Jesus in the dentist's chair

As I type this, I am aware of that odd sensation of cement smoothed over the top of two of my molars, and my mind begins to recount the events of the day. After my morning prayer and a rushed breakfast of fresh bread, I made my way to the hospital for my first “real” dental appointment since becoming a foreign missionary. Last week my teammate and I happily discovered the office of Dr. Monsanto, whose brother is Msgr. Monsanto assigned here in the diocese of CDO, and assured her of our quick return.

Our Lady, Mary Mediatrix of All Grace, similar to the image adorning the door of the dentist office.

I wasn’t too worried about the appointment because I could clearly see God’s hand at work, helping us to find this dentist whose office is tastefully decorated with pictures and  statues of Our Lady and the Infant Jesus, not to mention a small plate of scapulars conveniently placed on the front desk, should any of her clients lack that blessed object which is so commonly worn here in the Philippines.

Still, my general demeanor must have betrayed any lingering sense of foreboding, as Dr. Monsanto felt it necessary to reassure me that I had nothing to fear. She planned to fill two purportedly “big” cavities and to conquer the other lesser one at a later date.

I was surprised how quickly she began drilling the first tooth, with no preemptive novocaine shot, but overhearing her conversation with her assistant, I presumed, through my limited knowledge of Visayan dental vocabulary, that she intended to drill a little on the surface of each tooth before going deeper and requiring anesthetic. After a while the drilling sensation began to morph into a slight pain, and then a much sharper one as she neared the nerve.

It must be getting close now, I considered, as I prepared myself for the pinch of the injection and the ensuing numbness that would soon overtake one side of my mouth. But, unperturbed, she continued drilling.

“Gami lang, ha?” she politely noted, as if asking my permission to proceed for just a little while longer. I gave an affirmative response, or as much as I could muster with all manner of dental hardware bracing my jaws apart.

As I closed my eyes and began to contemplate the loving face of Christ, I felt a calmness settle over me. My attempted mental rosary had come to naught, as the increasing pain made it difficult to focus on the words of the prayers, but the face of my dear Jesus was somewhat easier to hold within my concentration. I thought, too, of a few beloved friends here on Camiguin who are in great need of conversion, and I begged the Lord to let me offer up this small sacrifice for them, that their souls might receive more of His grace for repentance.

Eventually the dentist finished drilling; the anticipated anesthetic never came. When she proclaimed her work completed, I conveyed my honest surprise.

“Oh, I’ve heard you use novocaine in the U.S. when filling cavities. We don’t do that here in the Philippines,” she explained rather nonchalantly, with only a hint of hesitation in her voice as she observed my reaction.

I didn’t know what to think, except that, 1) I was and still am astonished at the surprisingly bearable degree of pain brought about by the drilling of two apparently large cavities, and 2) I was grateful for this small but truly meaningful sacrifice that I could offer up for the conversion of sinners.

I recall once reading that now-Saint Padre Pio would not accept any anesthetic, even during more serious and extremely painful dental procedures, due to his concern that onlookers might irreverently inspect his stigmata, the wounds of Christ that he bore on his own hands and feet. For some reason, that anecdote has always impressed me because of his decision to willingly undergo suffering out of love for Our Lord. I cannot boast to possess the same fortitude as that great saint, such as would inspire me for pious reasons to submit myself to greater pain than must necessarily be borne, but I am humbled that Jesus would allow me to have this experience, to unite my suffering with His in a more intimate manner than before.

Every Friday, as I meditate on the Stations of the Cross, I read the words of St. Josemaria Escriva: 

“Love sacrifice; it is a fountain of interior life. Love the cross, which is an altar of sacrifice. Love pain, until you drink, as Christ did, the very dregs of the chalice.”

My Jesus, may I desire more and more to offer up my small pains for the glory of Your kingdom!

Jesus on night adventures

It's already dark out, but we promised to bring medicine to our student Recardo who is awaiting the results of his MRI, so we call our new friend, a motorcycle driver, to ask for a ride to Recardo's mountain home. It's very muddy from a week's worth of typhoon-like rain, and we're praising God as the bike slips and slides along the unpaved road - thank You, Jesus, for a skilled driver!

Rodito driving his parents and little sister.

We deliver the medicine and check in on the family. It's still difficult and very painful for Recardo to walk. I ask his sister Gelaiza why she has been absent all week from school -- I've missed her in my English class. A toothache, she explains, and my flashlight cuts through the darkness of the night as I inspect the offending tooth. We'll check at the health center to see when the dentist will next be visiting our town, we assure her.

We play with the littlest ones who are scampering around outside the house; last week we were able to bring backpacks and notebooks for the children -- much-coveted school supplies and unaffordable for families like this one. Their need is so great. I take a turn holding Andi, Recardo's baby niece, and reflect that just a few months ago I met her for the first time in the hospital when she was admitted for pneumonia. How good is the Lord! I marvel at the way He has drawn us into this family's life.

Recardo outside his home.

Before leaving, we pray for healing for both Recardo and Gelaiza and then hop back on the motorcycle. What a blessing that our driver Rodito has now accompanied us on several such home visits and witnessed our mission in action! On the ride home I'm feeling a little bold, so I ask him, "Can you read?"

"Conti," he responds. Only somewhat.

"Do you know how to pray the Rosary? Would you like one?" I press on. His affirmative response is all I need, and when we arrive back at the house we invite him inside for his first catechesis. A few minutes later he walks out with a glow-in-the-dark Rosary to grace his motorcycle on night rides, as well as a Rosary guide to assist him in praying. There's something stirring within his heart, it seems, and we resolve to continue looking for opportunities to invite him into a deeper relationship with Jesus.

What a blessed evening! Just another night here on mission in Camiguin.

Looking back and looking forward

My Jesus,

When I first committed to love You and serve You with my life those 5+ years ago, little did I imagine it would lead me to this, and in such a short time! Parish ministry, I thought. Evangelization work in my hometown. Perhaps Christian counseling. But never in my wildest dreams, a foreign missionary abandoning everything to You and Your providence.

Funny that it was never really about giving up clothes or selling old belongings. It was about surrendering control - my desires, my dreams, my plans - to You. And that has been a continual struggle, a gradual release of the tight grip I had on my life, learning to trust in You and in Your goodness and love.

I love You, my Jesus! Here's to the next 5, no, 55+ years of service in Your kingdom!

Jesus in the home

Last week we visited our friend Alex and his family in the mountain. We met Alex this year when he began working at one of the stores in town where we shop. He is a single dad and lives with his 7-month-old baby boy in his parent's house, along with a few of his siblings, nieces, and nephews.

When we gathered the family together to pray, Alex eagerly agreed to read aloud from the Bible. With so many little kids running around, it seemed only appropriate to read Matthew 19:14.

"Jesus said, 'Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.'"

Alex's mother is a holy woman! She explained to us that she cares for the needs of all her own children and now her grandchildren as well. Pointing at a picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, she noted that, just like the Blessed Mother who is always depicted holding Our Lord, she too is always carrying children.

A beautiful visit to a beautiful family! Recognize the guy in the jersey? My brother Paul, who visited us last year on Camiguin, has happily returned. It's such a blessing to have him here!

His Rose

Riding the ferry at 5:00 this morning, I awake from a short nap and look around at the other passengers. Far in the front of the boat, I spot a young woman carrying four bags who is alone and appears rather sad. She has the same hair and profile of my 9th grade student, Rose. The same black and white jacket. The same headband...but it couldn't possibly be her, or could it? Just then she lifts her hand to cover her face, and her long, slender brown fingers are unmistakable. How many times have I seen that same gesture repeated in my class? 

I approach Rose and call her name. She looks up, and it is exactly like a scene from a movie, when a child is caught running away from home by just the person she never expected to see. She sits there, speechless, and her face is a mixture of consternation and surprise. A few moments pass in silence - each of us shocked that the other is here on this very boat - until I take courage and ask, "Where are you going?" It seems she has been crying, and she is still a little slow to respond, so I move her bags and sit down on the bench beside her. Finally she explains: she is going home to her grandmother and her baby, the two-year-old child she has not seen since she left them on the mainland and moved to Camiguin.

It has not been an easy life for Rose as a working student, living with her employers, with no free time even to complete the homework that I assign every day in class. And now, five months to the day, she is returning to the life she knew before, which is by no means an easier one. Living in her Lola's home together with the father of her child, who is deaf to her pleadings - no one would argue that this is love, when a man's affection is forced upon a woman who desires to escape it.

The rain blows hard against the tarpaulin, and Rose shivers. "Come, all your bags are getting wet," I insist. So we change seats and I gently ask, "You will not be coming back to Camiguin?"

"Oh, ma'am! My show and tell...," she exclaims, dismayed at the thought of disappointing both me and her classmates. Her presentation was scheduled for next Tuesday. "I don't care about your show and tell!" I respond a little too quickly. "I am just sad because, if God had not put us on this ferry together, I might never have seen you again." Such is the case for almost everyone she is leaving behind, I realize, as she explains that only her class advisor, her employers, and now I know of her decision to move home.

We ride the rest of the way to the port and then make our way to the bus terminal. Both of us are west-bound, so there is still some time before we must part ways. I ask the Holy Spirit for inspiration, for an encouraging word to leave with her if, indeed, this is the last time we will meet. In between bus stops - first to load additional passengers, later to pick up a few barrels of fresh squid - I lead us in a prayer.

As we pray, I consider what I know of Rose's story. Pregnant at 15, unwanted by her parents, she tried her utmost to care for her child. But living every day in dread of the young man she once loved - who later refused to move out of the house and leave her and the baby in peace - sounds rather like a complicated form of slavery to me. Having to choose between her freedom and her child, Rose did what she thought best and left the baby with her grandmother, as she set out to complete her high school education, hoping to someday be able to provide for her daughter. How unbearable is the heartbreak of a mother forced to give up her child! And remarkably, she grasps the tragic irony of it all, that she who was abandoned at a tender age by her mother has now repeated history by leaving behind her own small daughter.

What a relief it is to pray with her, because it is only the Savior of the world Who can save Rose from the circumstances that she is facing. The words of the prophet Isaiah come to mind, and I turn to my Bible to share with her the passage that has so often comforted my own sorrowful heart. For her, however, the words are not merely metaphorical, because she has lived them. Indeed, they seem to come to life on the page as I read them aloud:

"But Zion said, 'The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me.' 'Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have graven you on the palms of my hands.'" -Isaiah 49:14-16

I close the book and turn to see her weeping. Hers is a face of strength. You may perhaps condemn her for leaving her child, or even for giving up on her education, but there is no condemnation in the words of Our Lord. There is only love, deep love, and His promise of unending fidelity to His precious Rose.

A few minutes later and we have arrived at the crossing - this is her stop. They have no Bible at home because her Lola cannot read or write, so I've hurriedly copied the verses and scribbled a note assuring her of my continued prayers. I hug her goodbye, and she flashes that same brave smile I have come to expect every afternoon at 2:30pm when I enter her classroom. But this is the last time I will see it, and I hold the image in my memory a little longer so I will not forget her.  And you, my child, must never forget how dearly you are loved.

Preaching the name of Jesus

It's late Sunday morning, and I'm making my way across the cathedral parking lot, past all the tents of religious goods, past all the "regulars" - the community of beggars who daily stand outside the church selling little candles for visitors to purchase. Suddenly I'm stopped by a striking young woman carrying a baby on her hip in a large piece of cloth slung over her shoulder.

Daisy and Norma, two of our cathedral friends.

"Gutom" - we are hungry - she says, motioning to her mouth with what must be the universal sign for food. As she guides me down the alleyway of the market to a small food stand, I realize that it is no longer just one woman but two...three...four women with two small children and two infants.

Waiting for the six cups of rice and six small fish to be placed in plastic bags, I remind them to thank the Lord for the food that He is providing. I tell them that I am a Catholic missionary and proudly recite the Visayan phrase I've been practicing: "Si Jesukristo nahigugma kaninyo - Jesus loves you!"

St. Augustine Cathedral in the early morning.

In response, I am met not with smiles but with slight confusion and disinterest. How do they not understand this simple phrase? I wonder, especially here in the market surrounded by thousands of rosaries, religious artworks, and statues of Jesus and His Blessed Mother. So I try again. "Nag simba mo? Are you going to attend Mass today?" More confused looks. Finally I bite the bullet and ask a question that we so rarely ask here: "What religion are you?"

"Islam," one of the women responds. Ah, now I understand.

"Catholic missionary ko. Ang akong Dios si Jesukristo - My God is Jesus Christ. And the rice is from Jesus."

There is power in the name of Jesus. Here in the Philippines, it's not often I have the chance to minister to someone who has not from her earliest childhood heard and been taught to reverence the name of Jesus. And so I forget what a privilege it is to know Him and to speak His name.

My God is not a far-off deity, but a loving Father and Friend Who provides even a breakfast of rice and fish to His hungry children today, just as He did 2,000 years ago.

"They saw a charcoal fire there, with fish lying on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, 'Come and have breakfast.' Now none of the disciples dared ask Him, 'Who are you?' They knew it was the Lord." - John 21:9,12

I pray that these women and children would also know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it is the Lord.

"Let the children come to Me" -- a beautiful stained glass in the cathedral.

"Therefore, God has greatly exalted Him, and bestowed on Him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus, every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." - Philippians 2:9-11

Called to serve the Lord

I am very proud to introduce the two young men we are sponsoring at the Priests of the Sacred Heart of Jesus seminary in Cagayan de Oro. Both are recent high school graduates who felt the Lord inviting them to discern a call to the priesthood.

Visiting Edgar, Marnilou, and Fr. Archie, the priest in charge of their formation.

Edgar was one of my favorite students at Holy Rosary High School. He is a bright and respectful young man. Last fall, when we casually questioned him and his classmates about their life goals, Edgar admitted that he wanted to be a priest! We were happily surprised and encouraged him, giving him a Bible and a book on St. John Bosco to learn more about the priesthood. Fatherless, and with his mother abroad for the past eight years, Edgar was raised by his grandmother. He wrote this letter to express his thanks to all of our benefactors:

Edgar and his Lola invited us to join them for a meal after their town's fiesta Mass.

"Good day!! I am Edgar Magpatoc Abid. I am 18 years old. I live in Manuyog, Sagay, Camiguin Province. I graduated from Holy Rosary High School 2014-2015 last March. I am the son of Ednalin M. Abid and the grandson of Angelita M. Abid. I have no father. I am an illegitimate child. We are two siblings, and I am the oldest. My grandmother is a servant of God; she is a lay minister. My mother works abroad. I am Edgar M. Abid, who has a dream to become a priest someday. I want to become a priest because I want to know God, to serve God, to love God, and to be happy with Him in heaven. I want to help those people who do not truly believe in God and also spread the words of God. I am so very thankful for the support. I hope that you will continue supporting my vocation and I pray that our Beloved God will bless you and guide you. Also, pray for me in my chosen vocation. Once again thank you!"

Our other seminarian is Marnilou, who graduated this spring from Sagay National High School. He comes from a strong Catholic family, with one brother already ordained a priest and another brother currently studying in the same seminary. We first met him through Edgar -- their families are next-door neighbors -- and we are so honored to be sponsoring him in seminary. This is his letter to all of our benefactors:

Happy fiesta! Visiting with Marnilou, his brother Marnito (also in seminary), and their parents.

"First of all good day!! I am Marnilou Namata Piloton, 18 years old. I live in Manuyog, Sagay, Camiguin Province of the Philippines. I am the 4th to the youngest in our family. Let me introduce my parents. My father is Marnito Nituda Piloton Sr. and he is the president of our [village] chapel. My mother is Melchorita Namata Piloton and she is a member of the Divine Mercy [devotional group].
We are all twelve siblings, 3 girls and 9 boys. The oldest, Rev. Fr. Marlo Namata Piloton, is a priest of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The next are Jameson, Marinel Pangasian, Manelyn, Malbert, Mariel, Marjory, Marnito Jr. (who is a seminarian in his 3rd year now), me, Mardel, Mark, and the youngest is Marl James.
I want to become a priest someday to follow Jesus Christ and serve the people, especially the poor. Like my brother, I want to serve the Lord and to become His soldier, and this is my way to serve Him.
Please pray for me to the Lord our God Jesus Christ, especially for my vocation life in the seminary. Thank you, and God bless us!"

I am inspired by these two young men who are responding to the call God has placed on their hearts to serve His Church! Let us pray for Edgar, Marnilou, and all young people who are discerning the priesthood or religious life.