There Is Still Work To Be Done

Dear Msgr. Anthony Brouwers,

They told you it couldn’t be done.  Overseas mission: that is the work of priests, brothers and sisters.  That is not for lay people! Even the great Bishop Fulton Sheen opposed you when you asked for his support. Yet here we are, more than 60 years later, continuing the legacy you left behind.

We live in a different world than yours. You set out the work of Lay Mission-Helpers at a time when we were witnessing the destructive powers of the human intellect on a global scale. While we continue to live in these shadows, the scale is much smaller, relatively speaking.  Terrorist attacks and mass shootings are not the same as atomic bombs, but instill just as much fear.

However, as St. John’s Gospel says, love casts aside fear. I have had the privilege of talking to some of the first missionaries that you sent out. They were plenty nervous — just as ours are today — yet they went.  And still they go. They respond to that mantra you heard over and over again from the mission bishops you visited in 1954: “We need help!” 

They continue to swab the wounded Body of Christ in the farthest corners of the globe; and they continue to be transformed by the experience, receiving as much, usually more, than they give. God’s world has become a better place because of your vision. 

But some things do not change: there is still work to be done. Requests for Lay Mission-Helpers continue to come in, and the words of Jesus still ring true, “the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.” 

My prayer as I write is this: may the missionary heart you instilled in so many people continue to be implanted whenever and wherever the story of Lay Mission-Helpers is told. May God continue to call forth faith-filled women and men to serve in the missions, and may our efforts bring greater love and compassion to God’s world.

Until we meet one day, Msgr. Brouwers, we remain faithfully in Christ,

Chad Ribordy

On behalf of Lay Mission-Helpers

Memories from Papua New Guinea

Recently, we talked to this couple who served as Lay Mission-Helpers in Papau New Guinea from 1974-77 and still to this day remember the people, the laughter and the hope:

“Forty years ago, where we were had no telephone and electricity was only 12 hours a day. So we could use our fridge during the daytime, but at night we couldn’t open it for fear of food spoiling.  Airmail letters would take about two weeks to come to us, and about two weeks to the recipient. So, if the grandparents asked a question about one of the children, it was a month before they heard the reply. We soon learned not to bother them with stories of falls and scraped knees, because they would worry about the kids all that time!

Sometimes the lessons came from misunderstandings in English. We worked with the Bishop of Aitape, and he had requested that four Poor Clare Sisters come to establish a monastery. Their purpose was to pray for the various endeavors of the missionaries in the diocese. At one social event, I brought my newborn son, and one of the Poor Clare Sisters from Britain asked if she could nurse my baby! I was taken aback, but learned that “nurse” in British English means to hold and cuddle the baby. We quickly realized that we spoke American English.

But we had many experiences where language didn’t matter. My husband worked as an airplane mechanic, and one time the children and I went with him to one of the highland villages. These people had never seen a European woman or young children. Because of what they had not seen, they believed that Europeans appeared on earth fully grown. When we arrived, people gathered around us in a huge circle, and they noticed right away that I had a baby who was fussing. Now I didn’t speak their language, and they didn’t speak mine, not even pidgin English, but two women approached me and motioned to me, and to the baby, and back and me, and led me to a place in the shade to nurse the baby. I was so impressed that they made this huge leap from a belief that Europeans don’t have babies to me needing to feed the baby. Every single village had its own language and culture, but looking back I am amazed at the oneness of humanity.

The camaraderie that we saw amongst the missionaries was amazing. In our area there were Franciscans, the Poor Clares and us. On Friday nights we would celebrate Mass and then get together afterward for a meal and fellowship. It was wonderful to feel part of a team.”

 “I worked as an airplane mechanic, and we serviced quite a large area.  Our planes flew every day, though as a good witness we tried not to fly on Sundays.

One of the most interesting things for me was that I worked more on things other than airplanes. Mechanics were so few and far between. For example, one of the mission stations generators hadn’t worked in five years. They worked by kerosene lamps. I was able to get enough information and parts and fixed it one weekend. In a few hours, I was able to improve their lives. Another time a Sister sent me her lawnmower and a bag of parts because she couldn’t figure out how to put it back together again!

One day I got a call from the hospital that their X-ray machine was down, and I was able to fix it temporarily until we could order the right part.  Every time I went by the hospital, the Sister doctor who ran the place would ask me to lend a hand. They always needed more hands, holding patients, etc. Even from a mechanic!

I’ll never forget one of the most important calls of my life. One Easter, a carbonate artillery shell left over from World War II blew up under the camp fire of a bunch of high school boys and shredded threw them. We received a call that three boys would need to be flown to the main airport, and I was asked turn the plane into an ambulance carrier. By the time they arrived, I had modified it to fit three stretchers, and the boys were able to make it to the hospital. It was very rewarding to be able to help.”

Heart of the Matter

Tetralogy of Fallot. It sounds like the title of a fantasy novel series. 

Actually, it is a medical condition that causes oxygen-poor blood to flow out of the heart and into the rest of the body. You may recall this term from our last newsletter in which we described Lay Mission-Helper Alicia Adajar-Duante helping a young boy recover from the surgery which corrected his Tetralogy of Fallot condition. It was a success story.

Not all in life is success. This past week’s liturgical readings leading up to Easter were filled with stories of failure: the apostles failed to stay awake with Jesus, Judas failed to remain loyal to Jesus, Peter failed to stand by Jesus, and the list of failures goes on.

In the countries where our missioners serve, failure stories are in no short supply. They are bound to happen in resource-poor areas, where people totter on a thin line between life and death.   

Alicia just posted a blog of another case of Tetralogy of Fallot, this time not a success story. A four-year-old boy with this condition did not recover from his surgery, and Alicia was at his side as he lay dying. Alicia wrote that the doctor at one point suggested that someone turn on a radio near the boy’s ear as a way of stimulating his brain. She took up the call and played some recorded music for him. Eventually the boy’s small body could no longer resist his illness, and he died.

Last November when visiting Cameroon, I personally witnessed how Lay Mission-Helpers and our sister organization, Mission Doctors Association, are working hard to widen that thin line between life and death through the various ministries in which they are engaged. Yet the reality is that some do fall on the other side, and Alicia wrote how hard it is to witness the suffering when it happens.

But this week’s liturgical readings turn the “failure” stories on their heads. They assure us that in the eyes of faith, there is resurrection and hope for every story and situation gone wrong. Jesus Christ conquered death and it no longer has the final say. 

Although it is sometimes hard to hear through the cacophony of this world, the resurrection song is always playing there in the background, calling us home to love, understanding and compassion. Sometimes, what we need is for someone to turn up the volume a bit, as Alicia did for that boy . . . and as the boy does for us when we read his story. 

Thank you for your continued prayers and support, and know that all of our work joins with yours this Easter season as together we proclaim the risen Christ here and abroad. 

Faithfully,

Chad