Recently, I was in Tasmania to meet the World Youth Day Pilgrims going to my parish in Chile and to do mission promotion work. A school girl in Saint Patrick’s Catholic College of Launceston asked, “What is the hardest thing about working with people in poverty?” The question stumped me a bit and made me think. Generally, it’s the youth who ask the deep theological questions. After reflecting for a moment, I answered her, “the feeling of being powerless to change the situation of the person in poverty.”
In the missionary vocation one has to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. Often one has to leap without knowing where to land, and trust it will all work out. One has to leave the “black and white” world of certainty and desire to be in the “grey” world of doubt. One has to discover power in being powerless. Doesn’t sound easy, and it’s not. So why do it? I do it for people like “Maria”.
In my years in Chile, Maria is truly one of the poorest people I met. Maria used to come to the parish to talk to another Columban priest. She was also friendly with the parish secretary and I often would see Maria “hanging about” in the office. I didn’t have much to do with her and really didn’t pay much attention to her. When the Columban priest left the parish he referred Maria to me. So one day Maria showed up on the doorstep wanting to talk to me. I wasn’t reluctant to talk to her but not overly enthused either. I assumed that she wanted money. I knew she was poor but didn’t know how poor.
Maria lived in a “media agua” or what would be like a shack. There was not much to her home. Her only means of living, from what I knew, was the selling of small handicrafts she made from old yarn and material. Sometimes Maria would come to the church selling her handicrafts. And out of pity, I must confess, I would buy some from time to time. I figured it was an honest pay for honest work. Yet, much to my surprise, she never begged for money. Most often she came to the church to “desahogarse” - a Spanish phrase that means “to let it all out”. It was during these “desahogos” I discovered that she was a mother.
Maria was a mother of two children who were taken away from her by social services. Maria suffered from psychological ailments like depression and was unable to care for them. She never mentioned the father of the children and it seemed he was not in the picture. She remarked to me that her only true desire was to regain custody of her children but she was a single mother, too poor, too sick and had no job to be able to care for them.
Maria struggled to find odd jobs but often could not hold on to them. Listening to Maria’s story made me feel powerless to help her. There was nothing I could do for her. She in return never asked for any help. I felt more pity for her. I prayed to God, “what is the point to all of this!?”
One day the secretary came to inform me that Maria was waiting to talk to me. I received Maria and noticed she had a big smile on her face. “Father, I came to share my good news with you!” she said. I was curious. Was she miraculously cured of her aliments? Will she get her children back? Is there a sudden monetary fortune? I waited for the surprise. “I’m pregnant”, she blurted. I felt my insides crashing. What was she thinking, I thought, so poor and now pregnant. “With twins”, she added. It was like a punch to the stomach. I really thought God was playing a cruel joke on the both of us.
Then I looked upon her face. Her smile was radiant. It was the first time I truly saw her happy. “Father, I am so happy,” she gleefully continued, “that God considered me worthy to give life again. I am truly blessed!” It was as if I heard Jesus’ mother speaking into my ears. I had thought that Maria wanted me to do something about her situation but in reality she just wanted a compassionate ear to listen to her. She just wanted someone to share her joy. I began to wonder if my pity for Maria was more moved by pity for myself - me being helpless. Yet, being helpless made me powerless with Maria. It was something we both shared together. And that is the power of mission. Two people, worlds apart with nothing in common, find commonality in being powerless. It made us equals.
Some time later, I used to see Maria walking in the street with a man, the father I assumed. They embraced and looked happy as a couple. In time, Maria did regain custody of her two older children. After that I never saw her again. I don’t know her fate, where she is or what she does but that is mission.
Being powerless - not having all the answers or certainty- but trusting that God is doing what God does best.
Columban Fr Chris Saenz is parish priest of Santo Tomas Apostol parish in Chile.
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LISTEN TO: Reflection - The power of being powerless (Duration: 7.06mins, MP3, 3.24MB) |
Read more from The Far East, August 2013