm and only for an hour after that. Today was the first day I experienced real fear. I was listening to the morning sports news on the BBC when suddenly there was shooting. My companion suspected that some other group had come to try to take control of me. This has been my fear from the beginning. We quickly packed our things and moved through the forest away from the shooting. The ground was swampy with heavy undergrowth. Several times my guards promised they would die defending me. My guards kept telling me not to be afraid. When I began to accept the possibility of dying today the fear gradually subsided. After an hour and a half we came to a makeshift hut. One of the guards went back into the village to see what had happened. I had an added fear in case anyone was killed in the encounter. The guard returned to inform us that there had been no encounter. A member of the group was testing their 30 calibre gun. Relief and then anger. Why did they not tell us they where going to test their guns? This has a beautiful view of the mountains but no protection from the wind. I refused to go back to the other hut because I was tired.

After nightfall I was taken to a house on the outskirts of the village. A herbal doctor was treating one of the children. My captors did not want him to know that I was around so they hoisted me up at the back of the house into an upstairs room. It has a comfortable bed and I am glad of the protection from the heavy rain. There is a samsonite case in my room that would have done a princess proud. It came from Saudi Arabia. All the members of the family come to have a look at me. Security is light and there is no guard in the room. Nor is it locked. Escape would be possible except for the fact that everyone in the surrounding area is on the side of my guards.

Sunday, 2 November

The feast of All Souls, I joined the Christians of Marawi in spirit of the Eucharist and prayers today. Last night was the best night’s sleep I got since being taken hostage. I feel the Lord wants me to receive his gift of peace. Last night I overheard a conversation in the house which emphasized that I was here in Mindanao to try to bring peace. This is heartening and I am hopeful that in the end good will come from this experience. I am still struggling with the feelings of hatred for those who have betrayed me. The children in the house are very noisy. I could have done without one visitor who came to look at me – a rat. The text from psalm 138 is helping me greatly. With your strength, Lord, you have strengthened me. At about 5:30 p.m. one of the guards asked in English, “What is your favorite soup?” I was about to say mushroom when he clarified in Visayan, sabon. He meant soap. My brief dream of a royal suffer evaporated. We had corn beef from Argentina and rice. Later, a lot of conversation in the distance in the dark. I don’t know what is happening, I finished Agatha Christie’s “Towards Zero.” She fooled me again. I picked the wrong suspect.

Monday, 3 November

Before, 4 a.m. I was told to pack. It seems another group wants to take me. Only the wild cogon grass protects us from view and later from the sun. The mosquitoes were bad. The sub-title of Richard Hauser’s book is “Becoming a Contemplative in Action” my advice is, if you really want to take a shortcut, get yourself taken hostage.

Twice I have asked my captors for a bible but it still has not arrived. We spent the day in the open. I felt almost at breaking points, as much mental and emotional fatigue as physical. I cried for the first time in 3 years -- since Lydia Macas was killed by a grenade. I have not arrived at the stage where I can equally accept life or death. Everything is not turned over to the Lord. I still want to live and I am afraid to the pain of a violent death. Around 4 p.m. a guard arrived. It has been decided to turn me over to the main camp of the MILF in the area. Because of this we openly walked back through the village, past the mosque and the school in broad daylight. I sat to rest for a few minutes. People appeared from everywhere to get a good look. They were enjoying having an ‘Americano’ in their village. I got a plate of rice and carabao meat. Each time food is put before me I eat as much as I can because meals are very irregular. The MILF camp was about 2 kms. From there. There were about 40 heavily armed men there. The main house measured about 18 by 20 feet. There is a certain relief being here because the immediate danger of being rescued by attacked is gone. But having so many people milling around is difficult. There is a lot of talk on the two-way radio. I don’t understand much of it. But superiors are making it clear that I am a religious person and not attached to the government. It is difficult. There is a lot of talk on the two-way radio. I don’t understand much of it. But superiors are making it clear that I am a religious person and not attached to the government. It is difficult for Muslims here to grasp that Christians are not directly linked to the government. Most of the floor space filled up with sleeping bodies. Late into the night a woman began chanting from the Darangan, the epic poem of the Maranaos. This has recently been transcribed in eight volumes. About every 10 minutes she stopped for breath, coughed and spit into a tin can. When this happened a guard downstairs would comment on the section just chanted. At about 2 a.m. she decided to call it a day. I slept in fits and start until the call to prayer at 4:30 a. m.

“ When I began to accept the possibility of dying today the fear gradually subsided.”

“Last night I overheard a conversation in the house which emphasized that I was here in Mindanao to try to bring peace,”

By Fr. Wens Padilla, cicm

Father Wens Padilla, cicm, a native of Tubao, La Union, was ordained in 1976. The next year he was sent to the mission in Taiwan, and eventually he became the Provincial Superior of the CICM Chinese Province. Then he and two other confreres were appointed the first Catholic missionaries to go to Outer Mongolia. Today there are six CICM men in Ulan is the Ulan Bator, the capital of Mongolia. Father Wens is the Superior there. He tells us of the street children apostolate which the CICM have set up in Ulan Bator.

Dorjoo and his family members were in tears as they embraced each other after not having seen one another for half a year. He was brought to his home in Darkhan, 150 miles away from Ulan Bator City, by two CICM Zairian Brothers and friends of the Catholic Church Mission. But that’s the end of the story.

No Way Out

Back in August 1995, eighteen months earlier, Dorjoo and his grandmother had been on their way to the market, passing by the railway station. He spotted his friends playing on one of the wagons of a parked train and he joined then in their fun. A couple of minutes later, he realized that he and his playmates were on a train bound for Ulan Bator City and there was no way for him to jump from the then speeding train.

Street Life

The playmates who seemed already used to life in the streets of the city tugged him along to their hideouts in underground dwellings, pipeline tunnels, and stairwells of apartments. He became a new member of the increasing number (800 or double) of street children prowling the streets of the metropolis. From the street urchins he got the name “Ulaana” (Red One), owing to the outfit he was wearing. Dorjoo lived as the other street children did, trying to survive from scavenging in market places, stealing from people’s pockets, begging, and frequent soup-kitchens.

Mistaken Grief

Meanwhile, Ulaana’s family became worried about this whereabouts. There was a frantic search for him in Darkhan and in the city of Ulan Bator for three months. The grandfather went to Ulan Bator for three for him. After days of visiting the hideouts of street children and some soup-kitchens, he gave up and went back to Darkhan declaring the missing boy dead. There was grief and mourning in the family.

Children’s Center

In October 1995, the Catholic Church, after three and a half yeas of presence in Mongolia, started a Children’s Center in collaboration with the local government. The center started to give food daily (lunch and supper) to a few street children whose numbers increased in no time to more than 40. And when the five small rooms of the center were fixed and furnished, around 30 smaller children were permitted to stay and sleep in the center. Dorjoo was one of those who wished to stay.

Noble Goal

Three full-time caretakers alternate to give round-the-clock care to the children. Another three part-time workers help out during the day and on weekends. Some young people also volunteer to teach, play, and render service of any sort to the center. The Catholic Mission hopes to bring the children back to their families and help them go to school.

Go Home For Holidays

During the past Mongolian New Year, some children who still have contact with their homes (far and near) were encouraged to spend the season with their families. They were accompanied home. Those who went to see their families all came back after the holidays and wanted to live in the center.

A ‘home’ in the Center

Though Dorjoo enjoyed his stay with his family, he preferred to come back, this time, with his family’s approval. Poverty at home led him to opt for coming back to the Children Center of the Catholic Mission. With his grandparents’ monthly pension, only 6, 000 Togrogs ($12.5 in US dollars), to support Dorjoo together with other grandchildren, his folks saw an advantage in his being cared for in the center.

Because of extreme of poverty, alcoholism and violence of family heads, children sometimes leave home Dorjoo now finds a home in the center together with children of his age.

Next year is the 20th anniversary of the death of Dorothy Day. One of the great ‘saints’ of the century. Dorothy lived voluntarily in the slums of New York and from there her light has shone out throughout the world.

Dorothy Day of New York (1897-1980)

Dorothy Day helped found the Catholic Worker movement. She spent the last 48 years of her life as a Christian anarchist on the margins of society. In a church organized like a pyramid, her Catholic worker houses were small, informal and decentralized. She traveled alternative paths where other members of the church often found it difficult to go. “The only way to live in any true security”, she would point out, “is to live so close to the bottom that when you fall you do not have far to drop, you do not have much to lose. “

She and her companions live the beatitudes, embracing voluntary poverty. Their poverty included bedbugs, roaches and rats. She often spokes of foolishness for Christ’ sake, and, like St. Paul, called herself such a fool. “To attack poverty by preaching voluntary poverty seems like madness,” she said. “But again, it is direct action.”

Bishop O’Hara of Kansas City once told her, “You lead and we will follow.” Dorothy did lead. When bishops were wrong, she told them so. As prophet she opposed any use of religion as a prop for nationalism, capitalism or militarism.

Even when religious leaders opposed her vision, and their lifestyles scandalized her, Dorothy remained fiercely loyal to the Church she was not only a faithful follower of the gospel but also perhaps this century’s most powerful witness.

Don’t call me a saint!” she once said. “I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.” Dorothy Day died on November 30, 1980. Now although Christians of many confessions easily recognize her as a saint and prophet no one can dismiss the profound impact of her and contribution.

She wrote the following thoughts on poverty in 1953:

Poverty

Poverty is a strange and elusive thing. I have tried to write about it, its joys and its sorrows, for twenty years now: I could probably write about it for another twenty years without conveying what I feel about it as well as I would like. I condemn poverty and I advocate it; poverty is simple and complex at once; it is a social phenomenon and a personal matter. It is a paradox. St. Francis was the “little poor man’ and none was more joyful than he. Yet Francis began with tears, with fear and trembling, hiding in a cave from his irate father. He had expropriated some of his father’s goods (which he considered his rightful inheritance) in order to repair a church and rectory where he meant to live. It was only later that he came to love Lady Poverty. He took it little by little; it seemed to grow on him. Perhaps kissing the leper was the great step that freed him not to only from fastidiousness and fear if disease but attachment to worldly goods as well.

Many Small Steps

Sometimes it takes but one step. We would like to think so. And yet the older I get, the more I see that life is made up of many steps, and they are very small affairs, not giant strides. I have “kissed the leper,” not once but twice-----consciously and I cannot say I am much the better for it.

The first time was early one morning on the steps of Precious Blood Church. A woman with cancer of the face was begging (beggars are followed only in the slums) and when I gave her money (no sacrifice on my part but merely passing on alms which someone had given me) she tried to kiss my hand. The only thing I could do is kiss her dirty old face with the gaping hole in it where an eye and a nose had been. It sounds like a heroic deed but it was not. One gets used to ugliness quickly. What we avert our eye from one day is easily borne the next when we have learned a little more about love. Nurses know this, and so do mothers.

Another time I was refusing to bed a drunken prostitute with a huge, toothless, rouged mouth, a nightmare of a mouth. She had been raising a disturbance in the house. I kept remembering how St. Therese said that when you had to refuse anyone anything, you could at least do it so that the person went away a bit happier. I had to deny her a bed but when that woman asked me to kiss her, I did, and it was a loathsome thing, the way she did it. It was scarcely a mark of normal human affection.

Daily cross

We suffer these things and they fade from memory but daily, hourly, to give up our own possessions and especially to subordinate our own impulses and wishes to others-----these are hard, hard things. I don’t think they ever get any easier.
You can strip yourself, you can be stripped, but still you will reach out like an octopus to seek your own comfort, you untroubled time, your ease, and your refreshment. It may mean books or music---- the gratification of the inner senses of it may mean food and drink, coffee and cigarettes. The one kind of giving up is not easier than the other.

The merchant counting his profits in pennies, the millionaire with his efficiency experts, have learned how to amass wealth. By following their example-----and profiting by the war boom----there is no necessity for anyone to be poor nowadays. So they say.

But the fact remains that every House of Hospitality is full. This is a breadline outside our door, twice a day, and two or three hundred strong. Families write to us pitifully for help. This is not poverty this is destitution.

In front of me as I write is Fritz Eichenbrg’s picture of St. Vincent de Paul. He holds a chubby child in his arms and a thin pale child is clinging to him. Yes, the poor are always going to be with us-----Our Lord told us that-----and there will always be a need for our sharing, for stripping ourselves to help others. It will always be a lifetime job.

But I am sure that God did not intend that there be so many poor. The class structure is of our making and by our consent, not His, and we must do what we can to change it. So we are urging revolutionary change.

The Cross

So many sins against the poor cry out to high heaven! One of the most deadly sins is to deprive the laborer of his hire. There is another: to unstill in him paltry desires so compulsive that he is willing to sell his liberty and his honor to satisfy them. We are all guilty of concupiscence, but newspapers, radios, television, and battalions of advertising men (woe to that generation) deliberately stimulate our desires, the satisfaction of which so often means the degradation of the family.

Because of these factors of modern life, the only way we can write about poverty is in terms of ourselves, our own personal responsibility. The message we have been given is the Cross.

Love of Poverty

We have seen the depths of the faithlessness and stubbornness of the human soul----we are surrounded by sin and failure-----and it is a mark of our faith in Christ that we continue to hope, to write, to appeal and beg for help for our work. And we pray also for increase in the love of poverty, which goes with love of our brothers and sisters.

The only thing I could do is kiss her dirty old face with the gaping hole in it where an eye and a nose had been. It sounds like a heroic deed but it was not. One gets used to ugliness quickly. What we avert our eye from one day is easily borne the next when we have learned a little more about love. Nurses know this, and so do mothers.