I’m a natural fit for a materially poor country, I had thought. I’m happy with simple things; I’ve never had a lot of money. I stay within the modest budget of a priest in a religious order. Eating in fancy restaurants makes me feel guilty, because I think of how the same amount of money could feed a hungry family in Southeast Asia for weeks. Sure, there will be an adjustment when I begin a new mission in the Philippines, but before long, I’ll settle in and adjust to my new culture. Besides, I will be stationed in Cebu City, where more goods and services are available than in the provinces.
I hadn’t anticipated the daily frustration of making plans and watching them go up in smoke. One day, I went to a local health center to pick up medicine to treat the leprosy of one of our seminarians. The offices were closed because the entire staff was out in the courtyard celebrating an early Christmas party. Another day, a public festival in the streets changed a drive of a few minutes into an hours-long ordeal. Once, after hours of waiting in line to get a driver’s license, an officer suddenly announced that no other customers would be seen that day; everyone would have to return tomorrow when the line would begin again—first come, first served.
I was also finding that my frustration was exponential. Two foiled plans brought four times the aggravation; three in a row brought on eight times the aggravation, and so on. A year of experience in the Philippines had brought me face to face with what I really was: a spoiled American unable to handle my lack of control over daily situations.
But today was worse. The usual exasperation, together with the tropical heat and humidity, had led to a forlorn sense of incompatibility with the culture and the futility of my mission. My conclusion was more felt than thought: It might be better for everyone involved if I went home to the States.
Clunk. Although the experience of thwarted plans was not new, this hit-the-bottom feeling that there was nothing else to do but go home was new indeed.
From the last article in our series on the First Week rules, you may recognize this as an apt situation for the application of Rule 5. When in desolation, Ignatius counsels, we should never change decisions made before the desolation began. However, like a vague echo at first, it was Rule 6 that was speaking to me on that day in the Philippines. In Rule 6, Ignatius describes what we should do in desolation: act against the desolation by prayer, meditation, penance and much examination of ourselves. As I sat sweating near the center of Cebu City, I asked myself, “When did this desolation begin?”
As I looked back on the day, the answer became clear. The cashier at a local printing shop had told me that my job would be done by this morning; I had trekked across the city only to find out that it was an empty promise. (Of course, if this were America, I’d have my own copying machine!) I had lost my patience with her and given full vent to my frustration, including a lecture on how this sort of inefficiency is exactly why the Philippines develops so slowly.
On the way back to the seminary, a train of other thoughts had followed. “I was wearing my priest’s collar when I lost my patience with her. I have reflected poorly on the Church, the priesthood, and my country. I am supposed to be here to help bring people closer to Christ. What good is it to come halfway around the world only to have a negative effect on the very people I am here to help?”
After the examination of myself, the right response to the desolation also became clear: “I may not be able to do anything to change my situation, but with the help of my Divine Master I can do something to change myself.” I returned to the printing shop, found the cashier, and did more than just say, “I’m sorry.” I sincerely asked her to forgive me for my outburst. Like so many other wonderful Filipinos, she was immediately merciful. After some tears on my part, I left the shop with the voice of God ringing in my ears: “Mark, that’s the best example you’ve set since you came to this country!” It may also have been the first time the cashier had ever heard a man admit that he was wrong.
Suddenly, going home to the States was the last thing on my mind, and more slowly, my attitude began to improve. Today, I look back on those nine years in the Philippines as among the best and most fruitful of my life.
People often tell Fr. Gallagher and me that Rule 5 prevented them from making a bad decision. But on that sweaty afternoon in the Philippines, Rule 6 may have saved my mission.
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This post was first published on the Ignatian Disernment Institute and is reprinted here with permission.
Image: Unsplash
