Father Bill Morton, from Philadelphia, USA, was an air traffic controller. But for several years now he has been on mission in El Paso on the Mexican/US border as a Columban missionary priest. In this interview, he tells us how that happened.

Q: What’s your family background?

Father Bill: I was born into a large Catholic family in Philadelphia in 1952. Frequent discussion about faith, politics and social issues around the dinner table, regular attendance at Sunday Mass and recitation of the family rosary were buttressed by lived values of hospitality to anyone who came to our door. After high school, I enlisted in the Navy and qualified as an air traffic controller.

Q: Was it a stressful job?

Father Bill: At times. On one occasion when I was in training at the Pensacola Naval Air Station in Florida I cleared a plane on to the main runway when all of a sudden an A-7 from the aircraft carrier USS Lexington requested an emergency landing. I had to clear him to land on the crosswind runway and as he touched down I saw him bounce on one tire, which burst, and then bounce back on the other wheel and that tire burst as well. The plane spun off the runway into the dirt. My heart was in my mouth. The canopy popped open and, thank God, the pilot was OK.

Q: Was your religion important to you during those years?

Father Bill: As a young man of 18, in a new place without the influences of family and community, I began to drift. I rarely went to Mass and seldom thought about God. I went to bars and nightclubs, drank and smoked heavily and experimented with drugs. At the same time, a man named Jim in my air traffic control unit used to speak to me about Christ, leave little pamphlets in my mailbox and invite me to go to his church.

Life in the fast lane was leaving me empty and longing for something and so I began to attend church and eventually had a conversion experience. I told my parents I had become ‘Born Again’ and was no longer a Roman Catholic. When I went home on vacation there was friction in the family over my ‘conversion’. My father said, ‘You’re no “Born Again” Christian; you are a fallen-away Catholic!’ They invited a well-known religious woman to the house and together tried to convince me to return to the fold. They were all seated in the living room and I at the top of the stairs armed with my Dake’s Concordance, an evangelical book designed to refute Catholic doctrine.

Q: Were their efforts to convince you successful?

Father Bill: No. Back in Pensacola I became even more involved in the Church of the Open Bible. We worked with the youth and started a Christian coffee house and a Jesus rock group. I would pick up the teenagers in my Volkswagen minibus for Sunday services and for our Friday night coffee house called ‘Freedom Road’.

It was a kind of hippie type thing, a very casual atmosphere where we mixed music with scripture and preaching. We invited the kids to accept Jesus and receive counsel about family, drug and other problems. It was a joyful and creative time for me and it deepened my sense of mission.

Q: How do you look back on those years?

Father Bill: I have remained friends with Jim, who witnessed to me, and I still delight in telling him I would not have become a Catholic missionary priest without that profound experience in the evangelical church. Through it I developed a more personal relationship with Christ and an appreciation of the Scriptures. I overcame my Catholic reticence to share faith and I developed a much more outgoing approach.

Q: What then brought you back to the Catholic Church?

Father Bill: Though I agreed with and experienced personally this relationship with Jesus, certain behaviors like smoking, drinking and swearing were stressed as litmus tests of Christian life. There was a lot of quoting of Scripture and arguments about who was saved and who was not. I began to think of the Catholics I knew who didn’t quote much Scripture, who smoked or drank, but who were also generous, compassionate and non-judgmental people.

I asked myself, ‘If Jesus came back whose butt would he be kicking?’ I concluded that it would more likely be my own, because of my self-righteousness, rather than the man on the street with his bottle.

I was madly in love with one of the girls who sang in our Christian rock group. She had been raised Protestant and one day asked if we could go to a Catholic Mass. We went to a Saturday evening Mass at St Mary’s and it was a lively celebration with guitars and songs and a young Irish priest who preached with fervor and humor. Though still very much a member of the Church of the Open Bible I had a fleeting ‘I could do that’ thought about the priest.

My girlfriend enjoyed the visit and so we began to go each Saturday evening and then to the Open Bible on Sunday morning.

My mother had also written me a very challenging letter, quoting John 6, and asking me how those who claim to interpret the Bible literally understand the Eucharist. I didn’t have any convincing answers and began to hunger to receive Holy Communion again in the Catholic way.

Though I had always disliked confession as a youth, I began to long to hear those words of pardon and absolution and finally made up my mind to seek out a priest. Around this time my girlfriend suggested that we break off for a while to get things into perspective. This upset me at first but thoughts of priesthood and mission continued to float around in my head.

Q: Why did that happen?

Father Bill: My process of conversion was liberating me spiritually, psychologically and socially.

I had always wanted to fit in, to be liked by others. Now I began to live out what I perceived as the values of Christ, living from within whether others liked it or not. I was becoming the person I had been created to be.

Mission came from my desire to have others share this freedom and joy that God had given me. A year or more before I came back to the Catholic Church I saw a Columban ad in the Navy Times newspaper. It simply said, ‘I bribe you with uncertainty and I challenge you with defeat.’ I cut it out and put it in my wallet although I’d never heard of the Columbans.

Later, when I returned to full communion with the Church I wrote to the Columbans enquiring about the missionary priesthood. When I told my evangelical friends about this emerging call some were very upset. It was a painful experience to break with people who had become close friends.

Q: After your ordination as a Columban priest in 1985 you were assigned to Taiwan. Was that another drastic change of culture and outlook?

Father Bill: During my years of formation and early priesthood, I had changed from being a Protestant fundamentalist to a Catholic fundamentalist. I was always prepared to argue, to prove what was true from Scripture or Church teaching.

Assigned to Taiwan I discovered that the people in general thought there was no difference between Catholics, Protestants, Mormons or any of the other groups. I saw how the Holy Spirit could work also outside of any Christian church. One example was the great kindness of my friend’s mother when I became ill. Mrs Chen didn’t know me well and wasn’t a Catholic. In the mornings I would see her offering incense to the Chinese gods of the sky and the mountains. Her charity and hospitality to a stranger, a foreigner, made me think the Spirit was here and working.

Many of my certainties about life and religion were shaken-up and I had to reconstruct my way of seeing things. Cross-cultural experience deepened my conversion.

Q: Now you work on the US/Mexican border. What are you doing there?

Father Bill: If Taiwan challenged me to reshape what was going on in my head, the poverty that I saw in Juarez and on the US/Mexican border forced me to look at what was going on in my heart. I wanted to offer service to those people. I felt the need to become involved, to be in solidarity instead of just talking or writing.

 

By Sister Angelita Roferos SSpS

Sister Walfridis SSpS, born Gertrud Walter, is a rare diamond in more than one sense. She is a German-Filipina. Her father, Eugene, was from German and her mother, Felisa Ebio, from Bacon, Sorsogon, where she was born on November 15, 1915. When Gertrud entered the Mission Congregation of the Sister Servants of the Holy Spirit 25 years later she took the name ‘Walfridis.’

Sister Walfridis is an even rarer diamond in that she is probably the first and, so far, only religious from the Philippines to celebrate her Diamond Jubilee in Papua New Guinea where she first went in 1952. Apart from the period between 1959 and 1968, when she worked here in the Philippines, she has lived in PNG. In 1998 the government there gave her special resident status because she wants to stay there till the Lord calls her, and to be buried there. 

That same year, the centennial of the Philippine Republic, the government here, through its embassy in Port Moresby, conferred on Sister Walfridis and on Sister Mary Jeanette Matela SSpS, also in PNG, the title Bagong Bayani.

Sister Walfridis has lived through tumultuous times. She made her first vows on May 8, 1943, in the middle of the War, and her final vows six years later when she was teaching in Holy Ghost College, Manila, now College of the Holy Spirit. In November 1952 she went on mission to Papua New Guinea. As she experienced Philippine Independence here in 1946, so did she experience the independence of PNG in 1975.

Teaching has been the major part of Sister Walfridis’s ministry both here and in PNG. While at the Vocation School for Girls run by the Holy Spirit Sisters in the highlands of PNG she combined teaching with pastoral work. When she retired she engaged herself in sewing until she went partly blind from glaucoma.

Sister Walfridis has contributed more than once to Misyon recently about her Diamond Jubilee. We wish her many more years of joyful service as a Missionary Sister Servant of the Holy Spirit.

Sister Angelita is Provincial Superior of the Province of the Holy Rosary of the Servants of the Holy Spirit in Manila. There are more than 250 sisters in the Philippines and nearly 40 from here on overseas mission. provsup@speedsurf.pacific.net.ph is the email address of Sister Angelita.

St Mary’s Convent
PO Box 882
Goroka, EHP
Papua New Guinea

 

My dear Friends,

I would like to share
with you my memorable celebration of my Diamond Jubilee as a Missionary
Sister Servant of the Holy Spirit this year.  On May 8 at 5 pm we
had Holy Mass concelebrated by four SVD priests in our chapel.  The
Filipinos who come to our chapel for Sunday Mass were present. 
After Mass we had a festive meal.  The Filipinos brought all kinds
of Filipino dishes.

Please help me to thank
the Lord for the many graces he has given me in the past 60 years as a
Missionary Sister Servant of the Holy Spirit.  Every day I pray for
all missionaries and ask the Lord to bless each according to what each
needs most.  May God bless each one of you now and always.

 

Respectfully,

Sister Walfridis SSpS

By Sister Concepcion Madduma ICM

Over two decades ago, Sr Ching Madduma got a scholarship to the University of the Philippines to pioneer studies for people with mental disabilities. Little did she realize that she was entering the world of people who lived in shadows. And that became her mission.

The great country of India accepted me twenty five years ago to serve the people who live ‘in a world of shadows.’ I see my mission as bringing light, love and knowledge to them so that they can live their lives fully and walk with faith and dignity.

In order to mold each individual we need special education. The Lord gave me the talent to present this special education to persons with intellectual disabilities in some 45 countries in Asia, Africa, Europe, the Middle East and the South Pacific.

As a member of the Special Education Team I present the programs with Fr Adam B Gudalefsky, a Maryknoll Missioner in Hong Kong, to people. Our programs are non-institutional and non-professional. They are centered on home schooling and parents are the primary educators. The educational approach is holistic.

We have managed to educate over 12, 000 people in our more than 300 presentations. These people have helped us spread our mission in their own special way. We have published several books on our special educational approach. With the help of a dedicated artist, Brother Sebastian Schwarz MM in Hong Kong, we have published a number of comic books that communicate social awareness related to Special Education. We, the Special Education Team, continue to go into the whole world to bring the Good News, to encourage the whole community to live in peace and harmony. Walk with us and pray for us!

By Fr Joseph Panabang SVD

PO Box 23, Nsawkaw, B/A, GHANA

Roam Sweet Rome

Nung minsan na nag-aral ako sa Rome, nakalimutan kong may klase ako. Mabuti na lang at tinawag ako ng aking kaklase. Pagpasok ko sa classroom namin halos di maipinta ang mga mukha ng aking mga kaklase. Kaya agad kong sinabi, ‘Aba, ang aga n’yo yatang dumating?’ sabay tingin ko sa aking relo. Aba, lalo silang sumimangot?!

The Rabbit

My friend and I visited Kabou parish at the border of Togo and Ghana. However the parish priest was out so I decided to leave a note. I said to the sacristan with confidence, ‘Please, we need la pen, la paper’. While I was making my note, my companion kept laughing. ‘I wonder why?’ I told myself. Later I learned that he knew all along that ‘la pen’ in French means ‘the rabbit’. French is the official language of Togo.

Slaughtered Pigeons

On the eve of the handing over of Wenchi parish to the diocese, we were preparing pigeon soup. Father Eko, my assistant, was so eager to help in the kitchen. When he saw the lifeless pigeons on the table, he asked me, ‘How do you kill them?’ ‘Oh, simply smash their heads on the chopping board,’ I answered. He then took the youngest pigeon and smashed its head on the board – so strongly that the head flew off, leaving the pigeon headless. He was so horrified. He was out of the kitchen in a flash and he didn’t join us for the meal.

Takas na Manok

Pumunta kami ng kaibigan kong si Benjamin sa bahay ng isang kakilala para basbasan ang lugar kung saan siya magpapatayo ng bahay. May nakita kaming manok na naglalakad sa daan. ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk…swerte ng manok na ito,’ sabi ni Benjamin. ‘Nakaligtas siya sa Pasko, pero mukhang di siya aabot sa Bagong Taon, Father.’

By Columba Chang

There may be as many as 7 million Filipino overseas workers spread all over the world. They greatly help our country’s economy by the money they send home. However sometimes we seem to take them for granted, thinking that they have an easy life abroad. Read Aling Maria’s story below and find out the dangers our OFWs face and the abuses they experience. We thank ‘Mang Pepe’ for his help in writing this article in which we’ve changed the names.

I met Mang Pepe and his daughter Ligaya through my work with Caritas Manila. I visit the family regularly. They live in a poor part of the city and Mang Pepe makes a living by doing odd jobs. My work takes me to families affected by HIV/AIDS. I knew Mang Pepe’s story before he shared it with the congregation at the Saturday evening Mass in Baclaran Church on 7 December 2002 at the end of a celebration organized by Caritas Manila for World AIDS Day.

A Greener Pasture

Mang Pepe and his wife Aling Maria were having difficulties putting their five children through school. This sometimes led to arguments. Eventually Aling Maria decided to work in the Middle East. She felt happy when accepted as a nursing aide with a two-year contract in the UAE. She prepared her documents. She and Pepe sold their house and lot for her fare and placement fee. She flew out on 5 February 1989, full of hope for her family’s future financial stability.

Aling Maria soon discovered that her contract as a nursing aid was terminated just a few months after she arrived, without any hope of renewal. But she didn’t want to go back to the Philippines with an empty pocket. She decided to take the ‘TNT’ route. She managed to find a series of jobs as a saleslady, cashier and office worker.

Hope turns into a nightmare

As an illegal worker, she was often subjected to different abuses like underpayment, long hours of working without a day off and so on. But the worst thing was when one of Aling Maria’s employers took advantage of her and made her pregnant. When she came home to the Philippines in October 1993 Mang Pepe and the family were very shocked to learn that Aling Maria carried a child in her womb. She hadn’t mentioned anything about this before. However, despite this they still welcomed her and the child with joy . . . but deep in their hearts there was a shadow of sadness, fear and uncertainty.

After a few days the tabloids reported that three Filipino overseas workers had been sent home because of being infected with HIV, the virus that causes AIDS – and that one of them was Aling Maria. These stories, and the rumors they spawned, continued for a month. Some relatives, neighbors and friends rejected Aling Maria. The children of Mang Pepe and Aling Maria were torn apart. Some wanted to quit school and leave the area. The family suffered greatly because of the stigma.

Confirmed HIV

Aling Maria and Mang Pepe went to the Department of Health (DOH) for a series of blood tests. The tests confirmed what Aling Maria knew already, that she and her ‘little mercy child,’ as Mang Pepe called his wife’s daughter had HIV. The doctor gave them counseling and advice and information about HIV/AIDS.

Ligaya is born

Aling Maria decided not to say in the hospital and continued to work as a pension plan insurance agent. In time she gave birth to a baby girl whom they named Ligaya. Gradually, however, Mang Pepe saw his dear wife turning into a picture of misery as she suffered from constant headaches and flu. Aling Maria was hoping for a miracle that would ease her agony. It was not to be. The HIV developed into full-blown AIDS. Her appetite disappeared until she couldn’t eat anymore. Mang Pepe and the children saw Aling Maria slowly dying. He prepared the family to accept her death as the will of God. She died on 15 December 1997, aged 46.

Like everyone else in Baclaran Church, I was deeply touched by Mang Pepe’s story, even though he had told it to me many times. I was touched by the great love of this simple man who accepted as his own a daughter who was the fruit of the brutal violation of his wife. Mang Pepe is ‘Tatay’ to Ligaya. Her schoolmates sometimes tease her because her features clearly show her Middle Eastern origins. But her Tatay stands by her, as do her brothers and sisters.

Proud to be her Tatay

Tatay Pepe is proud of Ligaya’s singing ability and smiled as she sang at the celebration in Baclaran. Ligaya is very proud of her Tatay and knows the depth of his love as a father. She has very uncertain health and is often in the hospital. The shadow of AIDS hangs over her.

St Joseph named Jesus, the Son of Mary, and thereby became his legal father. He loved Mary, his wife, and raised Jesus as his own son. Mang Pepe has gone through the agony of knowing that his wife was violated overseas, after dishonest employers had taken advantage of her in other ways. When she brought home a child who was not his, he made her his own. This latter-day St Joseph in Manila has given much joy to his daughter Ligaya as she has given much joy to him and others, like myself, who have come to know and love her.

On 2 December 1980 Ursuline Sister Dorothy Kazel and Maryknoll lay missionary Jean Donovan went to the international airport in San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador, to meet Maryknoll Sisters Ita Ford and Maura Clarke who had been at a meeting of their congregation in nearby Nicaragua. The four American women were working on behalf of the Archdiocese of San Salvador, helping refugees who were fleeing from violence.

As they left the airport, members of the National Guard stopped their van, took them to an isolated spot and shot them dead at close range. A UN-sponsored Commission on the Truth in El Salvador concluded that the murders had been planned in advance and had been carried out on orders from above. It also found that the head of the National Guard and the two officers assigned to investigate the case had concealed facts. There was evidence too that the Salvadoran military and some US officials had tried to cover up the murders.

The defendants were found guilty and sentenced to 30 years in prison in 1984, the first time ever that a judge in El Salvador had found a member of the military guilty of assassination. In 1998 three of the five soldiers involved were freed for good behavior.

Their own words explain why the four martyrs stayed in El Salvador despite the danger they knew they were in.

Jean Donovan

Several times I have decided to leave El Salvador. I almost could except for the children, the poor bruised victims of this insanity. Who would care for them? Whose heart would be so staunch as to favor the reasonable thing in a sea of their tears and helplessness? Not mine, dear friend, not mine.

Sr Ita Ford MM

Am I willing to suffer with the people here, the suffering of the powerless, the feeling impotent? Can I say to my neighbors – I have no solution to this situation, I don’t know the answers, but I will walk with you, search with you, be with you. Can I let myself be evangelized by this opportunity? Can I look at and accept my own poorness as I learn it from the poor ones?

Sr Maura Clarke MM

We have the refugees, women and children, outside our door and some of their stories are incredible. What is happening here is all so impossible, but happening. The endurance of the poor and their faith through this terrible pain is constantly pulling me to a deeper faith response. . . My fear of death is being challenged constantly as children, lovely young girls, old people are being shot and some cut up with machetes and bodies thrown by the road and people prohibited from burying them. A loving Father must have a new life of unimaginable joy and peace prepared for these precious unknown, uncelebrated martyrs. One cries out: ‘Lord, how long?’ And then too what creeps into my mind is the little fear, or big, that when it touches me personally, ‘Will I be faithful?’

The day before she was murdered Sister Maura wrote, ‘I want to stay on now, I believe now that this is right. . . Here I am starting from scratch but it must be His plan and He is teaching me and there is real peace in spite of many frustrations and the terror around us and the work, etc. God is very present in His seeming distance.’

Sr Dorothy Kazel OSU

El Salvador is writhing in pain – a country that daily faces the loss of so many of its people – and yet a country that is waiting, hoping, yearning for peace. The steadfast faith and courage our leaders have to continue preaching the Word of the Lord even though it may mean ‘laying down your life’ in the very REAL sense is always a point of admiration and a vivid realization that JESUS is HERE with us. Yes, we have a sense of waiting, hoping, and yearning for a complete realization of the Kingdom, and yet we know it will come because we can celebrate Him here right now.

The deaths of these four women from the USA who chose to stay in El Salvador helped remind the world of the 75,000 victims of state violence in that small country the name of which means ‘The Savior’ and that has a population of 5, 210,000 in an area of 21, 040 sq kms. This compares with the island of Negros that has nearly 4,000,000 in a land area of around 14,000 sq. kms. The civil war ended in 1992. Their deaths were a reminder too that here in the Philippines at that time there were also countless victims of state violence who were hated by the authorities for trying to live by the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Savior who came into the world as an utterly helpless baby whose own life was threatened by the authorities of his day, forcing Mary and Joseph to flee with him as refugees to Egypt.

Most of the material above was taken from www.justpeace.org, www.rtfcam.org andwww.maryknoll.org

By Father Nilo R Resco MSP

In the 18th and 19th centuries, the Solomon Islands were used as a source of slave laborers to work in the sugar plantations of Fiji and Australia. The archipelago became independent in July 1978. Two years ago Father Nilo was assigned to these beautiful islands. He tells us below about his missionary adventures.

I glance at the wall clock and it’s already 11pm but I don’t feel like sleeping. I open my window, trying to get some fresh air and smell the newly mown grass gleaming in the moonlight. The deep calm of the mission station is disturbed by the occasional howling of wild dogs in the nearby bush and the incessant chirping of crickets. In a few moments a great calm settles over everything. All feels silent. I feel silent within myself too. This setting, surrounded by nature and stillness, has something extraordinary about it. I rise from my rickety bed, go to my writing table where scribbled notes that have been lying unnoticed for days catch my attention, my reflections, written during my first four months in the station. I’m tempted to read them again.

All roads led me to the Solomons

I ask myself what motivated me to be posted to the Solomon Islands. These South Pacific islands had appealed to my imagination during my childhood years: adventures, buccaneers, hidden treasures, unimaginably beautiful nature, legendary people, a tropical paradise, and the famous Battle of Guadalcanal.

A multiplicity of factors influences decisions. Was it the result of my reading novels and watching movies such as Robinson Crusoe, The Swiss Family Robinson and Castaway, to name a few that were full of adventure? Or was it my being a hopeless romantic who dreamed of being the lead character in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Broadway musical South Pacific? Or was it the pocket volumes of lives of the saints that told of holy youths who died for Christ rather than sin?

Maybe the answer is all of the above. These amazing stories about the South Pacific and lives of the saints led to my ambition to serve in the Solomon Islands as a missionary. To carry out this dream I needed qualifications, so I wanted to be a lay missionary. Instead, I became a missionary priest – another long story.

Greenhorn

On September 11, 2001, the day before my birthday, I traveled to the Solomon Islands, barely ten months in the priestly ministry, with no more training or preparation for missionary life than a few units in missiology, seven months of living with the B’laans and Tagakaolos in the hinterlands of Davao del Sur during my pastoral regency, and some survival tips from my boy scout days. However, when I landed on both feet in today’s reality, I discovered a different Solomon Islands. Ethnic tension between the Malaitans and Guadalcanals had just ended but peace and order hadn’t been fully restored. Vandalism and rampant stealing were enough to create insecurity and anxiety in me.

‘Castaway’ priest

Traditionally, missionaries had lived in a community of at least two. Due to unavoidable circumstances, my companion had to go back to the Philippines barely three weeks after I arrived. Because of a shortage of priests, I had no option but to live alone.

My first attack of malaria less than a month in the mission slowly opened my eyes to the realities of living alone. There was no one to care for me during the malaria attack. I was a victim of break-ins and the thought of being the only expatriate priest left in the island added to my insecurities, leading to sleepless nights. Once I had thought of giving up, but a force deep inside me made me hang on. After spending days in prayer and discernment I made a final decision. I simply uttered, ‘OK, Lord, your will be done.’

With no experience in running a parish, I willingly took the responsibility of looking after the mission station. I just laughed at the thought that in the Philippines a priest is not a parish priest until he gains experience and learns the ins and outs of running a parish. But here I’m given a mission station barely a year as a priest. A problem I soon encountered was the lack of direct contact with my bishop. The office of the bishop is the main link with the world outside the mission station. Every parish has a two-way radio. Every movement of personnel, boats, freight , news and messages is discussed over the open radio. There’s no privacy in this form of communication and so we priests had little opportunity to share our concerns with the bishop. All of this meant that I had to reflect and be careful in my decisions.

A second problem and constant worry for me was the need for funds to maintain the mission station and support our projects. Our bishop would always remind us to be prudent in handling the mission budget and property because of financial constraints. But I am thankful that no matter how meager our budget was we were able to make ends meet.

My life in the mission is not always filled with worries and frustrations. One of my consolations is seeing my parishioners slowly maturing in their Christian faith. Secondly, every time the congregation would sing, the more inspired I was in celebrating the Holy Eucharist. Their singing was overpowering, their natural, untrained voices singing prayer to God in their native tongue, moving melodies rising like ‘incense that soars to the sky.’ It was a strange feeling being unable to join in the hymns at Mass.

I still get a thrill from traveling by dinghy, whether inside the lagoon or in the open sea, mesmerized by frolicking dolphins and sea cows in shimmering, turquoise water. Pristine underwater gardens of coral reefs offer a profusion of marine life that is a panacea to my weary soul. I’m also amused every time the local children call me ‘Patere Jet Lee’ – ‘patere’ being the Solomon pidgin for ‘father’ – after seeing a Jet Lee movie on a battery-operated video. Sometimes I can’t help but laugh at little children afraid of me because I’m a Wako, the local term for Chinese, or an Irikwao, ‘white man.’ After all, nobody ever called me ‘Jet Lee’ or Chinese or white, even by mistake, in the Philippines.

All that I am

How has my experience here evangelized me? Stripped of all the necessities of the modern way of life, I was often faced with the fact that only prayer could bring about change. There were many hours of contemplation while living alone, in the hours when the whole mission slept while I couldn’t. The pace of life is slow compared to that at home. I would gaze into the tropical night with fireflies as my neon lights, the gentle caressing sound of the waves in the atolls as my music, and wonder at the glorious creation rather than idealize the latest technology of man.

For the second time I asked myself why I was here in this land. Was it the call of the Holy Spirit? Was it the need for adventure in seeking to make my life more worthwhile? Perhaps the letter of St Paul to the Philippians (1:21-24) reflected my belief at this time:

For me to live is Christ, and yet to die is gain. But if I am to go on living, I shall be able to enjoy fruitful labor. Which shall I choose? I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. I desire greatly to leave this life and to be with Christ, which will be better by far. But it is necessary for you that I remain in this life.

This message may explain the expressed need I had to ‘offer up’ any hardships. This need to ‘suffer for Christ’ remains to this day. I feel guilty that I complained about food, malaria, loneliness and break-ins.

One time the Apostolic Nuncio asked me, ‘What have you accomplished as a missionary?’ I was speechless while grappling for an answer. If someone asked me the same question now, ‘What have you accomplished after two years in the priesthood and 14 months in the mission?’ I would borrow the word of Bishop Socrates Villegas, ‘Wala, nothing.’ There’s nothing I can claim as my own except malaria, scars and scratches, a dead toenail and sunburn. If the seed of faith that God has planted blooms with my cooperation, it is still all grace.

There is plenty of work to be done in the vast vineyard of God in the Solomons. As the song goes, ‘We’ve only just begun.’ Yes, it’s true. I’ve only just begun.

By Victor V Yambao

On your death, the spirit parted away from the flesh
You went to the Lord with your share of his holy pains,
A piece of humanity that you are, you are now a brother to all
Welded as you are in Christ in his universal love.

No, you are not in your grave, not anymore,
Your spirit flew away on the wings of love;
The words the Lord had written in your heart
You wrote them back in the hearts of your brethren.

You are not in your grave, not anymore,
For you are in every piece of God’s creation
Wherefore where your brethren are, in kinship,
You are there with them to sing their songs of love.

You are there in the gentle wind that your brethren breathe
You are there in every blade of grass that they tread on;
Every rustle of the gentle breeze between green leaves,
Every lilting song of the birds are your sweet lullabies.

In deep slumber, sleep in peace, brother
You are now in the loving bosom of the Lord
But you are not dead, as you are now a part of humanity
Your footprints on the sands of time will forever last.

The poem above is a response to In the days of my youth by Sr Mary Grenough MM in our March-April 2002 issue, the story of La Tawng, a young man of 18 who died while working as a mission volunteer in a remote area of his Diocese of Myitkyina. The author, from Masantol, Pampanga, is a retired Catholic high school principal and columnist in ING MAYAP A BALITA, the official publication, in English and Kapampangan, of the Archdiocese of San Fernando.

A venue for the youth to express themselves and to share with our readers their mind, their heart and their soul. We are inviting you – students and young professionals – to drop by Our Hideaway and let us know how you are doing.

CONVERSATIONS WITH KAYE

By Stephen V Tabal

One Sunday in April 2001, I encountered Kaye (not her real name). To my surprise, I realized we’d already met during a youth camp conducted by Youth for Christ. YFC is a group of young Christians who aim to be role models for their peers. At first I had negative vibrations about Kaye because she was so restless and full of bad words every time she spoke. But I was struck by the mystery that lay beneath her eyes.

First impressions don’t last

Months later our paths crossed again in a fellowship in the YFC and we had a chance to chat and share part of our lives. That simple chat was just the beginning of deeper conversations each time we met. One time as we shared, I touched on the topic of family; Kaye suddenly went completely silent and then the tears came. I couldn’t believe that this friend of mine was from a broken family.

Her own story

At a young age she was brought by her mom from one relative to another. Her mom didn’t want to take care of her daughter and finally left Kaye with a close relative in Lanao del Norte. Kaye learned her ABC’s and grew up, not in her mother’s arms, but in those of her tito and tita. The shocking thing is that until now, 19 long years, she hasn’t seen her father. But the good news is that her mother is just 60 kilometers away. However, when they first met again a few years ago, Kaye was just a high school student and not yet ready to face her mom. So it resulted in a telenovela-like scene, her mom calling her ‘anak’ and Kaye denying the existence of her long lost mom.

Because of her hurts and pains, Kaye’s life was broken into pieces. Hatred was at the core of her mind and heart. It transformed her into a person who couldn’t trust because she was afraid to let go.

Where healing is

Through the prayers and advice of the YFC family and with God’s help, Kaye started to pick up the pieces and was now ready to forgive her parents and to trust those around her. She’s now an active YFC leader and continues to share with others the light that she received from our Almighty God.

On my part, I’m lucky to have a family sheltered with love, even in times of ups and downs. But it still saddens me every time I hear stories like Kaye’s.

As we focus this Year of the Family on the need for strong family life, may we always make God the center of our homes so that there won’t be any more daughters in Kaye’s situation.

…when I’m gone, gone farther away,
To the land where you can no longer hold my hand

By Angelica Escarsa

Angie has been living in Ireland for more than four years now as a Columban lay missionary. Last year she lost two of her loved ones and here she shares with us how she and her family grieved and let go.

2002 was a traumatic year for our family. In August 2001 I was on retreat in Cork, Ireland, where I had gone with the Columban Lay Missionary Program (CLMP) in 1999. I was discerning about the future, as my three-year term was coming to an end. I was about to sleep when my sister Mercy phoned from home in Zambales. She cried as she told me that our sister, Deborah, had lupus. This rare disease is incurable and even led to the death of Ferdinand Marcos, former president of our country.

Why Deborah?

I was utterly devastated. I felt the whole world tumbling about me and darkness engulfing me. I didn’t know how I survived the night and didn’t know how to handle the situation. I had to be strong and be a source of hope to my family even though I was so far away. But at that moment I just wanted to hug Deborah and share her pain.

How could that be when I was on the other side of the world? When I put down the phone I felt like screaming and telling the whole world about Deborah. Why of all people should she get this strange illness?

I needed to talk to someone to ease my pain, even for a moment, but couldn’t. It was 11pm in a retreat house with everyone asleep. It was torture having no one to talk to. I could only bury my face in my pillow and cry. But it was an opportunity to entrust everything to the Lord. I asked Him to mind my sister and keep her safe. I begged Him to make the night short. I thought of the proverb, ‘A problem shared is a problem halved.’ At Mass in the morning with all the retreatants I made a petition for Deborah. Afterwards everybody approached me and sympathetically assured me of their prayers. This consoled and assured me that God would listen, would answer in His own way, maybe differently to what we wanted.

Four months later, when I thought things were all right, my mother phoned to tell me that Debbie was getting worse. She said straight out, ‘If you want to see your sister alive better come home soon.’ I felt so confused and told her I’d be home in four months, when my contract was finished. Was Debbie’s condition so bad that I had to go home right away? I asked the Lord, ‘Are you taking away my sister from us?’

Home too soon

Thank God, the Columbans gave me compassionate leave. Going home to a very ill sister wasn’t easy but I also felt intense excitement at meeting my family again. When Debbie saw me she asked me why I was home so soon, almost as if she didn’t want me to be there, but her eyes showed her delight.

The time when I had to talk to her about her condition is still vivid in my memory. I sat beside her on the bed and asked, ‘Are you afraid to die?’ It was the most difficult question I’ve ever asked anyone. Debbie was my sister. I was struck by her reply, ‘I’m not scared to die but I don’t want to leave you because I know when I leave you’ll be hurt.’

Christmas in the ICU

Deborah’s condition got so serious she had to go to the hospital. For the first time ever we spent Christmas there. As she badly needed a blood transfusion the doctors put her in the ICU. Before she was moved from the medical ward she grabbed my hand and said, ‘Ate, please forgive me for all my shortcomings; please tell the others to forgive my wrongdoings. Please forgive me.’ I couldn’t help but cry. I told her she was a beautiful person and had done nothing wrong to us. I asked her in turn to forgive the family and me for whatever wrong we had done her.

In the ICU Deborah couldn’t move her body and she needed a respirator to help her breathe. My father was devastated and cried every time he looked at her. My mother couldn’t bear to see her suffering and wouldn’t enter the ICU. When able to visit I whispered to Debbie the words that Sister Pat Zandrews, then Columban Lay Mission Program coordinator in the Philippines, told me to tell her if I had a chance, ‘Let go, Deb. Don’t worry about us. God will take care of us and will be happy to see you.’

Peace in letting go

That same day I went to an afternoon Mass in St Columban’s Church, Olongapo, within walking distance of the hospital. I was surprised I was already entrusting my sister to God, asking him, if He wanted her, not to let her suffer more. I stood in front of the statue of the Immaculate Conception asking our Blessed Mother to welcome Debbie into her loving arms and to keep her safe. I begged her to be at her side in her suffering. It wasn’t easy but in that way I eased my pain.

It was easier to let Debbie go if we believed she wasn’t going anywhere but to her Creator. Our faith in eternal life gave the family the strength to accept the reality that Debbie was leaving us and that she was going back to our Father in heaven. She could never have complete happiness in this world and had to return to the place where eternal peace and joy reign.

The nature of Debbie’s illness prepares us in some way to accept her going but the sudden death of my father the following September was very hard to comprehend.

Yet another death

After Debbie’s death I went back to Ireland to finish my term as a lay missionary. Back home again in the Philippines I decided on a second term. On 25 September 2002 I’d been back in Ireland about a month and had spent the day looking at the possibilities of the Scala Youth Ministry in Cork as my future assignment. I was excited when I got a text message from home. But the look of delight on my face changed to one of shock when I read, ‘Gel, Tatay was brought to the hospital. Hypertension.’ However, I didn’t panic as I figured it was a minor attack since I didn’t think he had any other illness. And my sister assured me it wasn’t serious. But I couldn’t relax. I prayed hard for Tatay and asked friends and colleagues to do the same.

I tried to keep calm but the same scenario had arisen again. I was on my own in Cork with no one to talk to, though my cellphone was a lifeline. It was suggested I go to Dublin, four hours away, but Claire Carey, the CLMP coordinator in Ireland, and I had a scheduled meeting with the Scala people two days later. But next morning, before I got out of bed, my sister called again to say that Tatay had only a 50/50 chance of surviving the stroke that had left him in a coma. I immediately decided to go to Dublin and while taking a shower debated whether to go home or not. But right after my shower I saw that a call had come in on my cellphone. The text said, ‘Gel, Tatay is gone.’

I was shocked to the core. I went numb but was able to scream at the top of my voice, ‘Tay! Tay! Tay!’ When I came back to my senses I phoned Claire. She asked the Mercy Sisters who owned the bungalow to come to me.

Terrified to go home

The journey on the train was tough. I was alone and holding back the tears, hoping no one would notice. The thought of going home to another funeral was terrifying. ‘How could this be happening to us? I left home only a month ago and it’s only eight months since Debbie’s death. This is getting too much to bear.’

Traveling from Cork to Dublin was long enough but how could I face nearly 20 hours on the plane to the Philippines. But I had no choice. This was happening to me. I had to be firm in my faith, believing that this was what God wanted. I would know the reason in due time.

How we surpassed the ordeal

I think the main factor that helped us accept the death of two of our loved ones in one year was our belief that God had a special reason for this. We had loved my sister and my father but God’s love for them was greater than that of anyone else. It was a test of faith, of how we could handle a situation like this, of how much we loved these people but yet could let go of them. We passed the test. We never complained to God, though there were times when we wanted to doubt his love. At the end of the day it is God whom we call on, God whom we talk to, God whom we ask for strength and refuge.

This test brought our family much closer to God. Whatever may happen to us now, we are much stronger to accept it and are ready to face any challenge we might meet in the future. I know that this isn’t the last time we’ll lose a loved one but we know it’s in accordance with God’s plan. We know too that at times like this we can count on people who walk with us in this world, our relatives and friends. Besides, death doesn’t take away our love from those who have died but is rather the beginning of our realization of how much we love them.

Even though we cannot touch or see my father Oscar and my sister Deborah, we still meet them in our spirit, we see them in our dreams, we talk to them in our minds and they will remain in our hearts, just as our Lord lives in us and is with us all the time.

By Sister Leticia Saraza OSB

Bulgaria is one of the Balkan states in southeast Europe.  It has had a turbulent history because of the constant power struggles in the region for more than 1,000 years.  These prevailed not only in the political sphere but also in the ecclesiastical domain.

As a result of the great Eastern Schism between Constantinople and Rome in the 11th century, the Church in Bulgaria today is predominantly Orthodox with loyalty to the Patriarch of Bulgaria rather than to the Pope in Rome.  Roman Catholics comprise less than one percent of the population.

It’s a long way from the Philippines where I grew up in Negros.  But here I am since December 2001 as a Missionary Benedictine Sister.  I am one of eleven sisters in our community.  Three of us are Filipinos, two Germans, one Korean and five elderly Bulgarians.  Our greatest need now is vocations – Bulgarian vocations – and we earnestly ask the good readers of Misyon to pray for this intention.

Working on our small flock

Our monastery is situated in the northeast part of the city of Schumen and we’ve been here since 1914.  Our apostolate here in the village of Zarevbrod is the production of herbal medicines for burns and other illnesses.  We also serve the parish church, which is on our property.  This is the only Catholic parish of the Latin Rite in the whole of Schumen.  Aside from these, we also teach English and computer skills to some children and adults both here in the village and in Schumen.  One sister helps in the First Communion preparation for children both from our Latin Rite parish and children from the Bulgarian Byzantine Catholic Church.  Out of the country’s population of about 8,000,000 there are only 65,000 Catholics in two dioceses of the Latin Rite and 15,000 in one diocese of the Byzantine Rite.

Passage through Mission

Last year I was on an intensive study of Bulgarian, a Slavic language, in Varna, one of Bulgaria’s largest cities.  The Slavic languages, including Russian, use the Cyrillic alphabet named after St Cyril (827-869), who with his brother St Methodius devised it while preaching the gospel in Bulgaria, Moravia and Bohemia, the latter two now the Czech Republic.  It’s not too unlike the Roman alphabet that we use, the difference being mainly in pronunciation.  For example, our letter ‘P’ represents the ‘R’ sound in their alphabet.  My study wasn’t easy, yet with God’s grace I can now understand and speak the language, though not yet fluently.  What inspired me while studying was something I read in an article entitled ‘Language study is in itself a Mission’ given to us in our mission orientation in the Philippines.

I have been an avid reader of Misyon since my college days.  Articles I read there, among other things, inspired me to be a missionary.  I rejoice to receive the magazine, and find it most interesting.

 

By Father Cireneo Matulac SSC

Father Cireneo is a recently ordained Columban priest.  He spent two years in Chile as part of his first missionary assignment.  Below he shares with us a story of a little girl he came to know in a barrio in Chile.

It was the beginning of fall in southern Chile.  I was visiting families I knew in Puerto Saavedra, especially those of the children I’d taught catechism a few months previously.  While walking from house to house in the barrio, I recognized this little girl of about seven from my catechism class.  She recognized me too and greeted me.  She welcomed me into her home, a small shack, which I hadn’t visited before.  It was fortunate that I came then because I was looking for shelter from the cold rain that was beginning to pour down.

At the center the fire was lit.  I sat in the corner trying to warm myself.  The cold wind entered through the gaps in the wooden wall.  There was no wooden floor.  The floor was of hardened soil.  In another room I saw a big bed in which, I reckoned, the whole family slept.

Walk-in visitor

The girl asked me, ‘Would you like some mate (pronounced ‘ma the’)?’  This is a kind of tea which is a very common hot drink in the cold climate of southern Chile.  But I wasn’t sure if I should accept her hospitality, so I kept quiet.  The cold wind went deeper into my bones.  My little friend looked at me and smiled.  She put the kettle on.  I was a little embarrassed to be served by a seven-year-old girl from my catechism class.  I offered to help her boil the water but she refused.  Afterwards, while I was drinking the tea, two small boys rushed in.  I reckoned they were aged about three and five.

The girl said to them, ‘Where were you?  Look at yourselves.  You’re so wet.’  It was still raining outside.  She reached out for an old but clean towel and dried their hair.  I could tell she was fond of them.  I had never met them before.  They never came to my class.

Then she told me, ‘these are my two brothers, Pedrito and Jose.  I take care of them when my mama is away.  But they are always running around in the field.’

The two boys sat beside me while they were also served mate by their sister.  They were looking at me, smiling, and said ‘Chinito,’ ‘Chinese.’  I thought to myself, ‘They’ve never seen a “Chinese” man before who’s a pure Filipino,’ and laughed.  They laughed too.  I asked them, ‘Where is your mama?  They replied in chorus, ‘She’s helping with the harvest.’  I thought it wasn’t such a bad idea to wait for a while for her as we’d met before.  I also knew that her husband had left her and their three children and was living with another woman.  This is a common reality in rural Chile.  The mother has to work alone to raise the children.

Farming in Chile

This encounter took place when I was on my first missionary assignment as a student.  Part of the Columban formation program is a missionary experience outside the home country.  I was in Chile for about two years.  In the south, the rains start around February or March after the beautiful and windy summer.  Fall also brings the cold front from the south.  We’re close to the Antartic and it gets very cold, especially during the winter.  So, the farmers were in a hurry to harvest their crop, especially the wheat.  Harvest is the busiest time in the life of this farming community.  In the fall farmers begin to prepare for the next planting season.  When winter comes, it’s time for them to wait.  It rains all the time during fall and winter in that part of Chile.

Winter was the time when I taught the children catechism in the small grade school in the barrio.

The last time I met the children was during the celebration of the ‘Mes de Maria,’ ‘Month of Mary.’  There’s a great devotion to the Mother of God in the parish.  It’s a whole month of prayer and Marian devotion, especially the Rosary.  Memories came back to me as I looked at the three children inside the small shack.

Her young dream

In that first day of class when we read the Annunciation story from St Luke’s gospel, I asked them, ‘What do you think of this story, especially about Mary?’  It was this small girl who said, ‘The mother of Jesus was from a small barrio like ours.  She was a poor young woman chosen by God.’  She spoke with the deep faith she had already learned at home.  I recognized immediately that she was precocious.  Her words gave an air of maturity.  At a very young age she already shared the responsibility of raising her two younger brothers.  She told me that Jesus was like her smallest brother, and that when she grew up, she would like to be Maria, the chosen one.

While I was looking at the youngest boy, I realized the power of this story for these children, especially for this little girl.  It was in this particular encounter that I met Jesus.  God is with us.  He raises the lowly.

The Chosen One

I was brought back to the Annunciation scene.  Jesus was conceived in that most insignificant village in Galilee.  It is through Mary that God has chosen to be a participant in God’s plan for the salvation of the world.  To a simple woman the angel Gabriel said, ‘Greetings, most favored one!  The Lord is with you.  You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus.  He will be great, and will be called Son of the Most High.’

Artists like Fra Angelico painted the Annunciation scene beautifully, portraying Mary as a very young woman in a posture that conveys total submission to the will of God.  ‘I am the Lord’s servant, may it be as you have said.’ According to Scripture scholar Francis Mononey, ‘Mary is a woman who is radically open to the mysterious ways of God in her life . . . She has come face to face with the unfathomable mystery of God that has come to work within her. . . This encounter tells us in a very profound way of the transforming power of a great and loving God who can raise the lowly.’

Story of the Shack

The lowly, the poor, the three children around the fire in a small cold shack, are raised up by God.  I too was face to face with a God who stands with the lowly.  I felt a profound sense of humility when I realized that I was confronted with this great mystery.

I didn’t notice that the rain had stopped.  I must have sat there a long time talking with the children.  The girl said, ‘Mama will be here shortly.’

After a while she arrived and was happy to see me.  She told me how difficult it is to harvest the wheat when it’s already raining.  We chatter for a while.  I was very grateful for her friendship.  It was already getting dark and time for me to leave.  I invited her to send her children to the next catechism class.  She said ‘yes.’  She also thanked me that I had taken time to be with the children in the barrio.

I left then with certainty that God is always with them.  God dwells in that small shack warming Herself by that small fire that burns tenaciously.

 

By Sister Tammy Saberon SSC

Most of us spend Christmas at home with our family and friends.  But Sister Tammy has spent this special season these last two years far from home in Myanmar.  Here she tells us how she celebrated Christmas in this Buddhist country.

Myanmar, formerly Burma, is a Buddhist country, but Myitkyina (MIJ-in-awe) Diocese has the largest population of Catholics.  When I came here in 2001 I lived in the small village of Edin.  My first Christmas was quite different from what I was familiar with.  Carol singers went from house to house to raise funds, like at home, but I didn’t see any Christmas decorations in Catholic homes before or after Christmas.  The only ones to put them up were the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary (FMMs), with whom I lived, who did so only three days before the feast.  The catechetical school’s chapel also had some decorations, including a crib.

‘Orphaned’ Jesus

However, there was no crib in the convent chapel so I suggested to Sr Mary Lu, the superior, that we make one.  With the help of student catechists we built a crib made of bamboo and grass.  I felt sad when I discovered that the only figure available was the Baby Jesus – and with a broken arm.  But as I prayed and reflected I found real meaning in it.  Jesus was an ‘orphan,’ with a broken arm and with no animals around him to give him warmth.  I thought of the many people around the world deprived of the necessities of life and of warmth of love, especially the abandoned.  Here in northern Myanmar my heart aches to see children without warm clothes and with only slippers on their feet during the cool season.  I wondered how they could keep themselves warm in houses made of bamboo and grass, with holes in the walls and floors.  Nevertheless, they survive and, thank God, have been given the strength to endure the cold season when it can be as low as 15°C.

The Christmas celebration was simple.  People didn’t have a big meal at home but gathered in the village center.  After a short program each family opened their packed lunch and had their Christmas meal together.  Later there were parlor games for both children and adults.  Everyone went home happy.

A treat for my heart

The following year I knew I wouldn’t be in Myitkyina for Christmas but decided to celebrate it in advance with a meal for poor children in Tang Phre and Alam, two villages where the Xaverian Sisters have communities.  The Sisters welcomed my offer joyfully.

I hired a vehicle on 7 December to take us to Tang Phre, 45 kms away.  We were to leave at 1pm but the car didn’t arrive till 3.  The road was very bad and we didn’t reach Tang Phre till 5.  The children had been waiting for two hours in the hall and the Sisters were worried that we had a breakdown on the way.  There was no electricity so they decided to feed the children before nightfall.  There were 70 from the village, aged 7 to 10, and 27 boarders from remote mountain villages with the Sisters.  We took photos before it got dark and then lit candles.  The children sat on the floor and received plastic bags with their rice, meat and vegetables.  They got oranges and candies for dessert, which they could bring home and share with their families.  We had planned to have some songs and dancing but because it was dark by now we sent the children home after they’d eaten.

Next morning the boarders and some of the village children came at 8:30 for a dancing session.  I taught them the Macarena and line dancing.  They loved the Macarena and learned it very quickly.  We finished at around 10 and left for Alam, halfway back to Myitkyina, and arrived at 11:30.

One last Christmas Party

The children were waiting for us at the parish hall where we visitors had lunch.  Then we went to the study hall where the boarders sang some songs.  Then the children, about 50 from the village and 20 boarders, had their meal.  I thought there was too much rice on the plates of the smaller children but was amazed to see some of them eat a second serving.  The children here too got oranges and candies, which they happily brought home with them.

Most people in this part of Myanmar eat only twice a day, breakfast at around 8 and dinner at 5.  They seldom eat fish or any kind of meat because they can’t afford it.  So the simple meal we gave, with pork and chicken, was a real treat.  The Xaverian Sisters, who prepared it, and myself, felt the real joy of Christmas in seeing the joy of the children.

Not just in gifts and cards

For my first two Christmases in Myitkyina I was the only Filipino and the only Columban Sister.  While working in the Philippines, in Hong Kong and in mainland China, I used to get loads of Christmas cards and gifts galore.  Here in Myanmar, I received very few cards and letters, mostly from Columban Sisters, and a few gifts from the FMM Sisters.  I felt sad at first for not being remembered.  Later I realized that these things aren’t essential in celebrating the Mystery of the Child Jesus being born in a manger.  It’s in simplicity and in being with people who have nothing, but who can celebrate the Christmas Liturgy together and who have their Christmas meal together, that I discovered the real joy, peace and love that Christmas brings.

This year Sister Tammy hopes to celebrate St Columban’s Day, 23
November, and Christmas Day in Myanmar with a community of Columban Sisters:
Sr Mary Ita O’Brien and Sr Mary Dillon from Ireland, Sr Susanna Choi from
Korea, and Sr Winnie Apao, who has written in these pages, from the
Philippines.  The Columban Sisters had to leave Burma, as Myanmar then was, nearly 40 years ago when
the government expelled all foreigners who had arrived after 1948 when the
country became independent of Britain.