By Bernadine B. Racoma

It’s a dilemma married Catholic women face today: Should we or should we not use artificial means of birth control?

We know that the Catholic Church staunchly stands against artificial contraception. Yet in this day and age when many people believe raring children seems to be more of a burden than a blessing, it becomes increasingly difficult for Catholics to follow this Church teaching.

I was among those women who had to grapple with this dilemma. But something happened that help me make my decision and be at peace with my choice.

I come from a small family. I was born in Tarlac, on February 15, 1958, the eldest of the three children. My father Elino was an optometrist while my mother Julieta stayed home to take care of us kids. Mom’s mother helped her raise us. We lived a fairly, comfortable, happy childhood.

I went to the College of the Holy Spirit for elementary and high school, then finished Medical Technology at the University of Sto. Tomas. My brother Ricardo, now 38 married a pharmacist ns he and his wife run a pharmacy in Marikina. Our youngest, Elino Jr., now 36, is a businessman in Tarlac.

After graduation, I applied for a job at the Medical Center Drug and was taken in as a medical secretary. From there, I moved to the Asian Development Bank where I am now a senior secretary in Education, Health and Population Division. My officemates rib me that I shouldn’t be in this division. Part of the function of my office is to monitor population growth and I happen to contribute to, rather than curtail growth. Maybe because I came form a small family of my own.

I met my husband Allan in a party in 1976. I remember it was October 22. Three days after, October 26, he was already my boyfriend. But we waited two more years before we got married.

Our first baby, born in 1980, was a boy Joseph Angelo. Three years after, we were blessed with a girl we named her Monica Rose.

During those times, the government was intensely promoting population control through family planning. I remember one of the slogans I often heard was “Stop at two” Allan and I already had two – a boy and a girl at that. We were already one little neat family. Allan, a Commerce graduate, held a well-paying job as a manager in the Philippine office of Hapag Lloyd, a German shipping line. Wanted to give our children a comfortable life so we thought we should limit the number of our children.

But we were Catholics, and we knew very well that the Church is against artificial means of birth control. So we tried natural means of family planning. We were quite successful, for we didn’t have a baby for five years. And so we thought it was time we had one more baby. I gave birth to a boy. Bernard Alan. I had a normal delivery for my first two children but Bernard was so big – 9 pounds! – I had to have a caesarian operation. So I enjoyed a 90 day maternity leave.

When I went back to the office, I noticed a number of my officemate had a certain happy glow. They told me they were attending a prayer meeting being held regularly in our office, and they lost no time recruiting Alan and me to attend a Life in the Spirit Seminar. We attended one LSS and our life was never the same again. God became very real to us and we appreciated better our Catholic faith. We allowed the Lord to take control not only of our individual lives, but of our entire family as well. We realized we had limited his reign in our family, not submitting to His will, particularly in the number of children we should have.

We saw children not as burdens – as population control advocates seemed to show. Rather, we saw children as gifts from God. Created by God for a special purpose, as part of His plan to save man and bring him to His kingdom.

With our newfound faith, Alan and I waited on the Lord, telling Him we would gladly submit to His will for our family.

God blessed our faith. Using the Billings method, a natural means of family planning sanctioned by the Church, Alan and I successfully spaced the birth of our next three children. In 1989, God gave us Vincent Paolo. After, I got pregnant again, but I had a miscarriage and lost the baby. But in 1991, the Lord blessed us with a baby girl, Angela Marie Rose. After another years, in 1993, II gave birth to Pauline Rose. All three children, like Bernard, were delivered via caesarean section.

After two years, I got pregnant again but on the second month of my pregnancy, I started to bleed and my gynecologist said I’d had a miscarriage and I must undergo Dilation and Curettage (D and C), a process to clean up my uterus. At this point, my doctor suggested that It would be practical for me to have a tubal ligation following the D and C since I already had six children, four of the delivered by caesarean section. An additional pregnancy would mean a threat to my health.

But I faced not only the health issue. Even if I was still healthy enough to have more babies, well meaning friends and relatives said I should look at the practical side of the things. Too many children meant I would not be able to give each one of them equality time.” 

I thought about that seriously and I must say I asked myself often whether I was giving my children the attention they deserve. The question nagged me. Everyone suggested to me to have the tubal ligation – everyone: my doctor, my family members, friends and officemates.

My husband and I decided to consult some priests. They all told us about the Church’s stand against tubal ligation and other artificial means of contraception. So I decided not to resort to this, I told my doctor that I would have the D and C but not the tubal ligation.

But even as I was being wheeled to the operation room for the D and C procedure, a tinge of doubt swam in my mind about God’s will for me. Was the decision not to have a total ligation a selfish decision Alan and I just made on our own? Or was God with us on this one?

I was lucid. The doctor had not yet administered the anesthesia to put me to sleep. I could still change my decision. I could have the tubal ligation now and Alan and I won’t have to go through the discipline of natural family planning anymore. If we didn’t have anymore babies, we’d be able to save our money for some luxuries which we had not been able to afford for quite some time. But we were renewed Christians, we knew our Catholic faith. Didn’t we believe that these children were gifts from God, that since they were His children, He would provide for them? How I wished God would affirm my faith at that very moment!

Then it happened. As my doctors and their assistants circled around me in the operating room, I saw him. He was standing at my left side, opposite my doctor, behind the assistants. The man was tall. Lean, fair and very handsome – and he had wings! An angel! He stood like a guard, tenderly watching over me, with one of his wings raised like he wanted to cover me with warmth and security. I gazed at him, at last feeling at peace with my decision, until the anesthesia and I drifted into nothingness.

When I woke up in the recovery room, he was the first thing I saw. My angel was still there on watch. He was silvery, almost transparent, but real. He brought down his raised wing and then left, passing through the closed door!

It was too beautiful a vision to share. It took me quite a while to tell my husband and family – and then much later my friends – about my angel, who knew was sent by God to let me know He was happy with my decision.

A few months after this, I got pregnant again. Since I was going to deliver by caesarean section, the issue of the tubal ligation cropped up again. And again, Alan wanted to seek God’s will for us. We consulted a priest we know and he asked: “Is your doctor a Christian?”

In fact, he was, and we told the priest so. “Then he will do the deciding for you,” the priest said. We consulted my doctor, without telling him what the priest told us. And my doctor said, “I will decide for you.” 

So I underwent a caesarean operation and immediately after he took my baby out, based on his diagnosis on the present condition on my reproductive organs, he had a bouncing baby boy whom we named Alan Jr. He is today the darling of the family, doted on by his fast-growing brothers and sisters.

Joseph Angelo is now 16 years old, a fourth year high school student at the Ateneo University. Although we could afford to pay his tuition, he applied for a scholarship and won it.

Bernard Alan, now 9, is a Grade 2 also at the Ateneo. Vincent Paolo, now 6 is in the Ateneo prep school.

Monica Rose, 13 is a second year high school student at St. Therese’s College. Angela Marie Rosario, 5, is in the Holy Family Nursery. Next year, she will start prep school at Miriam College where Pauline Rose started nursery.

Every school year time. We buy an average of 60 books and about so many more notebooks and school supplies, and 20 more uniforms.

My mother lives with us so she is in charge of the kids when I go to work, giving my kids the same loving care I enjoyed form Grandma. We have one maid who has a nine-year old girl whom we consider our eight child. We send her to school and by her the same things we buy our children – school supplies, uniform, shoes and all.

With such a brood, I could not keep an orderly house, but I’ve always believed a happy house is better than a neat house. The children don’t give us much trouble. They bring home good grades. They help each other with their home work. They discipline each other. It is such a joy to have them, really. Allan and I do not have one bit of regret that we received them gladly when God decided to bless us with these children. The more, the merrier, we truly are.

By Sr. Angela Battung RGS

Sr. Mary Angela Battung was born in Tuguegarao, Cagayan where he parents are form. She has two brothers and a sister, who is also an RGS Missionary. She has spent twenty years in Korea. The Korean culture and sub-cultures brought her face to face with herself.

People were kind and friendly. There were invitations to picnics, to village festivities, and to famous historical places. In Seoul there were museums, art galleries, art exhibits, and operas to enjoy. There were parks and palaces of royalty; even the local markets and the department stores were part of the tour, as I did the “tourist thing”.

In the Franciscan School where I enrolled, I found missionaries from all over. There were priests, religious sister and brothers (members of international congregations), and Protestant ministers.

Chaos and Confusion

After a few weeks into the first term in Language School, the novelty wore off! Stress took over; the food which was too spicy, the climate with its below freezing temperature during winter, the language which is considered to be the second most difficult in English signs or sounds anywhere. There were the crowds – people all packed tight, squeezed together like sardines – wherever we went. They were all pushing, pulling, screaming at each other. My experience with transportation was death-defying. My classmates and friend at Language School were quieting, marrying and getting married to there cooks, housekeepers, instructors, old widows and young cleaning girls. All this began to take its toll on me. I was experiencing culture shock.

U.S. Military

The food made me sick. So I was in and out of hospitals. I quit school and went back to my community in the village at the “world’s edge”. I studied with a tutor and helped around the convent and school. I entered into the sub-culture of the American Military as there was a big U.S. Air Base nearby. I ministered to the lonely and grumpy GI’s and C.O.’s (conscientious objectors) who complained and criticized all the time. Welcome to the Club! I joined the chorus of complainers and began to imagine that we were in an “uncivilized world”. I went to Mass at the U.S. Air Base, helped the chaplain, used there library and other available facilities, ate American food and watched movies, I was in a developing country enjoying FIRST WORLD amenities courtesy o the might American military.

World of the Military

I also started to work in another sub-culture, the world of the willows. I spent time in red light district trying to help women, who were sold and who were selling themselves” to the Americans, I was also trying to help there missed blood offspring get out of their “hell- holes”. I worked mainly through the Chaplain’s office, helping out with marriage preparation. Most of the women were prostitutes, while the men were teenage G.I.’s. My Korean language was limited, my English accented, and my knowledge of both cultures was peripheral.
Koreans seemed to do the exact opposite of what those who are not Koreans do. for example in language structure or even in architecture – the way their doors opened and closed. What is normal and acceptable in one culture can be judged rude, weird, or even stupid in another. As an example the Koreans and the Chinese smack the lips and make a lot of noise to show appreciation and enjoyment of food while for us this is not good table manners. Koreans have a strong sense of community while Americans are individualists. Koreans, like almost all other Asians, do not value privacy as much as the Americans do.

I came to realize that awkward and negative experiences lead to:

* Prejudice- when one makes judgment a bout others on the basis of a very brief or limited experience.

* “The one and only right way” of doing things- which makes one want to fix, solve, change, convert, and heal others, and can lead to a need to manipulate and control.

* Emotional ‘upheavals’. These arise when our human feelings are not accepted: confusion and doubt, fear and anxiety, depression and despair, anger and resentment, grief and loneliness, criticism and rejection, weariness, boredom, isolation and alienation, loss of self-esteem and confidence in one’s self.

* One then tries to neutralize one’s fears and insecurities by resistance, by getting defensive or by withdrawal. Homesickness makes one look at every Filipino as one’s relative or neighbor, creating an instant intimacy that has its plus and minus side. One learns eventually that it is human to have feelings of anxiety, powerless, and the whole gamut of emotions. This learning takes time, and prayer and fidelity to one’s vocation.

By Fr Efren de Guzman SVD

 APRIL

April 14 Sunday

We held a meeting after the Eucharist. We had a big questions for the members of different groups of fishermen. Last year five different groups received a boat and net for fishing, but unfortunately none of the recipients want to pay back to help future members. We were so frustrated till we heard one good comment: “Failure in not defeat until you stop crying.”

April 17 Sunday

We had an evaluation of our Farmer’s Cooperative. Some farmers are already thinking of going back to their former farmlands in the Province, especially those who were formerly working at coffee production. They think they could earn more in producing coffee. Before the war of 1975, Angola was the fourth highest producer of coffee in the world, producing 240,000 tons yearly; today it’s down to 4,000 tons. Many of the farmers are hoping that the roads will be constructed in the future.

Apart from our schools and health centers, we oversee the basic needs of the 150 lepers, 625 orphans, 220 old folks, 80 amputees living among 36 villages of internal refugees in Kifangondo and Funda. We have 7 community farms of internal refugees and 6 associations of fishermen. We really need to be good managers to make this charitable institution function.

MAY

May 01 Wednesday

As expected fighting between policemen and armed civilians against government special forces broke out at 6 p.m. Some teachers wanted to protest publicly, but they were not authorized. Life is getting worse. The prices of the basic commodities are rising everyday. Assaults and robberies, bribery and corruption are everywhere.

May 10 Friday

Near the Parish of Carmo we met a young woman with her children. She helped me recall that she was the student whom we saved from the hands of drunk deserters who wanted to abuse her. Her parent were also very grateful. And I also recall that for one week my body was aching after we wrestled with the soldiers. Later some policemen arrived and placed them in prison. That was eight years ago, and it was one of the most unforgettable incidents in my life.

May 12 Sunday

At 2 am we were awakened by shooting. It was a warning that we should get out of the convento. We had guns to fight, but we of course only use them in bluffing the bandits and not to kill. I just made a quick movement of light in our backyard using the flashlight. It’s good they left. They stole two windshields: one from our ambulance and one from the car of the Franciscan Sisters.

May 18 Saturday

The Salesian Sisters requested me to pray for a sick Portuguese businessman. His name is Antonio Seguro. By the love of God he was healed. As a sign of his gratitude he was offering us one minibus and one mini truck to help our mission work in the schools and with the lepers and amputees.

May 21 Tuesday

We received the summary report of our regular reflections as missionaries: Religious life is a continues conversation, reconciliation and re-integration, concretely, in community prayer schedule and teamwork. It would be false propaganda if we showed to young people that to enter religious life is to live happily ever after. The truth is religious life is a very challenging way of life: to believe in and follow Jesus, to accept a vision which you do not see, to be humble and to offer your life with love to others.

I don’t know how to thank you, please, accept my heartfelt song for you. You may suggest a suitable title.

From birth to death, then reawakening

Like the trees lose their leaves

That we may have reason to live and die

Then live again

If you only hear this song

That comes from deep emotions

That are nor born in one’s mind

But fruit of one’s inspiration.

Now let me share a reflection from our superior: “Our spirituality should be characterized by the ability to recognize our inability to do, and the grace to accept powerlessness.” After all, mission is not just our doing; it is primarily God who sends us. St. Paul says:

“For the sake of Christ, I am content with hardships... for when I am weak, then I am strong.”
(2 Co. 12:9-10)

By Sr. Emma de Guzman ICM

Sr. Erma de Guzman of Cameroon is a long time correspondent of MISYON. She had an accident recently in a jeep which feel over a cliff. Her companion Sr. Louisette was killed but Emma was spared. She shares the frightening story with us.

We left Mvolye at five on a pleasant morning. By midday we were at the Bishop’s House in Kumbo. It was a pleasant trip, being Sunday and having left early. We had lunch with the Bishops and took off for Nkambe after lunch. The roads were better as the graders were working and we were along the cliff driving slowly because of the many dangerous turns.

At about 3:30 P.M when we reached a very sharp bend, the steering wheel failed to respond to Louisette’s attempt to turn it. Then everything went so fast. Our car shot over the cliff face. It felt like we were inside a metal box being rolled down hill. My flashed thoughts were that now I’ll see God face to face; Ma Josee, our third companion said afterwards that her thought was: “I don’t want to die. I must get out to of the jeep.” Then suddenly the falling jeep was caught by a tree and suspended. I tried to look for a way out, and I started screaming for help. Then I heard Ma. Josee calling out “Where is Louisette?” when we finally extricated ourselves form the jeep we found her lying against a tree about two meters away. I thought I could still give her artificial respiration or something but when I saw her open eyes with blood flowing from her nose and mouth I knew she had died instantly. I closed her eyes, made a sign of cross on her forehead and prayed: “Go in Peace, Louisette. Go and meet Jesus. He is waiting for you.” It’s the same prayer I prayed for my mother at her death bed.

Help Arrives

Then the people started to arrive. I asked them to wrap Louisette in the blankets and the men carried her and us up to the road through the thicket. On Wednesday the body of Sr. Louisette was brought to the Church for the night vigil. The whole night prayers were offered and the Eucharistic celebrated by priest who knew Louisette. We were able to accept the sudden and unexpected departure of our sister in a spirit of solidarity, strengthened by our faith. The mass of the Resurrection was beautiful with 70 priest, 3 bishops and hundreds of other missionaries, students, friends.

A Little Miracle

For Ma. Josee and me, we can only speak of a miracle: falling over the cliff (fifty to sixty meters high) with no real fractures; just scratches, bruises here and there. Ma. Josee has slight fracture of her heel bone which is bandaged but does not need a plaster cast. She thinks she got it jumping out of the car. I have back pains but no fractures. (Unbelievable!) Salamat sa Dios.

We miss Louisette but trust that she now lives in God’s presence, and will intercede for us and for the missionary work that awaits us here in Cameroon.

By Fr. Melanio Viuya Jr., CICM

Zaire, now called the Republic of Congo, is as big as Europe. We have all seen on Television the terrible internal civil war and the horrible plight of the Rwandan Refugees. But in the meantime life goes on. In a humble corner of the former Zaire, Fr. Viuya recalls his second Christmas away from the Philippines.

First Journey

It was my first journey to the village alone. My confreres were rather apprehensive. They gave me 15 liters of potable water, six hundred grams of rice, one hundred grams of sugar, some salt, a folding bed, a mosquito net, a loaf of bread, some medicines, and a petrol lamp. I was pretty ashamed to go to the village carrying all these. To be biblical or to be practical, that’s the question. However, I discovered later that I was necessary to bring most, if not all, of these things for in the village “there’s nothing”.

Wash with a towel

Daily I washed myself with a half-filled pail of water fetched from a relatively far river. In the beginning I didn’t know how to manage with such a small amount of water. Later I learned to wash with a face towel. Yet I must admit that taking a real shower is far better than this.

Interrogations

The first day, I visited the Christians in the village. Everyone was curious to know me, to chat with me, to ask me some questions, it was their first time to see in a non-black who is neither a Belgian nor a Portuguese. “Where have you come from? How far is the Philippines from Zaire? How’s the climate there? What do you plant and eat? Your parents, are they still alive? Do you not miss them? People are edified to know that I have crossed oceans and continents form a far country in order to share the good news. Awed, they with sincerity, “Nzambe apambola yo!” May God bless you!

They Love Gathering

The Zaireans love gatherings where they can exchange ideas. I’ve got the impressions that they cannot stand solitude – being alone and reflecting. I was told that the whole morning a villager is all ‘alone’ in his field planting cassava and other vegetables or cutting the forest. Thus in the afternoon he seeks company to converse with over a calabash of palm wine. Such conversation may last quite late, I remember that in my second day in village, we started the conversation at three o’clock in the afternoon and ended at almost nine o’clock in the evening. Honestly I was already starving to death when they left me.

That day, we talked about the project of God for his people. We all agreed that God does not want his people to suffer, that he wants his people to have wellbeing, happiness, freedom, justice and peace. The people themselves are very much aware of their sad plight. This is evident in one of their greetings: Good day, do you exist? Yes, I do. What’s the news? As always, the suffering in this in this world. There are spots where is so dark that the sun can hardly get through the thick trees. An old path has already grown bushes and wild shrubs, a sign that no vehicles have passed through her for many years now. In the middle of the forest is a swamp where I dike was constructed during the time of the colonization. That dike too is hardly visible now, for much thick grass covers it. Through the years, the rain has been swelling the swamp and at times has been eroding the dike. There is now a bridge of wood. There are spots where water was trapped and has formed some puddles. This can be dangerous even with our Land Cruiser for one can get stuck in the mud. The dike is so narrow that one has to be an expert driver, and, and at the same time a funambulist in order to stay on the dike, while avoiding the innumerable obstacles.

“Father, be careful at the right side. There is a trunk of a tree lying hidden in the grass!” We almost tore our rear tire, “Father, at the left side is a pothole and in front of us is a dune covered with shrubs!” We almost turned turtle. These and many more warnings broke once in a while our otherwise silent penetration of the forest more deeply. I had to close the car window to avoid thorns, branches and leaves that continually brushed the car.

Sleeping sickness

“Pak! Pak! Pak! Kill! Catch it! Pak! Pak! Pak!” The Zaireans among us were chasing some tsetse flies which entered the car. This sort of fly is a carrier of sickness, fatal if not defected and treated at once. The awareness, that this forest is infected with tsetse flies frightened me.

Out of the Forest

Along the way, we met some village folks who came from their fields. “Mbote sango! Good afternoon, Father. Where are you going? The road is not passable!” After two hours inside the forest at last, we saw some huts, children playing, women pounding cassava leaves, men drinking palmwine. We were out of the forest!

We were welcomed by the six catechists of the six neighboring villages. They were all there for the Christmas celebration. All of them, together with the faithful. Our two-days-two-nights stay was filled with activities. Slide showing, baptism, weddings, confessions, blessing of new chapel, investiture of the members of the Legion of Mary, and most of all the Eucharistic celebration. The parish priest had a meeting with the adults and I with the youth. People have a lot of questions about faith.

Dancing at Christmas

On Christmas eve, the whole village danced! They took turns in beating the tamtam. They dances and danced around while some cups of black and bitter coffee were being passed around. There was no bonfire but the moon was generous enough to bathe us all with its silver light. I realized that it’s my second Christmas away from the Philippines, my first with the Zaireans. I’ve got mixed feelings. I missed the colorful, joyful, and familiar celebration with its food back home. On the other hand, there I was with God’s ‘becoming-human with their songs, dances and with their black and bitter coffee.

During the Christmas morning Eucharistic celebration, people offered some cassava, some sugar cane, a mat, some eggs, a chicken and one hundred twenty six Zaire (50 pesos). Out o their poverty they have given the widow’s mite. These offerings will be divided and distributed to the poorest of the poor.

Jesus was born poor in Bethlehem. He was again born poor and this time black – in Ngomvo and elsewhere in Zaire – taking on himself all what is human and Zairean including hunger and nakedness.

By Fr. Peter Woodruff

Columban Father Peter Woodruff reflects on his celebration of Christmas with the people of Tupac Amaru.

In Australia where I grew up. The build-up to Christmas in marked by an effort to prepare for final exams, or a burst to finish off well the year’s work before summer begins. The year is over; the work is done; the worry and chores are behind. It’s time to ease up and celebrate.

For most people here in Peru, life is not like that, though Peru is also in the southern hemisphere. Nothing really stops. The rhythm of life varies little. There is no artificial ending, slackening and beginning again. So many people live from day to day, from week to week. Long term planning or vacations away form home are not part of life. No one complains about this; that is just how life is.

Nevertheless, Christmas is special here. Small children become the center of attention. The various organizations in the barrio. Especially the many common-pot kitchens, prepare hot chocolate and sweet bread rolls for the children. Parents who can afford to do so buy presents for there children. Most families try to be together at midnight on Christmas Eve for a late supper.

No one in our parish would be the least bit embarrassed having an elaborate celebrations. As a priest I have a role to play. I help people prepare and come together for our communal celebrations. I preside at the Christmas Eve Mass. Years of experience have taught me to do everything reasonably well.

Still, I have trouble making my own personal religious faith part of the communal celebrations. As public as my religious role may be, I struggle to overcome the effects of a tradition that has fostered in me an extremely private approach to religion.

I wonder whether growing up in a pluralist society that divorces religion from public life and maintains a rigid separation of Church and state has hindered me from entering into public religious symbolism as freely and enthusiastically as Peruvians. I feel that I have been conditioned to live my religious privately, but here I am with a people who go public every chance they get.

The Peruvian tradition of close alliance between Church and state may have its advantages, but it seems to lead to a greater integration of life and religious faith. Their fiesta, with its different moments – religious ceremony, firecrackers, band, procession, dance, eating and drinking and general revelry – is one big celebration. There seems to be clear distinction between what is secular and what is religious.

As I become more aware of how my own religious and cultural tradition has shaped me, I learn to open myself to the values of a different tradition,, one that does not box life into artificially separate compartments. This increased self-understanding helps me join in the celebration of Christmas with the people of Tupac Amaru with greater joy and freedom.

By Fr Joseph Panabang SVD

Too Late, Baby!

In Rome the hotel manager directed me to the restaurant stated on my plane ticket. The waiter handed me the menu: soupe aux legumes; spaghetti au jus de viande; bistek aux tomates et all. Among the names of dishes, I recognized only one, the word “spaghetti”. So I ordered spaghetti. I ordered the same food for each meal. For my last meal, I was tired of ordering spaghetti. So I went through the menu again and to my surprise at the back of it was the English translation of all the dishes. Too late baby.

Be Careful!

Sr. Adelgund, OSB of Queen of Peace Priory, La Union was always extra circumspect when I was around. I wondered why. Then finally she said, “I have to be very careful because, Fr. Joe, you might mention my name in the Misyon magazine.” Don’t worry Sister, I would never do that.

Crossed Cultures

People here in Ghana normally carry things on their head. When we landed at Kotoko International Airport in Accra, a Ghanaian woman boarding the plane was attempting to carry her bag on her head when the stewardess tried to pull it down. The woman was shouting, “Gyae, gyae!” meaning ‘stop’. But the stewardess was still trying to pull the bag off the head of the woman while the Ghanaian was trying to keep the bag on her head. I told the stewardess that the woman wants the bag on her head. Seeing now how the woman carried her bag in her head with such quiet dignity, the stewardess realized she was wrong.

Misyon and Fr. Joe

When our plane on our way back to Ghana stopped at Lagos, Nigeria, new passengers boarded the plane. Among them was a Filipino who proudly introduced himself as Emmanuel. As soon as he heard my name, he replied back, “Oh Fr. Joe, are you the one writing in Misyon? I like reading it.” thanks Emmanuel for your encouragement and keep subscribing to Misyon and you will meet more missionaries around the world.

New Wine in an Old Cloth

At Tereringen, Holland, I stopped over at our SVD House on my way to the Philippines. Looking at the shivering, our rector sent me at once to the second hand clothes room where an elderly lady was in charge. After handling me a coat and jacket, she looked at my shoes and expectedly commanded, “Remove your shoes.” “No, they’re okay,” I objurately refused. But she insisted and so I removed them. there were two big holes in each sock. “Remove those socks, too.” She demanded. Ashamed like a child I removed them, too. “Old wine in a new wine skin.” I was muttering to myself but laughing inside. So I got new shoes, new socks, a coat and a jacket in return for a little embarrassment.

By John B. Din

It must have seemed weird to the Brazilians on first meeting me to be greeted by just a handshake or a nod of the usual hug and kiss on the cheek. I know they were surprised to see me eat rice for breakfast, lunch and supper.

John Din is a lay missionary in Brazil. He hails from Zamboanga del Sur, diocese of Pagadian, John is one of 13 brothers and sisters and graduated from the Columban College, Pagadian with a Bachelor of Arts degree major in Psychology. He reflects here on the challenge of the culture of Brazil to him as a Filipino.

A Vision

Leaving the Philippines for Brazil in 1993, I felt myself equipped with a lot of ideas on how to be a missionary – a Faith in God that I experienced personally; the support of the community that sent me and a vision full of ideals on living missionary works.

Portuguese Tasted Terrible

The first big barrier I faced was language. Portuguese seemed terrible. As I sat through language school class and watched as others quickly acquired fluency, my worries increased all the more. However, now that I am living in a community, the people help me along. For a long time, I felt like a child being led along by the hand. My living among them helps me to pick their language and ways of expression, different as they are from what I learned in language school.

Cling to my Culture

After years and months I have started to find my way, but I experience many frustrations and difficulties in living in and adjusting to a new culture. I am tempted to cling to my own Filipino culture because in it I feel safe and easy. It must have seemed weird to the Brazilians on first meeting me to be greeted by just a handshake or a nod of the head, instead of the usual hug and kiss on the cheek. I know they were surprised to see me eat rice for breakfast, lunch and supper. Equally strange much have been the sight of me sitting quietly during the Mass in the midst of the crowd as they swayed and clapped to the rhythm, of the traditional “Atabaque” (drums). Knowing that I had difficulty adjusting to the high noise level, they comforted me by telling me to find God in the noise. I must be very difficult for them to understand my timidity which contrasted so sharply with what, to the outsider, would seem an almost aggressive culture. Maybe they were happy to see me trying my best to move my hips in time to the dance. I know that now they are very happy, when I visit their houses, to see me grab a plate for lunch at three or four in the afternoon, depending on when food is available. They seem to be content with eating only twice a day. This would be a problem for me.

Why is he here?

I know that they were puzzled when, without really knowing them, I started to talk to then about community, about black consciousness, because they see me as a ‘white’ outsider. I know it was hard for them to understand why I made a friend of a ‘Pai de Santo’ (A priest in the Afro-Brazilian religion) when the Catholic Church here is so strong against religious syncretism. I know too that they understand poverty better than I do. I know they are hurt when I fail to visit every home because of lack of time. And I realize that it’s hard for them to understand why I am here, though most seem happy that I have come. One of their biggest difficulties is realizing that I am neither Chinese, Japanese nor Korean, because they associate all ‘Oriental’ with matters economic.

Which God am I bringing?

If God loves these people I have ever met! To share my Faith? The same Faith that was brought here by the colonists and resulted in the massacre of the ‘Indians’, the enslavement of the Africans and the destruction of their cultures? To proclaim God? The God of the colonist who wants to expands hid empire among ‘pagans’; a God cold and careless about peoples’ cultures? No, that is not my God.

Here in Brazil I am a witness to the God of the Africans and the Indians and the same God that I experience in my daily life in the Philippines; a God that loves to celebrated and is happy with different race, culture, and religion; a God who reveals Himself through the Gospels, through nature, our forefathers and the history of people. The God who walks with all oppresses people towards their promised land. I have come to walk with them, too.

By Sr. Lilia Conol, MMS

AIDS, ‘Edzi’ – These words strike fear, guilt and shame in the hearts of these found to be HIV positive in Malawi, Africa. Their days are numbered. They experience anger, confusion, denial, shock. Of the 10 million inhabitants of Malawi, more than one million are HIV positive, Blantyre, where I work has the highest HIV rate in Malawi. Of the pre-natal mothers coming for a check up at the Central Hospital in Blantyre, 38% were fund to be HIV positives in 1994. Hospitals can no longer accommodate them, so they discharge those HIV as fast as they come in and send them back to their homes with no guarantee of further help or follow-up.

Sr. Lilia comes from Oroquieta, Misamis Oriental; after school there, she studied Pharmacy at the University of the Philippines Manila. She is one of ten children.

Horror!

In just ten years the AIDS epidemic has become a national crisis. Women suffer the most. Joyce, a typical wife and mother of two children, was rejected by her husband when hospitals and African healers could not cure her. To add more pain to injury, the husband ‘kidnapped’ their children from her sight during her last agonizing days with incurable bedsores. Compare this with Edina, a mother of four. Her husband Fabiano, afflicted with tuberculosis, then pneumonia, lived for two years. Edina was always caring for him, faithfully at his side. Fabiano died in peace. Edina’s third child, now severely emaciated, will follow her husband soon.

Tears of Joy

As the only home-based-provider for three parishes at the moment, we appeal for Home Based Community Volunteers who are genuinely motivated to care for their communities. There are now about eight of them responding to the Church’s call for help in these parishes. As I walk with then in our home visits through hills. Valleys, rocky or dusty roads, I use these daily moments to hear their stories of poverty and oppression, disappointment and joys. I see the extent of degradation that AIDS and POVERTY have effected, I feel the cries of their hearts, the hurts, and also the tears of joy at discovering that God is still with them in spite of everything, when I spot out medicinal plants on these journeys, an informal class happens, followed by a practicum in the next house being visited. Acupressure, pranic healing, massage therapy are doing wonders which also surprises me at times’ in my unbelief’. I meet the people also as a group in their parish halls at most once a month on Sundays for five hours. They share experiences, and problems, and ways to solve them.

Who will help the Orphans?

As a Home-Based Promoter of the pilot project, I meet with the other nine Home- Based promoters together with our national coordinator, Mr. Namanja, every two months to share our problems and experience in the field. Expansion will begin as soon as the funding agency approves the diocesan proposals. Income generating activities that are sustainable for the benefit of orphans and elderly are being discussed at the moment by the Home-Based Community in their areas. Some HIV positive women are given help in small businesses, so they can continue caring for their fatherless children.

Meet Milikah!

The AIDS ministry is quite demanding and depressing. There is still a lot to do and not much time left. What I find depressing is that I meet many victims, beautiful people. And hear their stories, their dreams, their hopes. And then a few months later, or less, another funeral takes place. Still I continue visiting them in their homes with a few multivitamin tablets, herbs, words of comfort and prayer that they may be reconciled their God. Milikah, a widow for six years, with seven children to support, is a real gift to me. She volunteered and is very faithful to the sick and orphans in her area. She is busy with embroidery work to provide an income. She is confirmed HIV positive and knows she got it from her late husband, yet she surrenders herself to God for the remaining years left to her by helping other victims and orphans. Indeed, Christ is born in the hearts of those who have suffered much and reflected much on life; “I live now not with my own life but with the life of Christ who lives in me.” (Gal 2:20) So, I wind in and out of people’s lives. Having touched them, I am blesses. Having touched me, they are blessed.

By Sr. Clare Garcillano, SPC

The small Christian population living in Bethlehem and Jerusalem, and other parts pf the Holy Land is under great pressure. Thousands have emigrated leaving only a very small precarious presence. Sr. Clare, a Filipino Sister of St. Paul, tells us of a special apostolate which tries to help the beleaguered Christians and tries to bring peace to historic Bethlehem, the birthplace of our Savior.

Apostolate of Presence

We are three Sisters of St. Paul of Charters in Bethlehem, working at Bethlehem University, administered by the De Salle Brothers; we are an international group. Our congregation has been here since 1981. It was emphasized to us at the beginning of our stay that the presence of religious men and women in the Holy Land is mainly and apostolate of witnessing or an apostolate of presence.

Yasser Arafat

The town of Bethlehem was once an ‘occupied territory’, but is now under the Palestinian Authority of Yasser Arafat. Because of the complexities of the situation here, Bethlehem University exists as a result of the concern of Pope John Paul VI had for the future of the Christian in this Land of Christ.

65% Muslim 35% Christians

This year, the University is in its 24th year. We started with 75 students and 50 staff members in a small building of the Freres’ School. At present there are at least 2,000 students and 250 Academic and Non-Academic Staff members housed in three buildings now owned by Bethlehem University. Our students are all Palestinians of varied religions: Muslims and Christians of different denominations. We have 65% Muslim 35% Christians among our students.

Apprehensive

The University schedule is never definite. Our Academic Vice President (an Americans De Salle Brother) is continuously on the lookout to change the schedule when there are interruptions caused either by closure of borders, feast of Muslims, Christians and Jews or strikes of students. Every time we start the semester, we just pray hard that the semester will go smoothly, but in the back of our minds there are apprehensions of what day to day happenings will bring.

Retaliation

Every suicide bombing or attack against Israel results in Israeli retaliation with a ‘blockade’ policy that chokes the Palestinians population and causes roads blocks, uncertain food supplies, heavy unemployment that reaches crisis level, and disruptions in education, business and agriculture. Meanwhile the medical people and patients are unable to reach hospitals and clinics.

Suicide Bombing

Recent suicide bombings have changed greatly the lives of the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza. Borders were closed and further travel restrictions were imposed. The University had to suspend classes for at least two weeks due to the difficulties of students professors and staff in traveling to and from Bethlehem University.

Graduation day has always been memorable. Knowing the situation of the people, you could sense how the parents and graduates value this moment of achievement, even if after their graduation they would ask, then what? The important thing is now they are considered knowledgeable and educated persons.

Peace

We missionaries long for the day when conditions for our Palestinian sisters and brother will improve and peace between the Israelis and Palestinians in the Holy Land will prevail.

By Bro. Elie Sangco, MSP

“Mission in the mud is challenging. Sometimes you feel mad because of the mud. But we are called to serve the people, to experience God in the midst of this awful mud.”

Elie Sangco is now back in the seminary preparing to be a Fil-Mission priest after overseas training in Papua New Guinea. He is the youngest of seven and comes from Poblacion. Pres. Roxas, Cotabato.

Our Mission Station

St. Michael’s Parish is located in Lower Bamu of the Western Province of Papua New Guinea. This one of the most isolated mission stations in the diocese.

This station covers fourteen dispersed villages. Three villages are situated on an island. The rest are on the mainriver. The place is swampy and below sea level. Besides, this place is situated in the mouth of the Papua New Guinea Gulf. That is why during the highest tide the villages are under water which causes the deep mud.

The river is colored clayish-black due to the frightful mud. You cannot find a single stone in the river. It has been observed that the water is slowly eating away the islands. In fact one island has already disappeared from the map. The small creek is becoming bigger. This is caused by the big tide that hits the island.

No Source of Water

None of the villages has a source of clean water. The missionaries depend on the water from heaven – rain water. If there’s no rain, then we have to fetch unpotable water from the bush. The people here used to fetch the drinking water from the creek in the bush. We cannot make a deep well or use a water pump due to the muddy soil below, which is swampy and salty water.

Sago is the villagers’ staple food. Sometimes they mix it with coconut, banana, prawn, or fish. They cook the sago by roasting it. We are slowly adjusting to eating sago.

At present, only two villages have a community school. The teacher, however, have given up teaching due to some problems. Three villages have started pre-schools. The women’s organizations have initiated a literacy program in their villages.

The Women’s Plight

Most of the women remain in the village. Most of them have not gone to school. They have poor health practices. Others are suffering from malnutrition and overwork. Compared to men, women do the hard work. They look for food and firewood in the bush for the family. During the village feasts, they are obliged to look for food and cook it for the men.

The missionaries initiated programs to help the women: women’s organization in the villages, community sewing and nutrition projects. The women have learned and discovered new things. Now they can work and pray together and enjoy each other’s company. They only need a leader to guide them so that they appreciate new things.

Conclusion

Mission life in the mud is very challenging. It needs a lot of patience to wade through the deep mud, double courage to travel over the rough seas to meet the people, and a lot of sacrifice to work with the villagers. It is only faith in God that sustains us in living and staying in this muddy mission in this foreign land.

By Jim Forest

“She is unmarried and pregnant, appears to be in her mid – teens, and is nearly penniless. Religiously obsessed, she suffers acute delusions. Her pregnancy, she claims, was caused by God. She asserts that she is still a virgin. Given her age and psychological conditions, an abortion is clearly indicated, yet her religious scruples deter her from accepting one. Further counseling is urgently required.”

But there were no social workers at the time, abortion didn’t I occur to anyone in her family or neighborhood. In the impoverished culture of northern Galilee twenty centuries ago, social engineering had chiefly to do with maintaining the wells. Mary Child managed to be born. She named him Jesus.

In terms of material wealth, Mary lived in a much poorer world than we do but in many ways our culture is poorer than her’s. So impoverished is our world that abortion has become something normal. Even people other wise devoted to peace, social justice, human rights, care of the environment, the protection of endangered creatures and the development of a nonviolent way of life often turn out to be supporters of abortion.

What explains the indifference, even enmity, toward the unborn?

One part of the answer must be the ice-cold ‘mercy’ of the modern world. We are told that it is a kind of mercy in this over-crowded planet to kill the very youngest before they claim a place at the world’s table. After all, some of them may later starve to death, or they might become criminals, or they might be casualties of a future war, or they might not like this world with its many problems.

At least among Christian, one would expect universal rejection of abortion, after all, salvation begins not with Jesus’ baptism, not with his preaching, not with the miracles, not even with his death and resurrection. Salvation begins in Mary’s womb. St, Luke’s account of Jesus’ conception is followed by the story of Mary’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth, pregnant with John the Baptist. Unborn John – John the Fetus – leaps for joy within his mother, while Elizabeth exclaims, “Why should I be honored with a visit from the mother of my Lord?” And Mary responded out of the immense silence of the child she carries, “Yes, from this day all generations will call me blessed, for the Almighty has done great things for me. Holy is his name.”

But Christians too are among those who favor abortion.

Whether religious or non-religious, supporters, of abortion offer both rational and moral defenses for their position. There has never been a social evil for which justifications weren’t provided – for slavery, torture, the burning of heretics, the fighting of Holy Wars for concentration camps and the Holocaust.

We are clever enough to know that certain words must be avoided if we are to live in peace with abortion. Thus it is not a “he” or a “she” who is the object of abortion, but “it”. And it is not an unborn child, but an embryo or a fetus – not much more than an item in an unabridged dictionary, a “product of conception” – best described in a dead language. A kind of virus. Anything but a child.

And what we do to that Latinized matter is not to kill it. The verb “to kill” is to definite and too morally – charged. The “it” isn’t killed, it’s aborted. Again the dictionary intervenes. Abortion is turning the page in the dictionary in search of dehumanizing words. But what we are talking about is the intentional killing of innocent life.

How effectively death by abortion is sold! When I was in England to promote a new book, I did a fair amount of riding in what Londoners call “Underground,” Going down he escalators to the subterranean trains, I saw nearly as many advertisement for abortions ad for sexy underwear.
One glass- caged poster said in huge letters, “If you’re happy being pregnant, fine. If not, call us.” The telephone number followed.

If I were pregnant, I wondered, how happy would I be? I might in the third week of morning sickness, I might nave a husband or boyfriend who was furious that the playing g house stage of life was threatened, who preferred changing TV stations to changing diapers. I might be facing parents or social workers who cry only at the movies. I might be in debt up to my chin, living in an apartment the size of a cigarette box, and with my hopes for the future ambitions collapsing into the ash can.

Yet her I am being told over and over again that happiness is precondition to motherhood, that pregnancy should only be tolerated in the events the mother is enjoying it otherwise – call this number.

No Elizabeth to rejoice with Mary. No one to celebrate the fresh evidence of God’s patience with the human race. No one to help me figure out how to keep the child or give it to those who could offer a welcome. No one to help me with my fears. No one to help me nurture and give birth to and protect this new life. But many offering death.

Jim Forest is co-secretary of the orthodox Peace Fellowship.