I will go back to my early years in the mission in Zambia in 2004. When I just arrived, I was given to visit all our communities in Malawi-Zambia, until we made a decision with my provincial superior for my new assignment. We had a school in Chikowa, and it is very remote place. So I asked if I could do my mission in a first evangelization area, at the same time, help in teaching in our school, of which, we agreed. But that is not the bolder step that I did.
I was asked to stay for few months in Phalombe mission, in Malawi in order to familiarize with the language. Every single day, I spent an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon visiting villages, just to chat with people. I also spent hours in the morning in a separate office to practice the language with my computer and some youth.
But what was really challenging? When I was called to visit a sick, a dying person of HIV-AIDS and to anoint him. I was terribly afraid, because that was my first time, and I had some negative thoughts about this sickness in the past. I asked some youth to accompany me, and we drove to the place, a small house made of mud, with thatched roof of grasses. The house is very much closed and dark, with a small window only. They told me to enter, but the smell suffocated me (please don’t take offense), and we were all inside that I could hardly move also in the dark. I saw the man lying on the ground because they was no bed, so skinny and the eyes was so sharp looking at me, gasping for his breath.
I didn’t know what to do, inside me I was shivering, I was dizzy and suffocated. But all these disappeared and was replaced with complete pity. I stood at the foot of the man, bent, because the roof was too low, and I invited everyone for the prayer. While I was praying, I looked intently on the man, fleshed fully consumed by the illness. I felt so pity, but I didn’t also want show them my emotions. I should be a source of strength for the family and the sick. Since then, I visited and anointed many with the same illness.
Then, I got my work permit for Zambia, entered the country right away and started my work in Chikowa Mission. Life at the beginning was tough and rough, no proper road, always flooded, and many poor people, many of them were sick too. I became so used with village life, and I slept in the villages from Wednesday to Sunday, visiting people anointing the sick, meeting the leaders and others. There, I encountered a lot of people suffering from HIV-AIDS, some with malaria and tuberculosis with complicated illnesses.
One day, I visited a woman with the same illness. She was just reduced to bones. I sat at her side, she confessed and I anointed. The feeling of pain was there, when she looked at me like a skull and asked me: “Why father I have to suffer like this?” “Why the Lord is not listening to my prayers?” “My body is all in pain. I just want to die!” I was numbed inside. I could not even answer. But I guess, I prepared her for her journey. The following day, she passed away.
There was also a youth of the same situation. He was unable to speak even, fully consumed by the illness. My heart was like gripped so tightly, looking at him, who is supposed to enjoy life and to have a bright future. I think at that time, I was a wounded healer, because I felt like I was absorbing their pains, that when I go home to the mission, I was feeling heavy always, like I was burdened by their situation.
It is not pride that I did these, but I guess “gratitude” for the privilege in preparing people with severe sickness. As a young missionary, when sitting down in the evening in the chapel, I was also looking at my hands always. These hands did a lot of good works. These hands answered a special call. These hands have been dirtied in order to serve. What an honor!
Then we formed a group of HIV-AIDS advocates, infected or not. We had monthly meetings. A nurse or a caregiver would give them some talks. Another would give them lessons for personal care. I had more serious encounter with them, we celebrated mass together, Catholics or non-Catholics. They would gather in the mission to pray. Every 1st of December, we gathered in the church, light a candle, we pray for each other. It was a unique experience, something I am proud of what I did, but grateful that I was given the privilege.
God is really good, He provides, He cares, He heals the broken hearted and He strengthens our faith.
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