By Fr Joseph Panabang SVD

Oops: The Transmission

To facilitate the animation of twenty Christian Communities, I divided them into three zones. One zone is accessible by car only during the dry season. The bush road is too much even for James Bond driver, so to avoid going back and forth, I do a live-in visit: I stay in the village for a week or so and come home only to refuel and then go back again. Last January, I started out. In the middle of the hilly road, I managed to dodge all stones and to the obstacles; this impressed my companions very much. Then came the sandy road. “At last!” I told myself and relaxed not knowing that beneath the sands was buried the remains of a big tree. As I hit it, the engine died out. “Here we go again, I thought.” As I looked at the condemned transmission, I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. The following day, observing me so crestfallen, my church helper simply said, “Well, as our elders say, Man proposes and God disposes.” Believe it or not, I got back my courage and thanks to the inventor of the four-wheel drive. I managed to tow the car back to base.

Holy Earrings

A woman at Takyera village came asking for two Marian medals for her two daughters. Trustingly, I gave them to her at once. The next time I came, the same woman came to communion with two glittering earrings dangling on both sides. I couldn’t help but smile as I recognized the two Marian medals used as earrings.

Don’t Burn the Papers

After writing the first draft of Pinoy in Ghana at my remotest village, I was about to burn all the scratch papers. Two women carrying water stopped and looked at me suspiciously as if I was a criminal. But I  could hear them saying, “Oh oh oh...” Then I lit the paper and suddenly a chorus of shouts descended from the rooftop from men roofing a new house. One of them came running and hooting like an owl, he picked up a piece of stick and placed it onto his mouth imitating one smoking a cigar. And there I got the message: “Don’t burn the papers. I will use them to wrap my tobacco.” Immediately we scrambled to put out the fire. Luckily we saved some. I felt a bit guilty because I saw on the spot that what I considered trash actually a luxury to them.

Cat with Wings

“Don’t go away father because we have killed one of our cocks”. That was what I heard from Lawrence Appiah our catechist. While eating, I became suspicious of the soft and delicious meat. I began examining the bones. When Lawrence passed by I asked: “Did you say you killed one of your cocks?” “No” I said: One of our cats.” That was my first time to eat cat meat. I tell you it is as delicious as rabbit. When I arrived home our cat came running towards me. At that moment, I looked at her more meaningfully.

Three Wheeled Bus

Thinking my car accident was exciting, I share the experience with Sr. Lourdes PIlapil, RVM. Then Sr. Lourdes also shared about her latest car accident which was even more exciting. It happened this way. Coming from Accra, capital of Ghana, she took a public bus. The driver allowed her to sit behind him. Somewhere down the road, a little downhill, Sister saw a tire rolling  swiftly by, itself moving  way ahead of the bus to the cheers and ‘a..aaa...ahs’ of roadside vendors who were running for their lives. Sister did not say a word except “eh eh eh...” as she realized it did was the wheel from the bus she was riding on. Her exclamations were powerful enough to stop the driver. They all got off to search for the wheel and of course some said “we are lucky we had the sister on board!”

???

My Ghanaian friend who is a devout reader of Misyon congratulated me for my anecdotes. He told me about a European tourist who at the Kotoba International Airport Accra, asked his Ghanaian guide: I was told here in Ghana, if you ask them a question, they will answer you with a question. Is it true?” “Who told you?” was the guide’s reply.

 

 

By: Sr. Martina Machacon, OSS

How it Started

The conflict started with the shooting down of the plane of President Juvenal Habyimana, the President of Rwanda on April 6, 1994. Immediately after the incident, communications were cut off and Kigali was blocked. People started evacuating the city with their few belongings in a bundle on their heads to escape being killed.

Evacuation Operation

In the city of Kigali, Capital of Rwanda, there was an evacuation operation for the foreigners while fighting was going on. This was done at great risks to the rescuers. People had no where to cling to, either to the soldiers or to the rebels. Rebels were fighting for ideology while soldiers used their arms for robbery. Soldier filled their own houses with stolen things they took money or cows or stolen or any material possession. A cow is of great value to them because they can exchange it for a woman.

Brutal Massacre

Our Sister were over in Muruha which was near the rebel territory so our sister, Oblates of the Holy Spirit, saw with their own eyes brutal massacres of the population and the tragic situation, for example, an infirmarian who worked in our maternity hospital for twenty years was beaten like an animal till she died. Sr. Irene said, that it was very discouraging to treat the wounded people only to see them killed after her efforts to save them from dying. There were about two hundred Tutsi natives who took refuge in the parish church when the rebels passed by the place. They were set by the rebels but when they arrived home they were killed by their own friends and neighbors.

Last Minute Escape

When the Italian Cunsul saw that the situation in Muruha was so bad, he sent a helicopter to the help the Italian missionaries to get out of the place. A small helicopter with the capacity for only three passengers was sent to pick them up, three at a time and they were bought to Kigali another bigger helicopter brought them to Nairobi an Italian army plane took them to Italy.

Tears Rolled Down our Cheeks

In Kenya our own Sr. Irene was with this group. The helicopter was surrounded by the Rwandaise village people and the evacuees. Sr. Irene said, that tears were rolling down her cheeks while looking at those people whom she had been working with and leaving them helpless as there were no more foreigners whom they can rely. They could not trust their friends, neighbors and even their own relatives. The last one to move out from Muhura was our Superior, together with a Rwandaise sister, our parish priest with the Darnabito brother and the orphans gathered and sustained by an Italian lady benefactress. Now, the natives in Muhura are left all alone by themselves; no more missionary priest to feed them. I don’t know how they survive this time as there are no source of supply, no more food distribution, no planting and no harvesting.

Terror
I was on retreat when the war broke out. We had our retreat in Cyeza, a parish not far from the city Kigali. My companions were our native Rwanda sister and Sr. Faustina another Filipino Sister. It is a parish where our sisters run a vocational school. Every night we always prayed that we might get up the next day still alive.

Leave Now!
As the situation was getting worse day after day a Francescan priest came and told the Superior to get out of the country. One sister reminded us that life is more precious than our work activities. After a priest left the called all of us and said that we have to leave with her or stay. Nobody wanted to remain in their country except one sister, a Talsi, who decided to stay. We have not heard any news about her since then.

Tears in her Eyes
A Belgian parish priest asked why we would not stay to become martyrs. Sr. Faustina answered with tears in her eyes: “my mother is still alive,” I accept to become martyr but not to be cut into pieces and my naked body left on the road to rot.

Vital Documents
As I did not have a passport nor did the Rwandan Sister, the Fracescan priest helped us secure all the necessary travel documents just to pass the frontiers. On the 13th of April we were able to obtain the “protectoral authorization speciale de circulation” the pass to allow us to pass the borders.

Sleep Without Fear
On the early morning of April 14, 1994 we left Rwanda and arrived in Burundi in the afternoon, we were housed in the sisters convent, the ICM Community in Bujumbura. Sr. Josifina Ung, a Filipino, and her Belgian co-sister were very accommodating and very kind. Here we also met Sr. Narcisa of the Divine Zeal in Bujumbura, she is on her way home to the Philippines for vacation. We were given permission “Laissez Passes” by the Nuncio in Bujumbura and a visa to enter Italy, by Italian consulate. We left Bujumbura on the 16th and arrived Rome on the 17th. At last, we were able to sleep without fear of someone knocking or any strange noise that means danger for our lives.

 

Alive: Thank God
A better runner from the first base Muhura to second base Cyeza, I was able to reach the third base Bujumbura and finally arrived safe and sound to the home base, Italy, ALIVE.

THANKS BE TO GOD!

Every night we always prayed that we might get up the next day still alive.

 

 

 

By: Sr. Tammy Saberon, SSC

Here is a little story of how Sr. Tammy, a Filipino missionary in Hong Kong came to write many songs which are now available in a book called: “God had a Dream for You.” In this article Sr. Tammy now in-charge of vocation tells us how she came to write songs and thanks all those who helped her to produce the book and the cassette tape.

We Don’t Read Music

Many of my Chinese friends in Hong Kong told me that Filipinos sing very well. I accepted the compliments graciously and I humbly told them that the majority of the Filipinos do not know how to read music. They opened their eyes with wonder. I told them, “You see me sing and play the guitar but I do not know anything about music.” Inspite of this revelation, they still wondered. I suppose some of you will also wonder how I composed these songs but this is one of Gods surprises for me.

Suddenly I was Humming

It was in September 1986 when I began to discover this gift. I had just returned to Hong Kong from four months vacation in the Philippines. At Shatin station one morning, I hurriedly took the first train that came. Too late did I find out that it was heading for the Race Course -- not to the Tai Po which would bring me to the Chinese University where I was studying Chinese. Sitting quietly after the initial anger over my carelessness, I noticed myself singing in my heart “Lord Have Mercy” in a tune I did not know before.

Then Came More

The next day, while traveling back to shatin, I composed the other parts of the mass except the Gloria and the Lord’s Prayer which I composed while traveling, walking, praying or upon opining the book of Psalms. At other times I would be awakened at night by tunes for the Gloria and Benedictus (the latter is not included in the volume.)

Salamat

Everyone helped me. I want to thank them especially my friends in Hong Kong who drafted and edited my first compositions: Denise Lai, Cecilia Briones, Sr. Josifina Santos, SFC; Fr. John Manalo, SSP and Fr. Jack Sullivan, MM, my retreat master who encouraged me to take basic music and to the unknown author of the song entitled “Song of My Life” from the music is adopted for “Jesus Lord Of My Life.”

 

Then the Book

Then the book Missionaries of the Assumption introduced me to Narcisa “Nars” Fernandez who did the final drafting of my book; Noel Hernandez introduced me to Nez Marcelo, the arranger of the music production and the music editor of this book; and Lourdes Villamo made the cover design and then The 5th Gospel group helped me sing my songs. My heartfelt thanks to the Columban Sisters in Ireland, Hong Kong and the Philippines; the Columban sisters General and Philippines Regional Council for their support and encouragement to make this musical production and publication possible.

Praise and Thanks the Lord

Most of all, I praise and thank the Lord for giving me this special gift of composing religious music. May those who listen and sing these songs be drawn closer to the Lord.

 

 

By: Fr. Vincent Busch, MSSC

Robbers Strike. So?

A lawyer, seeking to inherit eternal like Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” In answer, Jesus told the story in which a priest and a Levite, respected religious authorities in the Jewish community, passed by a wounded man left by robbers to die in the side if the road. A Samaritan, a foreigner disdained by the Jewish community took compassion on the wounded man and nursed him to health. Jesus ends the story with the question: “Which of these three proved neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?”

Paradox!

The paradoxical message of this Bible story is that people find salvation when they get their heads out of the Bible, so to speak, begin to act   with life - giving compassion. In northwestern Mindanao a group of ordinary people have taken compassion on the wounded land and are saving their endangered habitat.

A Forest is Husband of Soil

The soil is a community of tiny living and non living things. A thousand of years the soil lived on the slopes and foothills of the Malindag mountain range. Living above this soil was a community of trees, plants, vines, insects, birds and animals called forest.

Love Relationship

The soil and the forest communities interacted in a mutually beneficial friendship. The soil was the ground where the forest laid to rest its dead leaves, plants, and animals. There, in the soil, worms, fungi and bacteria decomposed the forest’s dead into nutrients for the living forest. The forest, for its part, sheltered the soil from the scorching sun and the pounding monsoon rain.

The wonderful Subanon

The first humans to join the soil and forest communities of the Malindang Mountains belonged to the tribal group called Subanon. The Subanons lived lightly and politely with the earth; lightly, because they always ask the permission of the of the spirit world in their habitat before clearing, planting or harvesting their small plots in the forest. Asking permission was done through simple rituals conducted by tribal shamans (priest – doctors).

The Wise Subanon

Subanon families practiced shifting agriculture. After a few harvests, the soil would become exhausted and the family moved away allowing the forest to grow back and the soil to renew itself. Such small-scale agriculture over a large forested area allowed the Subanons to live harmoniously within the forest and the soil communities of Mt. Malindang. They were good neighbors.

Lowlanders Arrives

In this century, especially in the last fifty years, waves of settlers from the Visayan island of the central Philippines have flowed into the soil and forest communities of Mount Malindang. They were many and they needed much. Within a few decades loggers and farmers had stripped the forest and robbed the soil, leaving the wounded land to die in the scorching heat and lashing rain.

Passed By The Wonderful land

Many respectable people passed by the wounded land. Student passed by on their way to study the ways of commerce, industry and business. Salesman of agro- chemicals passed by, pre-occupied with selling fertilizers and pesticides. Priests, catechists and Church workers passed by, zealously bringing the sacraments and seminars to the barrios. Loggers passed by, intent on cutting the remaining forest. And more hungry settlers passed by, hoping to plant come on slopes stripped by the loggers.

We Were All Blind

In fact, almost everyone in the northwestern Mindanao, at one time or another, has ignored the wounded forest and soil communities of Mount Malindang. Like the priest and Levite of the Gospel story, all of us    were too preoccupied with our customary lives to pay attention to our dying neighborhood.

Hopes Arrives

Since 1998 the parish of Jimenez has begun to include care for the earth among its pastoral concerns. Since then members of the parish have attended ecological awareness seminars and the parish high school has started a student ecological group. At their regular meetings the Christian communities in the barrios have shared their concerns for the fate of their forest and soil. Ecological awareness was growing but ecological action was till lacking.

Action Begins

To answer the need for action, the ecologically aware people of Jimenez formed the Malindang Volunteers. Members of this group spend one week a month replanting denuded hillsides in the remote barrio of Carmen. Their work depends totally on voluntary labor, and local donations for transport, seedlings, tools, foods and lodging. Said Mrs. Angelita Ambag, a farmer and housewife: “We plant all kinds of tress, especially fruit trees. We are not interested in making money with these trees. We want to restore our watershed so that everyone will benefit from our work”. Cristina Atillo, a high school student, agreed: “Although our work is hard, we are not discouraged, because we look forward to a more healthy future.”

 

Dangerous Work

On their first expedition, they spent five days hauling materials to build a bunk house, which they dubbed the “Malin – Vo Hotel” to be the base for their operations. A truck lent by the Pipuli Foundation could only go so far in this rugged terrain; everything had to be carried the rest of the way by the volunteers. The work was always hard and sometimes dangerous; many would fall on the steep slopes.

Sister Earth We’ve Come to Help

Before starting work each morning the group would hold a simple ceremony reminded us that the soil is our brother and sister and we live in communion with the earth,” said Mr. Ver Ambag. The group now includes many who formerly passed by the dying land. In Barrio Carmen impoverished farmers who once cleared the forest to grow food are now replanting as Malindang Volunteers. The group works with the farmers to plan alternative ways to support themselves instead of destroying a forest to grow a few stalks of scrawny corn.

Arise Wounded Earth

The group has no guarantee that their seedlings will survive or that their ecological vision will take root in the wider community. They work, inspired by the conviction that they will find life through their compassion for the forest and soil. They have proved to be good neighbors to the wounded earth.

 

 

 

By: Sr. Victoria Lerin, FMM

Bolivia, the heart of Latin America is very rich in culture like every country. The northern part of Bolivia is called Pando where I am working with a population of 40,000 people of which ninety percent are Catholic.

Geographical Problem

One main difficulties I face is geographical. The province in which I live is isolated from the rest of Bolivia. Travel is long and hard, you can’t drive to La Paz (Bolivia’s Capital) unless conditions are ideal – which just doesn’t happen. And there’s not a foot of paved road.

More to Learn

This year is my fourth year here always here, enough to know the people’s culture and live with it ... though there’s always more to learn. Bolivian Culture is quite similar to our Filipino Culture especially popular Religion.

In the Rain Forest

Doing pastoral work in this environment is sometimes difficult. We often take three days trip in the surrounding jungle, making stops at the villages along the way to celebrate, perform Baptisms and organize communities. In the rain forest, people farm by slashing and burning. Most families consist of two or generations living together on small huts of about 150 square feet. Most of the huts are wood but some are made of tin because they’re more durable.

Politics

It contrast, Cobija, the main city in the province, is fairly well of. Cobija survives off politics. It has political clout beyond its population so it gets financial programs. It’s like a state capital. The city connection with politics makes working for the government extremely uncertain, at best. Anytime, a new political party is elected, every government employee is replaced. Families tend to split with deferent members in each political party so that no matter who wins the election, someone will have a job.

Beautiful Wakes

One example is the concern that Bolivians show toward each other at times of death. They have wakes after someone dies, everyone comes with coffee, sugar, candles and they collect money for the coffin. They pray all night over the body, which is buried the next day.

Need to Feel

Bolivians enjoy religious processions for this reason they want to experience religion on the human level and they want to feel it emotionally.

Youth Work

Besides, the pastoral work, in building communities, I’m also working with the youth forming them to be responsible and to be agents of positive change in the new society.

New Perspective

In many ways I’m learning a lot of things from a new perspective. Right Now, I’m where I want to be. Learning is a slow process, but people have been very patient with me.

By Sister Maryanne Terrenal, RGS

I am a Filipina Good Shepherd sister living in Korea. We Good Shepherd Sisters, as everybody knows, try to help girls and young women rejected by society. Here in Korea, we have two homes for those who have not only received rejection from society at large but from their very own families, too. One of the problems that arises is, the absence of parents who will marry them off. On the other hand, we receive many requests from eligible bachelors who do not mind what kind of girl one has been as long as she is willing to live in the countryside. For here, as elsewhere the city is thought to be the best place to be in. so I decided to try my luck at “chungmeh”.

Only One Way

A “chung-meh” is arranging an introduction between two young people, with marriage in view. In the Old Testament, match-making was an art – Laban outsmarted Jacob by 14 years of free labor. In Korea, up to the present day, match-making is still the one and only way to prepare for marriage, and it is done with great caution and precision.

A Slap on the Face

To arrange a match, you have to see that the ages and family backgrounds match, the educational status, health, income, religious preference – all should match; and at the first meeting all of these are laid on the table by each person. Only then can an agreement be reached, whether they should part ways at once, or take a chance to have a second look at the prospect. There are professional match-makers, out to make money for themselves. If a match succeeds, the match-maker  gets a stout monetary reward from the couple. If it fails, so I heard, the matchmaker receives a slap on the face.

Wrong Attire!

A girl I knew planned to solve the problem herself. Like many of her contemporaries nowadays, they try matches among themselves, for a direct and first hand proposal is still taboo. My girl made the private preliminary introductions, and appointments were made for the official first meeting, at a fashionable restaurant, according to custom. The snag came about when the young lady to be matched arrived – dressed in her usual casual attire, blue jeans, raincoat, tennis shoes. It wasn’t the right costume for the occasion. And well, if even God rejected the guest who was not properly dressed for the wedding party, how much more understandable that a prospective bridegroom, being only human, should think second thoughts about a prospective bride who does not care to dress for the occasion?

Successful Match

The first and only time I ever witnessed a Korean traditional wedding was when Paula was brought home by her Prince charming, oldest son of the village chief, richest man in the locality. No matter that Paula had been reared in an orphanage – she had a family name she and the in laws could boast of.

A Little Coaching

Another successful chung-meh was solemnized by no less than our bishop. This one almost did not work out at first. The young man came with a big bouquet of flowers each time, but he would not open his mouth nor look at the young lady. So I coached him a bit and then sent them off to the park. That evening the girl was smiling sweetly and before long the parents of the man had been to see the bishop about wedding arrangements. Today with two children, the poor city girl is still trying to adjust to farm life with great difficulty, so the man is thinking of moving to town.

Marriage Bureau

Five years ago I got a letter from a 30-year-old man who said he would marry even a girl with a past. I wrote back saying there was an unwed mother who would love to have a father for her little girl. They met each other and he fell in love not only with the mother but also with the one-year-old baby. He promised to adopt the child and made arrangements for the woman to meet his mother. Also SOP. The family was acceptable, it seemed, but the prospective bridegroom was temporarily unemployed. The mother knew better than to entrust the mouths to be fed to a jobless man. The man, on the other hand, could not bring himself to say a definitive goodbye, Koreans will never say or do anything in your presence to displease you. He wrote me a nice long letter saying he was moving out and as soon as he had settled down he would pursue his suit. I promptly dismissed the case from my mind, and sure enough he was never heard from again.

Rosary Around His Neck

Until a few days ago. Some man phoned he wanted to visit me. When he came, for the life of me I could not place him at al. He explained who he was, and as a sign he showed the rosary that was hanging from his neck, a memento he had kept from his first visit. After he had written me, he had gone in search of a job and got employed in the cattle ranch of a Protestant missionary. He met a girl there and after six months of courtship under the eyes of the minister who did the chung-me, they had gotten married and were living “happily ever after”. Except that his conscience still bothered him about that first match (or mismatch); hence this visit of apology.

Graciously I told him that the lady had even then decided against the match but there was no way of communicating with him. I also said I was very happy that he had finally gotten married and settle down. The woman had also found a man who loved her, I assured him. Chung-meh’s are made by fools like me, but only God can make a marriage be. Wait, how does it go? “Marriages are made in heaven.”

 

By : Sr. Maria Mercedes Yañez, RVM

I am Sr. Maria Mercedes Yañez, an RVM sister working here in Ghana since 1984. I am from Salcedo Eastern Samar, Philippines. I am thirty six years old now. I am the hospital administrator here in St. Theresa’s Hospital, Nkoranza – a district of Brong Ahafo Region of Ghana. There are one hundred fifty thousand people in the whole district. We have many AIDS patients here, most of them are from Ivory Coast, a French/African border state which is an eight hour drive from where I work. Hospital work is fulfilling. I feel myself to be a wounded healer! Life here is extremely fulfilling. I live daily filled to the brim with gratefulness for what God has given me.

Dancing at Funerals

Funerals here in Ghana are occasions for general family and public gatherings. One is obliged to attend once you belong or live in a certain village for over a year. I like going to all these funerals. One’s death is commemorated by dancing, drumming, singing and all the traditional display of different “gods” that different people believe in. How I wish people would celebrate my funerals in this way.

 

 

By Charlie A. Agatep

Thirteen years ago on May 13, 1981, at 3:15pm GMT, I saw Pope John Paull II being shot as he was riding around St. Peter’s Square in his white, open jeep.

At the time of the shooting, which took place five days before the Pope’s 61st birthday anniversary, he was giving his blessing (Urbi et Orbi) and waving to a crowd of some 10,000 persons who had gathered in front of the Basilica of St. Peter’s since noon. He had just finished holding a boy in his arms inside the jeep when the shots rang out.

My late wife Mary and I were among 40 other Filipino tourists who had joined a bus tour of Europe that started in Frankfurt, Germany 11 days earlier. Ben Pangilinan (now President of the Philippine Daily Inquirer) and family were with us in the tour.

The news spread out early in the morning that the Pope would hold his weekly audience in St. Peter’s Square that afternoon. We felt that because he had just returned from a trip to the Philippines in February that year, he might find a sentimental attachment to us and extend us a special blessing.

We cancelled our scheduled tour of the city of Tivoli just 20 kilometers east of Rome and stalled for time. We revisited the Sistine Chapel and the Raphael Stanze, the Gallery or the Tapestries, the Gallery of the maps and the Pinacoteca, a marvelous collection of Renaissance and Baroque pictures.

It was about 3pm when the Pope emerged from the Basilica of St Peter’s, smiling and waving at the crowd. The passed in front of our group as we cheered and shouted “We are from the Philippines.” He noticed us, motioned the jeep driver to stop, and greeted us with a big smile, blessing us with the sign of the cross.

He was now going to make a second turn around the square in his jeep, an unusual move as we learned later. He was coming back to our group to talk to us longer, so I thought at the time. The white jeep was only a few meters from us then, when suddenly I heard three shots being fired. I saw the Pope limping forward as hundreds of doves flew from the ground, their wings flapping noisily. Visible on the Pope’s white, silk vestments were streams of blood.

I looked to my left and saw a man run to one of the many columns in the square. A plainclothes policeman jumped on him, but I thought he was just protecting the man from the crowd. The whole place was in  pandemonium now. Vatican Swiss guards in their orange and blue uniforms and civilian detectives ran in several directions.  The loud speaker over St. Peter’s Square announced that the Pope had been wounded. The voice over the loudspeaker asked the crowd to pray the Our Father and the Ave Maria with thousands in the square, we knelt to pray.

Minutes later I led Mary to the nearest taxicab and headed back to our hotel. As we opened the room TV, we saw doctors at Gemelli Policlinic, Rome’s most modern hospital, doing a surgical operation on the Pope. Hospital director Luigi Candia announced the Holy Father was undergoing surgery as he had intestinal lesions, but he was in satisfactory condition despite extensive wounds from three bullets. Thank God, we sighed.

Later that evening, the TV news reported that police had detained Nehmet Ali Hagca, a 23-year-old Turkish student at Perugia University as the prime suspect. The clean-shaven man wore gray jacket and a white shirt and looked emotionless at the TV cameras just after his arrest.

As subsequent events would show, the Pope recovered without any difficulty. Many attribute his recovery powers to his robust constitution. He like to keep fit by swimming regularly at the papal residence at Castelgandolfo. In his native Poland near Krakow,  a Polish tour guide once pointed to us the mountains where the Pope would take long walks when he was still archbishop.

The Pontiff has healthy sense of humor too. Only recently, he broke his femur bone in a freak accident in the papal bathroom. As he was wheeled to Gemelli hospital for another operation, he was reported to have told the hospital doctors: “You have to give me credit for my loyalty.”

-Philippine Daily Inquirer, May 13, 1994

By: Ariel Presbitero

My name is Ariel Presbitero. I am a Columban lay missionary in Salvador, Bahia where majority are black people and Africa culture is very strong. It’s necessary to understand it’s historical roots: Slavery.

For example, the Good Friday tradition during Holy Week, in the community where I lived (called Terra Para Todos), the people are aware of the “jejum” (fasting) because it was taught by the first evangelizers. However, in practice it’s a feast (fiesta). With all the typical foods: with red wine, loud music, singing, visiting of houses, dancing and many forms of festivities. I was a bit shocked by these customs on Good Friday. Personally, I think that Good Friday should be a day of prayer, silence and fasting. So this Brazilian tradition surprised me.

Why on Good Friday?
What I actually saw was a family affair in which everybody gather together, eats, drinks, sings, and dances, because it’s the only time they have to meet all members of the family. But on Good Friday? Surely there are other days to celebrate and make a day of festivities.

Sad And Strange History
I asked a friend of in the community and she told me that Good Friday was a very significant day for the slaves during the time of colonization which begun 500 years ago. The Portuguese colonizers freed the slaves only on Good Friday. They were freed from hard labor, freed to gather together and freed to celebrate. The only day of the year when the slaves were very happy and spent the day unburdened. Therefore, they prepared nice food, gathered together, singing, dancing and drinking and happily enjoying the rest of the day. I can imagine the joy of each slave to express one of the day of liberty in one whole year of hard labor.

Traditions Lives On
This tradition has been handed down until this present generation but in a “non – slavery“ society. For those who don’t know the historical background it would be judgmental to say that the people of Salvador, Bahia are not observing the Good Friday  and are ‘enjoying’ the death of Jesus on the Cross.

Of course on the pastoral level, I have my own cultural practices on Good Friday. I spent the day in the prayer house of one lay community and it made a whole lot of difference. It opened my mind to a deeper understanding of how God acts in peoples lives in many different ways. They celebrate Good Friday in joy, we celebrate it in quiet and sorrow. Ultimately what matters is how our celebration helps us to relate to each other. After all Christianity is about relationships. Without community there is no Christianity.

 

Ariel’s Good Friday Reflection

How many times I fall
Into the well of despair
Trapped, abandoned, secluded
The darkness I see
The coldness I feel
And the foulness I smell
Brought me more weak
And horribly helpless
The time I experience
The moment I’m lost
Gave me courage to call your name
My longing to be near
My longing to be helped
Wishing that my life sees
The clearness of your glory
Help me to get out from the well
Show me the bucket of life’s virtues
The rope of your unending support
And your words fill my heart with courage
Let me stand beside the well
So I can recall the beauty of your goodness
And always live in light
Never to forget you.

By Rev. Gideon Wagay’s Ordination Day

Some years ago a young Filipino went abroad to Europe to make his fortune – well not only to make his fortune but to help his family. He went through many countries and trials and all sorts of jobs (even a bounces in a night club). He ended in London where he met the Columban Fathers who were trying to help the overseas Filipinos. There in London he decided to become a priest.

Another ardous journey! But that journey ended for Gideon Wagay when he was ordained by Cardinal Hume. He tells his story in this issue and his plans to serve the DIASPORA FILIPINO.

First Filipino

Saturday, March 5, 1994 was a truly great day to be FILIPINO in LONDON!  And it was a ‘first’ . The beautiful Church of Our Lady of Victories in Kensington was packed to overflowing for the priestly Ordination of DEACON GIDEON WAGAY – the first from the Filipino migrant community in Britain to be ordained for the Archdiocese of Westminster.

Solemn Ceremony

From start to finish it was a deeply moving ceremony. The Ordaining Prelate  was Cardinal Basil Hume, and in the solemn entrance procession thirty five priests with five of Gideon’s fellow-deacons preceded him to the altar to concelebrate with the Cardinal.

Special Pinoy Energy

And for the people who couldn’t get a seat, they stood patiently for two hours at the back of the church or pressed up along the side aisles, right up to the sanctuary. The atmosphere was alive, charged with that special blend of Pinoy energy for celebrating Life! Everyone was caught up in the action around the  altar as Gideon offered himself to serve the People of God as a priest in one of the largest cities in the world: cosmopolitan, complex London, representing many faiths, many cultures, many ethnic communities.

Spoke From the Heart

Born in Davao of Ilocano parents, Gideon in the early 70s came from Manila to work in a variety of jobs – first for a short while in Germany and later in England. So when at the end of the ceremony Gideon addressed the congregation and his kababayan (fellow Filipinos) in particular, he spoke to them from his heart and his words touched everyone present.

Rare Rite

The Ordination rite itself is a simple and magnificent ceremony, and in the past, since ordination took place in rather remote seminaries, few Catholics ever got a chance to attend one.

Public Acceptance

First Gideon had to be officially presented as a Candidate and had to declare formally his intention to undertake the priestly office. Gideon was publicly accepted by the Cardinal at the Consent of the People.

A Good Shepherd

At this point the Cardinal gave his homily: its theme was the GOOD SHEPHERD (John 10:14-15). The model for the priest, he said, is Jesus the Good Shepherd and “the priest should be one who knows how to love” – who is open to the power of God’s Spirit, speaking the word that comforts and upholds. The Cardinal prayed that Gideon would always “experience our love, support and prayers – and may his ministry be fruitful”.

You Could Feel the Prayer

The next step was the ritual examination and Gideon undertook the promise of obedience: he knelt before the Cardinal and placed his hands within the cardinal’s hands.  You could feel the prayer with  and for him intensify while Gideon prostrated himself on the ground. The Litany of the Saints was sun by the Choir and the People in a rhythmic African chant to the accomplishment of the bongo drum, an echo of the multi-cultural Church community Gideon was now being called on to serve.

We Didn’t Notice the Noises

The laying-on of hands, the central act of ordination, followed. All eyes were on Gideon. The whirr and clicking of the cameras went unnoticed. Only much later, when trying out the Video of the Ordination at the Medy Yambao’s home, did we even hear them.

He Took the Chalice!

In silence the Cardinal laid his hands on Gideon’s head and all the concelebrating priests did the same. The Cardinal said the Prayer  of Consecration and Gideon, in readiness for his First Mass, was vested with stole and chasuble; his hands were anointed with oil chrism, and lastly the Cardinal presented him with the Chalice and Paten. Now warmly welcomed by his brother priests, all people broke out in spontaneous and happy applause. And the Mass proceeded.

God’s unspeakable Love

During the distribution of Holy Communion our PANSAPI Choir, excellently trained and conducted by Mrs. Florie Rivera, sang the hauntingly beautiful Meditation Song: “Hindi Kita Malilimutan” – a moment to cherish, a reminder of God’s loving and constant faithfulness.

Before the Cardinal gave the final blessing Gideon had the opportunity for a personal word of thanks. He began with the Tagalog proverb:

“Ang hindi marunong lumingon sa pinanggalingan ay hindi makakarating sa paroroonan.” (“One who does not know how to look back can never go forward.”)
Gideon wanted to look back and thank God for all the people  God had given him to accompany him in his journey to this day – as well as all who had come from far and near to support him with their presence and prayer.

Filipino Hospitality

Afterwards at the reception – and again next day at the First Mass and First Blessing  non-Filipinos present were deeply impressed by the solidarity and support shown Gideon by his kababayan. Parishioners accustomed to an impersonal, urbanized society marveled at the spirit of the open hospitality offered, its magnificent organization, and the collaboration of the various committees in welcoming and entertaining the guests. In all, there were three celebrating parishes where Gideon has been serving: Kensington, White city and Hounslow. As we queued up at the tables laden with food and Filipino delicacies, I heard people say, “So this is what it is to be a Christian community.” It was an echo from the Church of the first century and it was good to hear it repeated again at the Gideon’s Ordination in London ’94:
“See these (Filipino) Christians, how they love one another.”

For sure, Church vocations of all kinds will continue to grow and flourish wherever Filipino communities take root. Awa ng Diyos. Please God.

The Story of Malate Martyrs

By: Fr. Arthur Price, MSSC

One Day Long Ago

My own arrival in Malate is still clearly etched in my memory. Four of us newly ordained priests, James McDevitt, Dermot Feeney, Martin Strong and I, arrived in Manila Bay on a beautiful tropical evening just before sunset. We made our way to Malate Church which we found in a festive mood as the annual novena in honor of Our Lady of Remedies was then in progress. It was November 15, 1936. A wonderful atmosphere of relaxed enjoyment was everywhere. Religion really seemed to be the center of the lives of all people in more ways than one.

Binangonan

We four were graciously welcomed by the Malate priest and we soon received our assignments. Mine was to go to Silang where Fr. Peter Fallon, another veteran of the China Mission, was industriously trying to restore an old condemned Spanish church, as well as the faith in the area. My assignment was to learn the language. Fr. Fallon got the local boy for me; we studied together in the morning and went out in the afternoons to practice our simple words and sentences on the people – poor people!

Shameful Armband

The even tenor of our way received a rude interruption with the outbreak of war on December 8, 1941. At the time I was parish priest of Cardona, a new parish we had taken on some time previously, where I was to spend the next two years trying to keep on an even keel between the Japanese Imperial Army, the patriotic guerrillas and the opportunistic collaborators. I still used to make an occasional sortie into Manila, but every journey was a risk both for me and for those I visited, especially as I was supposed to wear Japanese – inscribed red armband telling the people that I was definitely non grata, and was to be avoided at all costs.

Pagdating ni Cano

As time moved on and the war turned more and more against Japan, the screw’s tightening was felt even more keenly. Hunger everywhere; fear of such an intensity that people were afraid to talk to their closest friends except about vague generalities; torture, death, uncertainty, inability to communicate – these were some of the things most felt. In some ways people in the provinces had more resources, and local supervision was less intense, but you could see the physical condition of the people deteriorating day by day. The great phrase of hope at the time was ‘Pagdating ni Cano’! (When the Americans come back things will be better).

Fr. Henaghan was Weeping

I remember seeing Fr. Henaghan making the Stations of the Cross in Malate Church after Fr. Frank Douglas was taken in Pililla in 1943 by the Japanese. He had been forcibly taken away in a truck by the soldier, first to Tanay, then to Paete where he was tortured. He was then taken away and was never seen again. We do not know where he was buried. Fr. Henaghan was weeping for his missing brother priest. I never realized the meaning of ‘vicarious suffering’ till then.

Military Round – up

On July 4, 1944, the Japanese made a sudden swoop to pick up all enemy aliens not previously interned. I was missed in the round up, but realizing the difficulty I would have to face later if found, and the punishment liable to be inflected on the people who had harbored me – as they wanted to do, I sent a message to Manila to say I was still in Cardona. A reply came back, telling me to come to Manila and report to Fort Santiago. This I decided to skip, but I made contact with the Apostolic Nuncio and was finally told to stay in Malate Church until picked up.

Blind Priest

Fr. Martin Strong and myself were there for several weeks and we began to think we had been forgotten, when, one fine afternoon, a military truck came, loaded us on board with the secretary of the Apostolic Nuncio. They also picked up a lone American Maryknoll Sister, who was actually taken from her sick-bed, and a totally blind Jesuit priest, Fr. McCaffrey.

Concentration Camp

They took us to the University of Santo Tomas gymnasium from where we moved to a new concentration camp in Los Baños, which held some 1,500 people, including about 500 priests, religious and missionaries. Truly, they ‘had a little list’ and if you were on it there was no room for dialogue.

Poignant Goodbye

The Malate priests were there to see us off, Fathers Henaghan, Kelly, Lalor, Monaghan and Fallon. Not much was said but they probably thought they would never see us again. They worried for us. Little did we know that it was we who should have been worrying for them. Because, under God’s Providence, we were the ones who survived.

Missing Forever

On February 23, 1945 we were dramatically liberated from Los Baños, by the 11th U.S. Airforce Division. Archbishop O’ Doherty of Manila came to visit us. He was the first to tell us about the tragedy that had happened to the priests in Malate. He told us that the whole area had been devastated and that thousands of the parishioners were unaccounted for, and that four of the Malate priests were missing... missing forever.

Priests Tortured

What had happened in Malate? During the occupation all the Columban priests had stayed at their posts serving the people in every possible way, as long as they could.  We heard later from reliable sources that on December 28, 1944 three of the Malate priests, (Kelly, Henaghan and Monaghan) were taken by the Japanese soldiers to a torture chamber in an old Spanish house near what is now the junction of Vito Cruz/Del Pilar streets, and they were tortured there. The soldiers later brought them back to the convento, and released then. Apparently the priests never shared with others the details of their torture. Fear was widespread.

Nameless Grave

Soon after, early in February 1945, while the liberation of Manila by the American forces was in progress, Fathers Kelly, Henaghan, Monaghan and Fallon were again rounded up from Malate Convento, by the Japanese, together with a group of parishioners who happened to be around (maybe nine or ten in all). They were marched off to the Syquia Apartments, a large building near the church. They were never seen again. Their bodies have never been found – they lie somewhere under the soil of Manila, in a nameless grave. Neighbours assured us that no shuts were heard from the building, and it is surmised that they were taken away at night time, killed by the Japanese and buried in a common grave.

Another Tragic Death

Fr. John Lalor was spared that day, because he had to be away from the convento. His death later was equally tragic in that was caused by “friendly fire” from the relieving American forces. I quote from the first hand account of an eyewitness to his last hours, one Pedro Picornell, who wrote a moving account of the Remedios Hospital in Malate, which was under the direct care of Fr. Lalor during the years of Japanese Occupation. His booklet, The Remedios Hospital in Malate – A Saga of Malate, recounts the tragic events of one of the final days of war. Tuesday, February 13, 1945, Fr. John Lalor spent most of the day in and about the Remedios Hospital in Malate... ”treating the wounded of the previous day... moved around the wounded, consoling them and giving absolution. It must have been late afternoon when Fr. Lalor and (Dr.) Tony  Lahorra and a few of the volunteers came out, and sat with their backs to the wall, just under the window of the administrator office. Everybody was exhausted. We had gone a few paces when I heard the whistle of a shell and threw myself on the ground. Then shell after shell followed, hitting the hospital and the crowded courtyard, for unending minutes, as shrapnel and bits of bodies flew all over the place. I do not know how long the barrage lasted but it stopped as suddenly as it started...”

... “Some five meters away I saw the bodies of Fr. John Lalor and Dr. Tony Lahorra sitting on the ground with their backs (still) against the wall. They were not mangled – a shell hit the wall a meter or two above them, and they had been killed by the concussions... The courtyard was a scene of complete chaos, the dead and wounded were everywhere, among bits of push carts and personal belongings...”

“Later, burial parties led by a group of Jesuits Scholastics went to Remedios Hospital (corner Mabini – San Andres) to bury the dead...”

Reburied in Malate

“Father John Lalor was buried in front of the Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes, in the courtyard. Many years later, his remains were transferred, and they now rest in a niche in the walls of the Malate Catholic Church.” [The Remedios Hospital – A Malate Saga, No. 64]

They Were Great People

My own memory of the story of the events leading to the death of Fr. Lalor would corroborate the above. A Mill Hill missionary priest, whose name escape me, and who had just been released from imprisonment in Santo Tomas, was one of the first to verify the death of Father Lalor. Grief abounded in the parish of Malate, not only for the priests who had been killed, but for the countless other civilians who lost their lives in the cruel days, towards the end of the Japanese Occupation and the liberation of Manila. With hindsight of 50 years, I marvel at the courage, composure and dedication of our Malate Martyrs and all other wonderful people who suffered and died in the loving service of their fellow men and women towards the end of the war. It is good that they be remembered.