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LETTER FROM THE PHILIPPINES
MISSIONARY ZEAL COMES IN MANY FORMS
“I HAVE BEEN VERY ZEALOUS FOR THE LORD” (1 KINGS 19:10)
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BY COLM MEANEY CSsR
Being zealous for the Lord might sound like a good thing, but the line between being zealous and being a zealot is a thin one. Just a few verses before his pious profession of loyalty to the Lord, the prophet Elijah had been instrumental in the killing of some 450 prophets of another god (1 Kings 18:40). Another self-admitted zealot began life as Saul but after his conversion he changed his name to Paul. From being one of the fiercest persecutors of the nascent Christian movement, he received a vision of the risen Lord, and even though he always remained a man of truculent, headstrong nature, this time his zeal was directed to bringing people to the wondrous freedom of the Good News. Over the centuries, monstrous schemes and dastardly deeds have been perpetrated by those ‘zealous for the Lord’: in fact, the ‘for the Lord’ bit may contribute to their performing their atrocities; after all, a supposed divine approval can cover a multitude of sins.
But zeal in moderation is surely an attractive attribute, and I have witnessed it many times over the years; I offer a few examples.
She was enough to bring a twinkle to the eye of a middle-aged celibate, even to suggest that the long-dormant testosterone might consider trickling through the ageing veins once again. Because for the four-hour bus journey to Cebu, the only vacant seat was beside a pretty young Filipina. Well, I fairly bounded down the aisle of the bus, anticipating her gushing compliments about my macho figure or the irresistible scent of my discount-store cologne. Alas, my fantasies were to remain merely dashed hopes: she continued chatting with her companions, and so, ruefully accepting harsh reality, I took out my reading material and began a not-soexciting verse-by-verse commentary on the book of Exodus.
Halfway through the journey, however, the fates intervened in the person of a vendor selling rice cakes. I was feeling peckish so I asked the price and bought the goods, hardly a dozen words being spoken. My erstwhile somewhat shy seatmate perked up (in Cebuano): “So, you speak the language well.” I demurred, saying that I just tried my best. From there, she became more effusive and chatty. I mentioned earlier that she was a pretty Filipina, and that much I had ascertained solely from her face; together with her female companions, they were all wearing loose-fitting blouses and skirts that reached well below the knee. And now I noticed that they all, men and women, had the give-away badge: ‘Bro/Sis (name), Latter Day Saints’. I was sitting beside a pretty Filipina Mormon, in the midst of a Mormon enclave.
ON A MISSION
Well, for the next two hours they tried every trick in the book to convert me to their creed. As usual, I didn’t reveal my credentials, apart from my being a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor. I was then admonished to get married ASAP and to produce numerous offspring – all this from a rather esoteric interpretation of a single Gospel verse. The eight or nine Mormons in the group were all in their mid20s. Every remark of theirs ended with “the heavenly Father” and their quoting of Bible verses was somewhat wooden: no sense of various possible meanings, just the blackand-white of fundamentalists. My impression was that they were kind-of half brainwashed; they had all the answers by rote, chapter and verse – whether it was from the Bible or the Book of Mormon. But even if they seemed rather robotic, those long-skirted ladies were still able to send me on my way with a Mormon booklet. I learned that they volunteer for 18 months in the Mormon mission, and all expenses are their own (or donors’). There was a real sense of ‘being sent’ and an atmosphere of camaraderie among them. I admired their palpable sense of being people on a mission.
Over the years, during my missions, I have also experienced such zeal. Some instances are whimsical, some more weighty. With my guides, we visit one home after another in the upland villages where the houses are scattered around the hills, and in the lowland villages where they are in rows and clusters. Well, there were times when, for days on end, the rain fell as in the time of Noah. I was sorely tempted to stay indoors and read my book or do a crossword, or even say my prayers. But always, without fail, my guides would turn up at the appointed time (8 a.m.) complete with umbrella, oilskin, plastic cape or, if the rain was light, banana leaf! And we’d set off, wading through the ankle-deep water if we were going along the road, or squelching through the mud if crossing the narrow pathways along the edges of the rice fields.
I’m full of admiration for these people: their dedication, their no-nonsense down-tobusiness approach, bunching up their skirts or rolling up their trousers knee-high to cross the streams; their sense of being on a mission as we go from house to house, talking with parents or families. We chat for a while, pray a little, practise the new mission songs and invite all to a gathering later in the evening in a neighbour’s house.
MEMORABLE EVENTS
In Mambaling (Cebu city), my first urban mission in 2007, the Bahandi was something of a best-seller (the word means ‘treasure’ and is the title of the booklet I use on missions which was the subject of an earlier Reality article). A few months after the mission, the members of a very active family said that when their elderly father had a stroke, in order to comfort both him and themselves they had sung every single song in the book, and when they had reached the last page, they had returned to page one and started again! Incidentally, during the evaluation of that mission, I had asked a group of leaders what the memorable events were, hoping that what would be highlighted were my brilliant sermons or how life-changing someone had experienced the mission. In fact, to my chagrin and great amusement, one of the married daughters of the stroke victim, whose husband was the guitarist, said that the thing she’d never forget was how I’d inform her husband what key a song was played in: “C, as in carabao” [water buffalo], or “D, as in dalugdug” [thunder]. So much for my lofty ambitions.
I even experienced zeal in unusual circumstances, thanks to the teachers and catechists in a remote place. On the eastern island of Samar, we conducted a mission; this was the area where there were mighty clashes between the Japanese and the Americans during World War II, famously during the Battle of Leyte Gulf (the islands of Samar and Leyte are adjacent). During the mission the following ensued: I could see a group of people gathered at the jetty of the mission village, clearly a welcome committee. We had arrived by boat, about 45 minutes from the parish house. I was the first out of the boat, carrying a bottle of Mass wine, with a knapsack on my back, and wearing short pants and a t-shirt – clearly not VIP attire. But there was more than the group of well-wishers. As we climbed the steps, we saw all the schoolchildren, lined up in two rows, forming a guard of honour, complete with flaglets in their hands: a beautiful sight! I had to think fast – what to do now, how to respond to their kindness and acknowledge their effort? I thought, “Amerikano coming ashore in the eastern Philippines. What name comes to mind?” Of course: Gen. Douglas MacArthur (the American general of World War II fame in the Philippines, who, having been initially routed by the Japanese, uttered the historic words “I shall return”, and he duly did, and eventually bested the Japanese). I immediately executed a crisp military salute and then, as one, in perfect synchronicity, the two rows of students saluted back, grinning like Cheshire cats. We were off to a good start.
SECOND CHANCE
Operation Second Chance is a programme of the Department of Social Welfare in the Philippines. As the name suggests, it is aimed at those who have been at variance with the law, but who have not offended seriously enough to warrant jail time. They stay in a low-security facility and the staff are there to try to prepare them to make a second chance of their lives.
The youngsters, all in their teens and early 20s, are from very unpromising family backgrounds: often one or both parents will already be behind bars for drug offences. The youngsters have been caught up in the insidious web of allurement, where shiny promises soon turn rusty, and where, one after another, innocent lives become damaged. But not all is lost, especially if they can make their way to Operation Second Chance. Being part of the Philippine government, it is fair to say that, like all such departments, it is tainted with the presence of corruption: for example, funds go mysteriously missing, and lo and behold, the department head buys an expensive new car! But still, there are always individuals of decent character who, time and again, produce good results.
At the Operation, they have various daily routines, with different goals in mind: (1) Educating the youngsters about the real murky world of drugs, wherein a few at the top may live exciting lives, making astronomical profits very quickly, but where the majority live, if not in constant fear, at least in uncertainty: when will their luck run out? Who might squeal on them? (2) Efforts are made, through discussions, retreats and so on, to help the youngsters to ponder their own life stories: even if they have come from broken backgrounds, if they have gotten involved in dead-end practices and run foul of the law, even if there are other debilitating factors in their personal equations – nevertheless, they should always bear in mind the famous quote of the Black girl in a New York slum who was asked by a researcher what it was like to be living in such unpropitious circumstances, and who expected her to answer with a lengthy harangue about racism, injustice, and the like. Yet her memorable response was: “I am somebody, and God don’t make no junk”: ungrammatical it may be, but profound nonetheless.
None of the work at the Operation is glamorous. It never makes the headlines. And yet, I have tremendous respect for all those involved in this effort at rehabilitating young lives endangered and damaged far too early. Progress is slow and there are many obstacles: not only corruption and mediocrity among some of the staff, but also occasional unrest among the youngsters. And yet the stalwarts persevere, sometimes feeling somewhat disconsolate to be sure, as the odds against them are enormous. But still, they are even more convinced of the rightness of their cause: to rescue even a few of the youngsters from the ever-encroaching jaws of hopelessness and despair. Now that’s real zeal for you.
‘MacArthur’s Landing’ by Anastacio Caedo, depicting the landing of General Douglas MacArthur and his forces in Leyte
