House of Joy

I have always admired the work of Mother Teresa and the missionaries of charity in reaching out to abandoned children and elderly and my wife and I visited one of their houses in Manila just before we got married; at that time just to drop off a few supplies of baby milk and medicines. It was almost 20 years later before we visited again but this time I came to appreciate it in an entirely different way.

As we entered I noticed an array of coffins lined-up against the wall outside the carpenters shed, and during the Mass there was an occupied one in the chapel too. But as the day unfolded and we met with many of the residents it became apparent that it was by no means a gloomy place.

We visited two teenage girls both bedridden with badly deformed limbs and unable to speak; but when my wife started to sing to them their faces lit up with beautiful smiles. It was as if light beamed out of them. A pure light, emanating from pure souls as they delighted in the hymns being sung. It was like the two of them were lamps placed at the foot of God’s throne, burning brightly as they lay there interceding, through the sufferings of their short lives, for us sinners.

Next we met an old lady, an 83 year old with a skeletal appearance, almost weightless. She was full of joy also and loved to talk and pray with us. Such a strong spirit and another beautiful (toothless) smile. Like all the residents she has nothing and no one in the world and spends her time in prayer and preparation to meet her God and be reunited with her husband and son who had gone on ahead of her.

Through the love of the missionary sisters the tragic circumstances of the lives of the residents meet the majesty of God and although time is short I believe that each one receives what they need before they die.

For visitors too the place is a great blessing. It gives you a more realistic perspective of your own troubles and a clearer understanding of what is really important in life.

On a wing and a prayer

A teacher tells how a salesman called to her school. When he produced his pen, she noticed that a Rosary beads had got caught onto the pens clip and came out as well. “you must be a Catholic” she remarked. “Not really” he said “but a lot of us owe our lives to Our Lady, and I promised her I would always keep my Rosary with me and say it everyday.

The story that unfolded ran: it was September 1940 when we joined the air force. At Halifax we were given an intensive training course because we were needed overseas. We were grouped into squadrons each of which consisted of 6 to 10 planes and each was trained to manoeuvre as a unit. About 30-50 men made up a squadron. They told us that we were going overseas and would be in action right away. We would be on nightly missions over enemy territory.

We eagerly awaited our new squadron leader. As an officer he would, we believed, go straight to the officers quarters. However, this one, Stan Fulton, in full uniform, headed for our bunk house, where he settled in with the rest of us, saying “ There’s a free bunk and I am tired ! I’ll meet each of you tomorrow”.

With that, he threw his bag on an upper bunk. Our squadron leader, an officer, sleeping here with us ! We liked him at once and our admiration grew each day. That first night he knelt on the floor and prayed his Rosary in silence. Astounded we were struck dumb. When he finished he looked at us his friendly smile and said “I hope you guys don’t find a fellow saying some prayers because where we are going we’re going to need them”.

Next day at manoeuvre practice, we found that Fulton was not just our military leader, but our friend. He was one of us. He never tried to intimidate with his rank. Next night, he repeated his prayer session. Although our group had been together for 6 months, I had never seen anyone kneel in prayer, and had no idea that any of our group was Catholic.

The third night 3 of our companions joined Fulton in praying the Rosary. The rest of us did not understand, but we kept a respectful silence. We weren’t slow however on the pick-up. Soon we were all answering the Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s. So, we ended each day in prayer.

Soon enough we were to begin a series of night raids from England over Germany. The evening before, Fulton gave each one of us a Rosary “we shall be in some tight situations, but if you agree to keep the rosary with you and to pray it, I promise you that Our Lady will bring you all back safe”.

“Sure thing” we replied, little thinking we would be in action for 4 years, often in dreadful danger. At such times, Fulton’s voice would ring through each plane “Hail Mary…” and we would devoutly respond ! We must have said hundreds of Rosaries in the skies.
Ours, was the only squadron that did not lose a plane or a single life. We said nothing, but we treasured our secret weapon and knew Our Lady had saved us all

New Creation Productions: A Trusting Prayer ..a story from Zaire

New Creation Productions: A Trusting Prayer ..a story from Zaire: Helen Roseveare, a missionary doctor from England to Zaire Africa, told this as it happened to her in Africa. "One night I had worked h...

Let the dead, bury their own dead

Sometimes, even in our churches we find those inclined to gossip and make mischief. There are many theories as to what underpins this tendency of course; for some its to feel superior or gain attention, for others it’s for retribution if they feel wronged in some way (hell hath no fury like a woman scorned) or to find a suitable scapegoat perhaps.

The victims of gossip can suffer a great deal as a consequence but there is a tried and tested way of combatting gossips. Silence. I have it on good authority, from one who received a good measure of false witness against him.

 When he complained to the Lord about it privately in his heart he received that he was to remain silent and to ‘let the dead, bury their own dead’. The context of the juicy gossip made this passage particularly apt and rather amusing ; truly those who engage in gossip are digging their own graves, as are those whose ear is turned and receive deceit in their hearts. Best to lend them the shovel of silence and let them get on with it!

Dying Embers

St Patrick had a vision of Ireland where he was shown the state of the Church in Ireland. At first he saw the whole land like a great furnace whose flames reached to the sky and he heard the voice of an Angel declare “such is now – the state of Ireland in the eyes of the Lord’ As the vision continued he saw it change as the centuries rolled by until eventually all that remained were a few live coals buried and burning deep in the earth. Patrick wept at the sight.

I am told that my maternal grandfather, at the end of each day, assembled his family in the living room of their farmhouse in Leitrim and they all knelt down and prayed the rosary together.

Whilst it is likely that this devotion was alloyed to some degree with obligation and perhaps fear; the discipline of that daily prayer, together as a family, kept them at peace with one another and on the straight and narrow. The house and each one in it was bathed in prayer and returning grace. Somehow, in those days this was enough to carry that generation through life and to eternity. 

The effect of that daily family prayer may not have been obvious as to its effect ; it only becomes obvious when it’s gone as in our day where families are splintered with misunderstanding, argument, separation, and divorce. Correlation between decline in family prayer and the faith underpinning it and an increase in broken families is clear enough. As most of the First World is in a similar condition perhaps we have seen enough to know it’s time to return to God and to prayer.

St Patrick’s vision did not end in unhappy defeat, in his vision after the darkness; a light arose and began to grow again until Ireland returned to its ‘first state of all-pervading fire’

Sr Euphraxia

Chapter XXVI (from stories of the desert fathers/ sisters)

One day the gatekeeper came to the abbess with an urgent message.

"My lady," she said, "there is a woman standing weeping outside the gate with her child of about eight years old, paralysed, deaf and dumb."

The abbess knew by the revelation of the Spirit that Euphraxia had been given the grace of the Lord against demons.

"Ask Euphraxia to come here," she said to the gatekeeper. And when she appeared she said to her:

"Go and take that child from his mother and bring him here."

She went out to the gate and when she saw the child, paralysed and trembling, she was over come with compassion, heaved a deep sigh and made the sign of the cross over him.

"May he who created you heal you, my son," she said.

And she picked him up and took him to the abbess. While she was carrying him the boy was healed and began to cry for his mother, which gave Euphraxia such a start that she dropped the boy on the floor. The boy immediately got up and ran towards the gate, still crying for his mother. Meanwhile the gatekeeper ran to the abbess to tell her what had happened. The abbess called the mother of the child.

"Now look here, my sister," she said, "Have you come here simply to pay tricks on us?

"In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, my lady," said the mother, "that child has never walked or spoken a word until this present moment. But when that other sister picked him up he began to speak! She was so startled she dropped him on the floor, but the child got up immediately and ran to me, your servant."

"So then, he is completely restored to you!" she said. "Take him and go in peace."

Which she did, and departed glorifying God.

Economics of Corruption

I had the opportunity to join a medical mission recently, just as a roadie, moving supplies and equipment but I was able to see the best and worst of humanity all in one place.

The doctors, dentists, and nurses were giving their time and expertise for free to the poor community and a wealthy sponsor paid for the medicines and transport. Several hundred people came and received whatever treatment they needed but could not afford… which was a wonderful thing to see. As Christians the motivation of the workers was really to bring the love of God to the people through sharing their skills.

The venue was a primary school and we set up shop in the different classrooms for the various services on offer. I couldn’t help noticing how run-down the place was though. In the classroom I was based in for example there was only 1 light fitting that still worked, the ceiling fan was broken, the roof in the bathroom was full of holes and as it rained that day was unusable. The only classroom equipment was a broken cassette tape player with the door missing and a circa 1990’s computer which I am sure had little purpose.

In the afternoon a convoy of brand new, top of the range, 4x4 vehicles descended on the site. The local politicians had arrived for an impromptu photo shoot, to pretend to their constituents that the medical mission was their initiative. Suddenly it was clear where the budget for the school had gone. Low level politicians receive a minimal salary but, as Cardinal Tagle put it recently (at the Eucharistic Conference in Cebu), they often use the budget as their own ‘piggy bank’. Even the cost of one of these 4x4’s would be more than enough to cover the repairs needed by the school, fans and light bulbs, corrugated iron roofing and enough left to fill it with books and computers. As a friend pointed out, ‘the politician’s children don’t go to that school though’

It was a stark contrast for me to the see selfless service of the medical teams up close to the rank self-interest of the officials.

Here in the Philippines, So few, steal so much, from so many.