IT HAPPENED IN SPIRITUAL DIRECTION

 

FATHER DANIEL MULHAUSER, JESUIT

When I joined the Capuchins in 1981 as a postulant, we were required to get a Spiritual Director.

A Spiritual Director is someone (usually a priest) who helps you recognize the things that God is trying to accomplish in your life. God might be trying to help you learn a certain lesson, develop a virtue or lead you to a new kind of work....and sometimes it's not easy to see this. So a Spiritual Director is there to help you see things a bit clearer.

Typically you meet once a month with your Spiritual Director.

I chose Father Dan Mulhauser for my Spiritual Director. Father Dan was a very approachable, friendly and (as all Jesuits are) intelligent man. I knew he would be able to give me good insights and advice. He seemed to be everywhere, doing so many things, all while being Director of the Saint Ignatius House of Studies in Mangilao where seminarians from the Caroline Islands lived while attending the University of Guam.

Conveniently, Father Dan was Campus Minister for the University of Guam which I was also attending. It all worked out for me because I could easily meet Father Dan for spiritual direction in between classes by walking the short distance from the University to the Campus Ministry center.

ONE DAY

Our monthly meetings were always pleasant and productive, but without anything out of the ordinary.

Except this one day.

Maybe after only fifteen minutes into our discussion, I saw Father Dan lose his focus on me for the first time. The expression on his face told me he was thinking of something else at that moment. Whatever it was, I sensed something was amiss.

Father Dan interrupted me and said, "Don't be alarmed. It will pass. But I do sometimes have these heart palpitations and my doctor says the best thing for me to do is lie flat on the floor till they pass." So Father Dan got off his chair and lay straight on his back on the floor. There was nothing else out of the ordinary. He was not panting or gasping for breath; he was not clutching his chest in pain.

Silently, to myself, I wondered if I should call an ambulance, but he didn't seem to be in distress. As a matter of fact, he quickly returned to spiritual direction, asking me to go on with what I had been saying. So there I was, sitting on a chair going on about things on my mind, and the Jesuit priest sharing his reactions and feedback in as normal a tone of voice as always, but lying flat on his back on the carpeted floor.

After five minutes or so, he got back up and sat in his chair, apologizing for his brief change in posture but assuring me that all was well. I joked with him that I hoped it was nothing about what I was saying about my own life that caused his heart to go into a panic. He laughed and said no; it just sometimes happened. We continued our talk till the hour was up and that was that.

But I'll never forget how I talked to a priest about my spiritual life, while he was lying flat on the floor waiting for heart palpitations to go away.

He must have been a healthy man, despite this, because Father Dan just passed away at the ripe old age of 96. Rest in peace, and thanks for everything!

REFUSED TO SING

 

Father Pete Marcial was a Filipino priest on Guam and quite a character.

He came to Guam in the early 1970s and was a chaplain to the Filipino workers at Black Construction Company. He landed a job as a counselor at the government Vocational Rehabilitation department and stayed there a long time.

There was a time when we weren't sure if he was an AWOL priest. Rumor at the time was that he refused to return to his diocese in the Philippines, so he was on Guam, they said, without his bishop's permission. When he showed up now and then to concelebrate at a Mass, people looked at each other not sure what to do. I myself never saw him being told to leave. So it remained a mystery. In time, though, he squared everything away with his bishop and all was well. But, in the meantime, he earned his living employed by Voc Rehab.

There was a time when he was coming to our Friary each and every week. He'd have dinner with us and then stay many hours into the night, sharing story after story. I wondered if half his stories were true, but whether or not they were true, they were certainly entertaining.

Here's one of his stories.

Father Pete went on a trip off-island but it was a short trip, so he decided to park at the airport in long-term parking so he could just drive off once he returned.

But his flight back to Guam arrived at two or three in the morning, and Father Pete was very sleepy. He got to a red light on a deserted highway in northern Guam. Already sleepy, he got even more sleepy waiting for the light to turn green, with no other cars in sight. He fell asleep at the wheel, the car in park.

Well the light changed from red to green, back to red then green again, several times, and Father Pete was blissfully unaware as he continued to sleep, the engine running.

In time one or two more cars were waiting behind him and Father Pete wasn't moving at all. Very soon, a police man drove to the scene and tapped loudly on Father's window, abruptly waking him up.

Father explained he had just landed late at night and was sleepy, but the policeman didn't care. He was going to write him a ticket. Father Pete protested; the other drivers behind him could have easily moved around his motionless car; there was hardly any traffic on the road at all at that early hour of the morning.

Still, the policeman handed Father his ticket and asked him to sign. Father Pete refused. The policeman said, "Well, here's your ticket and the court date is on the back. Make sure you appear if you're going to contest this ticket. And I'm putting down here, 'REFUSED TO SIGN.'" Father took his ticket and went home.

When Father appeared at the court house, the judge looked over the ticket and declared, "Case dismissed." Why? Either the policeman was dyslexic or was just as sleepy as Father Pete that morning he was ticketed. Instead of writing "REFUSED TO SIGN," the policeman wrote "REFUSED TO SING."

The judge asked out loud, "How can a police officer force a man to sing?"

It was stories like these that I looked forward to each week Father Pete came to the Friary for dinner. I've forgotten all of them but the REFUSE TO SING one. Rest in peace, Father.

FATHER PETE WHEN POPE JOHN PAUL II VISITED GUAM IN 1981

AN UNFULFILLED LAST WISH

PIGO' CEMETERY

in the late 1950s

In the summer of 1959, Bishop Baumgartner was in a bit of a crisis. The Stigmatine priests who staffed Fr Dueñas Memorial School told him only that April or May that they wouldn't be returning at all to the school. That meant Baumgartner needed to find 6 or 7 priest teachers in three months.

He turned to the Capuchins who did the best they could to get some of their priests to serve as principal and to teach, while allowing the first (few and male) lay teachers to teach at Fr Dueñas.

But, in order to help run the school, the Capuchins in New York sent one of their own to Guam, specifically to teach at Fr Dueñas. He also had, unlike most of the other priests, a college degree. His name was Father Donan Hickey. The understanding was that Fr Donan was to be on Guam and teach at Fr Dueñas for a few years.

Shortly after Father Donan arrived, someone took him on a tour of the island. Fr Donan told me this story himself.

The tour ended at an unusual place - a cemetery! Pigo' Cemetery. As the car drove into the cemetery, Fr Donan saw this huge, white marble cross on top of a rock. It made such a huge impression on Father Donan. He told the driver the following, "This is where I want to live, die and be buried." Fr Donan continued to live the rest of his life on Guam, teaching at Fr Dueñas and being pastor of a few parishes. What was supposed to be a short time on Guam turned out to be a lifetime commitment.

Except that...

In 1993, Fr Donan went back to his home state of New York for a little break and to visit his family. While he was there, his health declined. It declined so bad that he couldn't get out of bed. He died in New York, and the superior decided to bury him at the friars' cemetery in Yonkers, New York.

His last desire for his earthly life - to be buried at Pigo' - never came about.

I wonder, though. He was bedridden in New York, but lucid. He knew he was approaching death. Had he not mentioned to anyone, or even insisted, that he be buried in Guam? Perhaps he resigned himself to the circumstances he found himself in.

FR DONAN'S GRAVE IN YONKERS, NEW YORK

Not where he wanted to be buried!

Alas, we do not decide where we are born nor where we die.

The huge white marble cross is still at Pigo' Cemetery, but on top of the new mausoleum. The big rock is gone.

FATHER CORNELIUS AND THE BULL

Father Cornelius Murphy was the lone Capuchin missionary priest of Luta (Rota).

In 1967, Luta had less than 1000 people. Very few residents were not native-born, and Father Cornelius was one of the few Caucasians living there. He was also the one and only Catholic priest, at a time when virtually all the islanders were Catholic.

Being a priest, Father Cornelius prayed his breviary at least twice a day, in the morning and in the evening. The breviary is a prayer book made up largely of psalms.

Father Cornelius decided to pray his breviary one day while walking outside on the grass.

So focused was he praying from the book, "attente et devote," as they say in Latin (attentively and devoutly) that he did not notice the rush of feet coming up behind him. A bull had gotten loose and started charging at the priest.

Right when Father Cornelius bowed his head at the Gloria Patri (Glory Be), the bull smacked Father's behind, and now Father Cornelius was flying in the air, closer to heaven.

Fortunately, the only thing injured was Father Cornelius' priestly dignity. He lived to tell the tale by way of Ham Radio, which the missionaries on the different islands used in those days when telephone service was unreliable.

Father Sylvan, listening to the story on Saipan, let his pipe fall from his mouth and said into his microphone, "Repeat, please, repeat....hahaha."

Another missionary, Father Emery, had a hard time deciding which headline to use when he wrote a little article about this incident :

FRIAR HAS BULL SESSION

BULL HAS LOW OPINION OF FRIAR

PRAYING FRIAR FALLS FOR BULL

BULL'S EYE ON FRIAR

FRIAR GETS RISE FROM BULL

LUTA

LATIN : A CASE IN POINT

Bishop Ishigami at his priestly ordination (2nd from left) in 1952

Tadamaro Ishigami was born in 1920 in the Northern Ryukyu islands of Japan.

At the age of 7, he was baptized a Roman Catholic and given the Christian name Augustine.

At age 13, he was already off to a minor seminary in mainland Japan.

Then World War II broke out and Tadamaro was drafted into the Japanese Army. When the war ended with Japan's defeat, Tadamaro went back home to his little village on a little island in the Ryukyus.

The tiny Catholic community was without missionaries, due to the war. The faithful still gathered for prayers. Tadamaro was one of the lay leaders of the community, having had some seminary training.

In 1947, Rome entrusted the Catholic mission of Okinawa (Ryukyus) to the American Capuchins. Of the two Capuchins sent to Okinawa that year, one had been a missionary on Guam before the war, Father Felix Ley, and was thus sent by the Japanese to prisoner of war camp. For the three and a half years he was a prisoner in Japan, Father Felix picked up a little Japanese. He was very willing to go back to Japan as a missionary.

Tadamaro was at the dock when the two American Capuchins arrived.

Although Father Felix spoke a tiny bit of Japanese, it was not enough for him to communicate well with Tadamaro. Tadamaro could not speak English at all. What to do?

They spoke in Latin. That was the language that united two American Catholics and one Japanese Catholic.

Tadamaro greeted the missionaries and said, "Est maximum gaudium mihi servire vobis." "It is my greatest joy to serve you."

Ishigami as a layman meeting Guam's Bishop Baumgartner. Okinawa was under Guam's Catholic jurisdiction for a short time right after WW2.  Baumgartner ordained Ishigami a priest in 1952.

Ishigami later joined the Capuchins and was given the religious name Peter Baptist. Twenty-some years later he became Bishop of Okinawa.

QUESTIONS FOR A CENTENARIAN PRIEST

Me at 54; Father Benigno at 101

On one of my last trips to Manila, a friend casually brought up that he knew of a Spanish priest who was 101 years old.

I said, "What! I love old priests! I love old Spanish priests!" I just had to meet this one.

Father Benigno Benabarre is a Benedictine priest at San Beda Abbey in Manila.

The day and time were arranged, through my friend, to meet him.

I walked into his office, which is one small corner of the Alumni Office at San Beda College. He was at his computer typing away, totally oblivious to me standing there. You can see his printer right over my shoulder in the photo above.

A lay staff member called out, "Father!" and Father BB, as he is fondly called, looked up and showed me a nice smile. I was relieved. I had no idea what he would be like, and his smile disarmed me.

He offered me a seat and I asked, in Spanish, "Shall we speak in English? Or in Spanish?"

He crossed his arms and rested them on the desk in front of him, shook his head and said, "Español." I said under my breath, "Oh boy. Here goes some practice."

I spent my 15 minutes with him asking him three questions about Spanish peculiarities in the liturgy and devotional life; peculiarities which I could never explain after reading the many Spanish books and articles I have perused all these years. Younger Spanish priests would be out of touch with these old customs, so who better to ask, I thought, than a Spanish priest 101 years old! And a Benedictine, which meant that he would be more into the liturgy than other priests.

1. PALMS OUTWARD

It may not be a big thing, and it really isn't, but it was a distinctive trait of many Spanish priests when saying Mass in the old days. It was to hold up the hands at Mass with the palms facing outward, towards the altar ("ad altare versas").

The usual way priests everywhere else did it was to turn the palms towards each other. If you look at the two pictures above, the difference can be hard to tell if one isn't aware of the difference. But in one of those pictures, the four fingers are not clearly seen and neither is the left palm. That's because the palms are facing outward (the Spanish way).

I had heard about it from traditional priests, one of whom even joked about it ("hands up! bang bang!") but I never saw it until 1992 when I was in Spain once. I was at a Novus Ordo Mass (the Mass after Vatican II) said in Spanish but the celebrant was an old priest ordained in the 1940s. I'll never forget his homily echoing something Saint Ignatius Loyola once said ("If my eyes see white, but the Pope says it's black, it's black!"), but what I also remember is that the priest faced his palms outward, just as I had heard.

So I asked Father Benigno where this custom came from. He didn't know. Furthermore, he said he himself never saw priests in Spain in his youth do it, and he himself did not practice it. Today, hardly any Spanish priest holds his hands up like this any more.

It's safe to say this must have been an ancient Spanish custom which Rome eventually conceded formally. But, as Father Benigno says, it wasn't the custom with every priest in Spain. But it was widespread since the custom was talked about by many when the topic of Spanish liturgical peculiarities would come up.


2. AMÉN. JESÚS


When I was young and listened to the older ladies lead in singing the Chamorro hymns, one thing struck me about the Chamorro Salve (Hail Holy Queen), which goes "Si Yu'us unginegue Rainan yan Nånan mina'åse'." It ended with the words "Amén. Jesús."

Why was the name of Jesus added? Almost every other prayer ended with just "Amén." Why add the name of the Lord after the word that ends every prayer?

Years later, when I saw the Spanish version, it was there as well. "Amén. Jesús."

But I have never seen this in Italian or French prayers. If it exists, please let me know.

Father Benigno attributed this Spansh custom to the attachment they have to Jesus, and/or His Holy Name. If this is so, then the preachers promoting devotion to the Holy Name of Jesus several hundred years ago did a good job.

This is the answer I received from a Spanish priest, Don Tomás de la Torre.

"When people say 'Amén, Jesús,' they are affirming 'May this be so in the name of Jesus.'"

Beautiful custom!


3. JESUS OUR FATHER

If you are familiar with Spanish devotions and devotional books and pictures, you will come across pictures calling Jesus "Our Father." "Nuestro Padre."

This is found especially in the south of Spain (Andalucía) where the devotion to the suffering Lord is very prominent.

But then I also noticed that, in one Chamorro hymn, Jesus is also called "Our Father." It is found in the hymn Dimuye, Manhengge. The line goes :

Ti siña ta yute' ennao na señåt-ta
(We cannot abandon this our sign)

annai i Tatå-ta umakalaye.
(wherein Our Father was hung.)

And there is yet another Chamorro hymn that calls Jesus the Father. Jesus Tatå-ho mames. Jesus my sweet Father.

Now, anyone translating this into English is immediately struck by the question : How to explain to people how Jesus is Our Father when He is, in fact, the Son of the Father.

One thing is sure. The Church never teaches that the Father, Son and Holy Spirit are the same persons. All three are one God, but three separate and distinct persons.

So God the Father was not hung on the cross. God the Son was.

Then why call the Son a Father?

Because even the Son possesses fatherly traits.

In John 14:9, Jesus says that those who see Him also see the Father. Not because Father and Son are the same person, but because the Son is a person who perfectly reflects the person of the Father. "Like Father, like Son" as the saying goes. The Son so perfectly loves the Father and obeys the Father, and shares in the same divine nature as the Father, that he who sees the Son sees the likeness of the Father. This is what Jesus means when He says that "The Father and I are one." Two separate persons of the one God, sharing one divine nature with all the same powers of the divinity, united in will. When two human beings are united in love, it is said that they are one heart in two different bodies. Father and Son are one God but two different persons.

And so Jesus calls the Apostles and disciples "children" several times (John 13:33, 21:5, Mark 10:24). It is true that He doesn't call them "My children," but He does address them as children. If the Apostles are children of the Father, they are such only through the adoption won for them by the true Son of the Father (Jesus Himself). That is another way Jesus is, for us, a Father. Just as Adam is our father in terms of being the first man from whom we all originate, Jesus is the New Adam, and if we become new people, God's children, heirs of heaven, it is because of the New Adam, who is the first of the new human race, saved from the fall of the Old Adam. We call founders and originators of things "fathers," like the Founding Fathers of the Country. Jesus is the founder of a Church. He calls it "My Church," not simply "God's Church" or "the Father's Church." It is HIS Church; He is the founder and therefore the Father of His Church.

Finally, in Isaiah 9:6, one of the titles given to the Messiah, whom Jesus was, is "Everlasting Father." The Prophet himself calls Jesus the Everlasting Father. Why? Because He is like a father to us in many ways. He gives us new birth as the children of God the Father. He is founder of a new people, His Church. He provides and defends us like a true father, dying in order to save His children from death.

When I asked Father Benigno, he was most at a loss with this one question. He attributed it to Spanish popular piety, especially of the southern Spaniards.

Well, nonetheless, I enjoyed my time with this centenarian priest whose legs don't carry him much but whose cheerful spirit, agile mind and typing fingers still do a lot of good in this world for other people. Would that I can do the same!

THE "SAINT MAKER"

Rev. Juan M.H. Ledesma, SJ

Earnest Advocate of Bd Diego Luis de Sanvitores

I once knew a saint-maker!

Well, not really, though he did call himself that in his old age, certainly not in a literal sense.

Only God makes saints, with the saint's cooperation, of course. But it's the Church who declares them so, or at least confirms what popular tradition has decided in antiquity. But little of that would be accomplished without the scholarly investigations and persistent promotion done by people like Jesuit Father Juan Ledesma.

FAMILIAR GUEST AT OUR FRIARY

When I joined the Capuchins as a postulant in 1981, the Friary was an interesting place to be because it hosted many guests from around the world from time to time.

One of the these was Fr Ledesma.

Ledesma's one and only claim to fame, as far as we on Guam were concerned, was his promotion of the Cause of Blessed Diego. Many years before I actually met him at the Friary, I had heard of the name Ledesma because of the book "The Apostle of the Marianas." Ledesma's name was on it, because he translated it from the original Spanish, written by Fr Alberto Risco. SJ. Monsignor Oscar Calvo's name was on it, as well, as editor. Calvo also promoted the sale of this book, and may have had something to do with financing its publication. This book was the first history of Sanvitores I ever read. This was in the 1970s when I was still a teenager. Later I was to find out that this text could be classified as a "popular history," rather than something more scholarly. Its purpose was to spread interest about Sanvitores among the average person, and it accomplished that goal. It was only in the next decade that Sanvitores was beatified.

When I finally met Ledesma in person at the Friary, I was both awed and disappointed. As an impressionable young man, new to religious life, I was struck that I was eating across the table from a man whose name was on a book, and a book about Sanvitores, a hero if there was one for us on Guam at the time.

But I found Ledesma rather quiet and reticent, a little stiff and not very affable. It was hard to make conversation with him, and I thought at the time that we (the young ones at table) were boring him. We probably were! But I also noticed that he didn't interact much with the older priests (or younger ones, for that matter). This was about the same time that the Cause was in high gear. Everyone was expecting the beatification to happen soon, and people were planning for all that. So Ledesma, as well as other off-island big shots, were coming in and out of Guam for that reason. Yet Ledesma seemed to be in the back of the picture. He'd walk around the Friary by himself. He'd have this or that comment with a priest or bishop, but generally speaking he was often by himself. Of course, he must have been involved in meetings we never saw, and there must have been much more to his day than meets the eye. I thought I detected a tinge of sadness about the man, but for all I know I may not have had any real reason to think so.

After the beatification, I saw Ledesma no more.

I do recall one anecdote. At the dining table, surrounded by us young ones, he broke his reticence and told all of us, words to this effect, "Now you must all do your part to promote the beatification of Father Sanvitores. You must all pray for it." And we said, "Yes, we will."

In the last few years I came to find out that Ledesma did have a hand in a more highly-regarded work, the translation of Garcia's biography of Sanvitores. Garcia's was the earliest bio, written just after Sanvitores' death, using letters and reports written by Sanvitores and the other Jesuit missionaries in the Marianas. Ledesma translated two chapters of that book.

A PERSONAL GLIMPSE

Ledesma was born in 1905 in Iloilo and lived to 102. His mother died in his infancy and he had no recollection of her at all. His father, an American, put the boy in a hospice. In fact, Ledesma had earlier been called Ledesma-Howard. Later, he switched his names around. The H in his name stood for Howard (his American father) and Ledesma remained his surname.

After joining the Jesuits he was educated in the U.S. (Woodstock) and Rome (Gregorian), where he earned advanced degrees. He returned to Manila to teach in San Jose Seminary (the same seminary where Monsignor Calvo had studied) but there were hurdles. It seems he didn't fit in with the teaching philosophy of the other faculty members. So Ledesma turned to writing and publishing. The sale of his books went to support the education of poor students at Jesuit schools in the Philippines.

The Cause of Sanvitores would not have met with success if it weren't for the efforts of Archbishop Flores, Mosnignor Calvo and Father Ledesma, to name a few of the main players. If it weren't for that success, we probably wouldn't have had a "Saint" Pedro Calungsod either.

Saint-maker. To some extent, Ledesma was. RIP with the saints, Father Ledesma.

For more information, see

http://goodjesuitbadjesuit.blogspot.com/2007/11/fr-jaun-ledesma-sj-rest-in-peace.html

A JESUIT, GUAM AND LEPERS

Father Vilallonga is the only one in a black cassock (besides Bishop Oláiz), standing on left

In 1929, the Pope sent a Spanish Jesuit with an impressive resumé to inspect the mission of Guam. His name was Father Joaquín Vilallonga.

He arrived in late 1929 and after his visit with Bishop Oláiz and the Capuchin missionaries, all Spaniards like himself, he gave the Guam mission not merely a clean bill of health but high praise, calling it the "best organized mission in Oceania."

Here's what Vilallonga said himself in a letter to Bishop Oláiz of Guam :

"I can say with total sincerity that I have not found in all the Philippines a mission better organized than that which the Capuchin Fathers have in Guam under the prudent and wise direction of Your Excellency. I believe that the Chamorros can consider themselves very content and happy in having such zealous and selfless missionaries who give to all their faithful such good examples of virtue and holiness."

The very positive report on Guam filed in Rome by Vilallonga helped move the Vatican to send money to Bishop Oláiz so that he could build a two story concrete building to house many Catholic activities.

What were his credentials that allowed him to act as inspector for the Vatican?

VILALLONGA THE YOUNG MISSIONARY

Like many Jesuits, Vilallonga's dream was to work in the missions. After joining the Jesuits in Spain in 1885 at the age of 17, he was sent to Manila in 1892 to teach at the Ateneo de Manila. He taught philosophy, physics and mathematics. He was well-educated in the Latin classics, and could recite from memory long passages from Cicero and Virgil. He was good in the Greek classics, too.

WITNESS TO HISTORIC TIMES IN MANILA

Vilallonga lived in the same Jesuit residence in Intramuros, Manila where some of his Jesuit confreres lived; Jesuits who visited José Rizal in prison. They would come back to the house asking the Jesuit community to pray for their former student.

When Admiral Dewey sailed into Manila Bay in 1898 during the Spanish-American War, Vilallonga was eyeing the American fleet from atop the Jesuit house in Intramuros.

A BUSY LIFE IN HIGH POSITIONS

He was sent to St. Louis, Missouri to finish his studies and there learned to speak English well. He also became friends with Teddy Roosevelt and John D. Rockefeller. The story is that Vilallonga defended his thesis in front of a crowd that included Roosevelt, who was impressed enough to send him a written note of congratulations. Finishing his studies in the U.S., he returned to Manila and began a quick rise to positions of authority :

Rector of the Ateneo de Manila 1910
Superior of the Davao Mission 1917
Rector of the Vigan Seminary in 1920
Superior of the Jesuits in the Philippines in 1921
Provincial Superior of the Jesuit Province of Aragon (Spain) in 1926

It was because of these extensive experiences in missionary life that Vilallonga was an excellent choice of Rome to conduct an official inspection of the Church in the Philippines and in Guam. He could deal with the many Spanish missionaries, and his command of English and acquaintance with American ways enabled him to relate well with the American civil and military authorities.

When that was done, he was back in the missions but this time in India, where he worked from 1930 to 1949. It was in 1949, at the age of 81, that Vilallonga made a surprising request of his superiors. It concerned his next assignment!

CHAPLAIN TO THE LEPERS AT CULION

Fr. Vilallonga visits his people at the leprosarium in Culion.

At age 81, many priests look forward to a life of blessed retirement. Not Vilallonga. Having occupied very high offices in the past - in academic and religious governance - he wanted his "last stop" to be in a remote corner of the Philippines called the "Island of No Return" among those suffering from Hansen's Disease. There he would say Mass for them, hear their confessions, anoint them, listen to them, attend to their needs, be a father and friend to them.

In 1949, there were undoubtedly patients from Guam who had come there many years before. They must have jolted Vilallonga's memories of his short time on Guam. I am sure, when he conversed with Guam patients, he brought up the name of at least Bishop Oláiz and perhaps one or two friars.

Vilallonga wanted to die in Culion and be buried with the lepers, without a casket. His noble aspiration was not God's will, though. In 1962 his physical condition necessitated a move to Manila where he died the following year. He was buried in the cemetery of the Jesuit novitiate in Novaliches.

MAGSAYSAY AWARD

In 1959, Vilallonga won the Ramon Magsaysay Award for Public Service. He was the second person to win this award since its inception in 1957. It was his work with the lepers of Culion that earned him this distinction.

Vilallonga receiving the Magsaysay Award. Cardinal Santos stands to the left.

Vilallonga with the dignitaries....

Claro M. Recto

Statesman, writer, jurist
and his former student

...and the needy.

Spiritual guidance with a patient in Culion

REMEMBERED IN HIS NATIVE PLACE

It is ironic that a man who left his home was honored by the people of his birthplace who hardly ever saw him. Even a nephew of his spoke about the great "absence" of his uncle in the family, since he spent the majority of his life overseas. The year after he died, his native town of Burriana, Valencia opened a school in his honor. In 2014, the school celebrated its 50th anniversary and unveiled a plaque in his honor.

FATHER MEL

Father Mel McCormack, OFM Cap

Died September 24, 1992

"Mel" was not short for Melvin or Melchior or anything else. There was an Irish saint named Mel of Ardagh, and Father Mel was an American of Irish descent.

"Mel" is also a Latin word. In Latin it means "honey." I was always tempted to say, "Hi, Father Honey" but I never had the nerve. Father Mel was a crusty old Irish New Yorker. He was a good soul, but foolishness was not something he tolerated much.

Father Mel in the Capuchin seminary before World War II

Father Mel was born in Yonkers, New York, just up from the Bronx. He had a New York accent all his life, but it was a mellow one. Yet, his working-class origins came out in a distinct manner of speech. He would say, "And he come up...." instead of "And he came up..." "Bishop Baumgartner was in Manhattan, and he come up to Garrison to visit," is something he would say.

Fresh out of seminary, he was assigned to the Guam mission and arrived here in September of 1941, the last batch of American friars who got here in time for the start of World War II three months later in December of 1941.

In those mere three months, Father Mel said he was assigned the care of Dededo (which he pronounced Day - dee - doe). He lived in Agaña, with the main community of friars, and drove up to Dededo on Sundays. There may have been other days he'd go up there.

He recalled vividly the outbreak of the war and how he returned to Agaña to turn himself into the Japanese. He spent the rest of the war in POW camp in Japan. He didn't say much about Japan or the Japanese when I knew him, but I got the impression he didn't miss Japan!

All Souls Day

before Vatican II

Returning to Guam after the war, he did a lot. He built the present church in Agat. He was pastor for a long time in Piti. He served a bit in Saipan and also at Father Dueñas Memorial School.

By the time I got to know him in the fall of 1981, he was a senior friar but still in Piti. But shortly thereafter he gave up parish work and settled in at the friary. He retained one job, previously held, as advocate of the Marriage Tribunal. As advocate, he dealt first with people seeking annulments and guided them through the process. It was a part-time job. He'd go down to the Chancery just in the morning and be back at the friary for lunch by 11:30.

Wearing his trademark zori

I was asked one year to do some clerical work for him at the Tribunal. I would transcribe tapes of the interviews the panel of judges would have with people seeking annulments. I'd sit there on one side of the room, and Father Mel would sit at his desk on the other side. I'd hear him converse once in a while with people coming in for annulments. He usually tried to find out who their parents were, to see if he knew the family. He'd also see if they knew how to speak Chamorro and, when they didn't, he would chide them.

Having a chat with (then) Msgr Felixberto Flores on the friary patio in the 1960s

Father Mel loved detective stories and had the habit of pouring the leftover syrup of his canned peaches into his glass of milk. He was from that old school, both Capuchin and urban New York that went through the Great Depression. He wasn't into anything fancy and he kept everything simple, down to his trademark zori or Japanese rubber slippers. He always wore his habit.

He was fond of sending recordings of himself on cassette tape to his family in the States, instead of writing letters. He did the same with me when I was studying in the States, and I would then have to do the same. But I never had much to say and could never record more than 15 minutes. When he died, I found his collection of cassettes and played them. His sister could use up the entire 60 minute cassette with family news. He, also, would fill up a whole cassette. His family still called him Dick, as his baptismal name was Richard.

Speaking to the faithful at a procession in the 1950s. Looks like Saint Francis, and there are Secular Franciscans (Third Order) in the crowd, in their brown dresses and scapulars. He probably spoke in both Chamorro and English to the people.

It was he who said, in public, that he was glad to die on Guam because he could die in peace, knowing that the Chamorro people have a great devotion to the dead and would never forget to pray for his soul.

Requiescat in pace, Patre Mel.

PALEX

PALEX?

Yes, it stands for Påle' (Father) and Alex, the priest's name.  His name was Father Alexander Feely, and he was a Capuchin missionary on Guam for most of his life. That's how he abbreviated his name. Pale+Alex=palex.

He died today, 33 years ago. And I was able to get to know him a bit.

I became a Capuchin postulant in August that year, and I didn't live at the Friary but at home. But home was just down the street from the Friary and I would go to the Friary nearly every day for Mass and prayers. For ministry, I was asked to spend a few hours once a week with Fr Alex at the hospital, where he was chaplain.

He was "retired" by then. He was elderly and running a parish wasn't for him anymore. He came to Guam in 1940, before the war. He was sent, with the other Capuchins, to prison of war camp in Japan when the war broke out. After his release and some rest time in the U.S., he returned to Guam. He served in many places, notably in Agat and Santa Rita.

I didn't know him before I became a postulant because he was not assigned to my home town, Sinajaña. But I do remember he was one of several Capuchin priests who promoted the Fatima Crusade in the mid 1970s. He, and Father Mel, went to whatever parish would allow them, and preach on Fatima and enroll people with the scapular. I went to the one they held at Agaña Heights Church. I was 14 or 15 at the time. The church was packed that night.

Fr Alex was one of a small group of older friars who thought the people were losing their traditional faith. They were convinced that the message of Fatima had to be strongly emphasized. And so they did.

To understand Fr Alex better, one should remember that he was born in Scotland, the son of Irish immigrants. Ireland was very poor for many centuries, when ruled by the British. Many Irish, 99% of them Catholic, moved to England and Scotland seeking jobs. Scotland was, at the time, very Protestant, of the Calvinist bent, and Catholics suffered social discrimination. Then his parents moved to the U.S., where things were better in New York, full of Irish Catholics!

So Fr Alex developed a low opinion of Protestants. That side of him went sleeping for many years, while he was on strongly Catholic Guam and the Northern Marianas. But, in the early 70s, some Protestants, especially the "born again" and pentecostal types, were gaining converts among Chamorros here. That sent Fr Alex into orbit! He would preach against them from the pulpit. That turned off even some Catholics.

He would drink only one kind of soda, RC. If you asked him why, he'd say "RC for Roman Catholic," even though it really stood for "Royal Crown."

The first day I went to spend time with Fr Alex at the hospital, he showed me his office. In it was a small bed, for when he was tired. Perhaps he even spent the night there at times.

Then we went to the patients' rooms. In those days, 95% of the patients were Catholic. Fr Alex would just walk in. As he pushed the door open, he would call out, with his booming voice, "Abe Maria Purisima!" Then he would talk to the patient and tell them a very corny joke. Really bad, corny jokes. But he would laugh and so would others, to humor him, mostly.

Once he pointed to a sign on the door. It just said NPO. He said to me, "Do you know what that stands for?" How would I have known?  He said, "It's Latin. It means 'Nil per os.' You know what that means?"

Again, how would I know at the tender age of 19?

"It means 'Nothing through the mouth.' The patient cannot eat or drink through the mouth. So I just have to bless the patient with the Host."

"Oh," I said sheepishly.

The day before he died, we were at morning prayers, and during one pause, when there was absolute silence, Fr Alex let out the biggest burp. It resounded in the chapel. He was sitting right behind me.

The next day, sometime in the mid morning, while going around visiting patients, Fr Alex had a massive heart attack, right in the hospital. Everyone said, "What better place to have a heart attack?" The nurses, many of them locals or Filipinas, mostly Catholic, took good care of him, who was like a grandpa to them. He would tell them corny jokes, too.

He didn't die right away. I remember going up to ICU with a few other friars to visit, and there was Fr Donan, another Irish and New Yorker (who served Padre Pio's Masses during World War II), holding Fr Alex's hand and praying the rosary into his ear. Fr Alex was tied up with wires and tubes and in a coma, but there was Fr Donan doing something he knew would console Fr Alex.

The next day Fr Alex died.

We still have some books lying around the friary with PALEX written on them in big letters.

Being silly, immature kids at the time, we young postulants said that it was that big burp that did him in, the day before his heart attack.

Rest in peace, Fr Alex.

EIGHT MEN

Father Jesus Baza Dueñas

EIGHT CATHOLIC MISSIONARIES KILLED

Practically all of us on Guam have heard of Father Jesus Baza Dueñas, killed by the Japanese. But fewer people know of the seven other Catholic clergy and religious also killed by the Japanese in other parts of the Marianas and Micronesia.  Here they are :

GUAM

Fr. Jesus Baza Dueñas - Chamorro - Tai, July 12, 1944

Dueñas was killed by the Japanese, after several days of torture and beatings, on suspicion of helping the American Navy radio man George Tweed.

LUTA (ROTA)

Br. Miguel Timoner, Jesuit - Spanish - Saipan, November, 1944

Brother Timoner was an assistant to Father Juan Pons, the Jesuit priest of Luta.  Pons and Timoner were the only two Spaniards on Luta, and the only two Catholic missionaries.  Pons was afflicted with a very infected sore on his leg, which ultimately contributed to his death. Timoner was killed on suspicion of being an American spy. Although he was killed in Saipan (and his body disposed of in an unknown location in Saipan), where he and some others were held in custody, he was officially assigned to Luta by the Catholic mission.

PALAU

On September 18, 1944, the Japanese killed six Jesuits in a jungle area on a hill in Ngatpang, Palau. Three of them had been stationed in Yap and the other three in Palau.  They were executed because the Japanese feared they would help the Americans if the U.S. should ever invade Palau and Yap.

The Three Missionaries on Yap

Fr. Bernardo de la Espriella (Colombian)

Fr. Bernardo was a long-time missionary in Yap, which was perhaps the most difficult Catholic mission in Micronesia, as the Yapese were very reluctant to become Christians.  But Espriella was tireless in making attempts, going from village to village, and even island to island.  By the 1930s, times had changed and the missionaries found themselves in demand as more Yapese became interested in baptism.  One of Yap's most renowned sorcerers came to Espriella to embrace Catholicism, giving to the priest the tools of his trade.

Espriella was one of the first to penetrate the atolls of Ulithi in modern times. He used large posters showing the main doctrines of the faith, and let interpreters explain them in the local language. Then he would teach the people, from the elders to children, basic prayers already translated into their mother tongue. He would stay with the people till close to midnight explaining the faith.

Fr. Bernardo de la Espriella, SJ

A true missionary, Espriella was always on the move to another island.  In these remote, smaller atolls, he sometimes faced great opposition from chiefs and sorcerers. On some voyages, the seas were very rough and a typhoon once pushed his boat 400 miles off course.

Fr. Luis Blanco (Spanish)

Fr. Luis Blanco, SJ

Arriving sometime later, Fr. Blanco became partners with Espriella in the mission of Yap.  He, too, started to make sea voyages to the outer islands in Yap district, facing the same opposition and at other times indifference of many of the islanders. But, a few always found interest in Christinaity and Blanco formed them to know the basic teachings and to pray the rosary when priests were absent.

Just before the outbreak of World War II, the Jesuit missionaries in Yap could count 2000 Catholics among the 3000 people living in Yap.

Br. Francisco Hernandez (Spanish)

Br. Francisco Hernandez, SJ

Brother Francisco was also stationed in Yap.  Like many Jesuit missionary brothers, he did much of the hands-on jobs of building and maintaining the physical structures of the mission.

The Three Missionaries on Palau

These two priests worked not only in Palau, but even on very small islands like Tobi, where they experienced unbelievable success.  Of course, there were just as many hardships, especially when war got closer.

Fr. Elias Fernandez (Spanish)

Father Elias was a strong presence among Catholics in Palau. He enjoyed better health when imprisoned than his confrere Father Marino. It was he who asked Rudimch, a Catholic layman, to get fish and taro for Father Marino.

Father Elias is said to have been the priest who, in the 1930s, received the conversion of an entire island! This island is Tobi, many miles southwest of Palau.  The people of Tobi have their own language. The islanders believe that Father sits in heaven to this day, monitoring the islanders. For some reason, many internet sources say the famous priest of Tobi is Father Marino, but the Jesuit sources themselves say it was Father Elias.

Fr. Marino de la Hoz (Spanish)

There is a sad story about a Palauan lady who chanced coming upon the hut in Ngatpang where the Catholic missionaries were under house arrest by the Japanese in 1944. She saw Father Marino lying on the floor, completely weakened from malnutrition.

Br. Emilio Villar (Spanish)

As most of the brothers working in the missions, it was he who cared for the material needs of the priests and did a lot of manual labor for the mission. He was called "Elmano" by the Palauans; their pronunciation of the Spanish word "hermano," or "brother."

The Three Jesuit Martyrs of Palau

CONFESSION WITH FATHER JOE CAV

wheresfran.org

Father Joe Cavanagh was a Jesuit missionary in Micronesia, who recently passed away.

Like many Jesuits in Micronesia, he would spend a few days at our Capuchin Friary on Guam when going to or from the States.  I found him to be an easy-going, relaxed and pleasant man.

During one of his Guam visits, when I was a brother in simple vows, I needed to go to confession.  I had been going regularly to the same Capuchin, and, rightly or wrongly, I thought the friar could use a break from me!

So I knocked on Fr Joe's door.  And he heard my confession.

His first words to me were, "What do you want to do?"

I was taken aback by those words.  No confessor had ever said those words to me.

In hindsight, I can see how good an approach he had taken.  He had taken the focus off my guilt, and put the focus on the future that lay in my hands, or at least a great deal of it.

I was guilty of sin, I knew it, I was contrite, God forgave me.

But Fr Joe put in front of my face the next, and perhaps even more important question : what was I going to do about it now?

His words gave me hope and direction.  Despite my sinfulness, I still had a future ahead of me and it was up to me, to either forge ahead and give it another go, or drown in self-doubt and wither away.

So I told him, "I want to stay in the Order."

And he said, "OK.  Do it."

And I've stayed.  28 years I've stayed.

Thanks Father Joe Cav, as we all called him.   As my Irish relatives say of their dead, "May God be good to you."

IN REPARATION

Capuchin missionary Påle' Román had his weaknesses, as we all do.

He was very strong and passionate, and not always diplomatic or prudent in his speech.  He stepped on toes.  Often.

But he had his virtues.  He could learn new languages at lightning speed.  He was a tireless worker.  He was an effective public speaker.  And he had great influence over many people.

In 1905, while many churches in the Philippines were just recovering from the effects of the revolution and the conflicts with the incoming Americans, Påle' Román was sent, with a few other Capuchins, to some towns in the southern Tagalog region to win people back to the practice of the faith.

The Church of Tayabas

In these towns, such as Tayabas and Lucban, people had strayed away from religious practice because the Spanish Franciscan friars had abandoned them during the revolution against Spain and in the turmoil of the transition to American rule, which some Filipinos opposed.

Spanish priests of any sort were unpopular with many people.  Intrepidly, Påle' Román and the others went into these towns to urge people to come back to the sacraments.

Påle' Román, armed with his good command of Tagalog which he had learned in Manila since his arrival there in 1901, enjoyed much success in Tayabas and Lucban in that year of 1905.  Couples living together or married only by the civil authorities came to him for the sacrament of matrimony; confession lines were long; the churches full to hear his preaching; people came to Mass.

 

The Pulpit in Tayabas Church

Did Påle' Román preach from here?

So successful was he that he was sent to the nearby town of Sariaya, another Franciscan parish abandoned by the friars during the political and social upheavals.

But in Sariaya, Påle' Román experienced his Good Friday.

Instead of great success, he was surrounded by a cloud of controversy from the beginning, ensuring a quick conclusion.  He lasted in Sariaya for only six months, from December of 1905 till June of 1906.

The Church of Sariaya

It seems, according to the Capuchin records, that a certain Filipino priest, a native of Sariaya, was very interested in being assigned to his home parish when it became vacant.  Instead, when Påle' Román was assigned there as parish priest, rather than the native son, trouble started.  His family and their allies began to make life difficult for him.

Apparently, the last Spanish Franciscan pastor was also greatly disliked, having had a town resident get in trouble, or, if memory serves, even sentenced to suffer the death penalty.  Another kastila (Spanish) priest meant trouble.

Church staff quit.  Many people avoided church.  His convento, or residence, was pelted with stones.  Storekeepers were instructed not to sell him food.  Påle' Román himself, perhaps with some humor, recounts how he saw from his bedroom window funeral processions passing right past the church to the cemetery without the priest's blessings, to a cemetery he himself could not access because the cemetery keeper refused to give him the key.

Even American officials went to Sariaya to try and mediate.  But, in the end, Påle' Román was recalled by his own Capuchin superior to do work elsewhere.  His Triduum of Six Months ended without his death, and without a resurrection.

The parish priest today of Sariaya was kind enough to let me see the baptismal records.  It shows that Påle' Román was not totally incapacitated in Sariaya.  He did baptize while he was there, as the records show.

In his own accounts, he did have supporters.  Some slipped him food.  But they had to be careful going about this, lest they antagonize Påle' Román's opponents.  Priests come and go, but Påle' Román's supporters would have to deal with his enemies long after Påle' Román's departure.

 

The Sariaya cemetery : closed off to the parish priest

So, in a kind of reparation, with the help of my good friends, I offered Holy Mass in the church of Sariaya.  It was a special experience for me to offer the very same Mass (the traditional Latin Mass) in the same church where Påle' Román said Mass, amidst much controversy.  My Mass, in contrast, was celebrated in placid tranquility.

I also met the town historian, Eric Dedace, who was most helpful.  I can say that one chapter of this story has now been closed in my book.  With much gratefulness.

 

Sariaya Church as Påle' Román probably saw it

 

 

The Rectory

 

It's been renovated, but it's basically the same structure that was pelted with stones when Påle' Román lived there in 1906.