Called to Witness

Rwanda 2004: Participant Reflections

After returning home, participants are invited to share their reflections on the experience and the impact it had.

(Click on the participant's name to view their reflection. When finished, click the "Hide Reflection" button to close the reflection.)

Africa Rising: Hope and Healing
  by Laura Henning, Diocese of Boise

Before traveling, I worked on emptiness. I have returned filled with the hope, potential, and challenges in Africa. As I reintegrate into life in Idaho, I am working to make sense of the experiences that have left me conflicted, inspired and humbled.

Q: So, how was your trip to Rwanda?
  A: It was wonderful, challenging, and painful . . .

Q: Painful? Was the poverty difficult to see?
  A: While there is extreme poverty in this struggling nation, it is much more. The painful, haunting part of my journey was in listening to the first-hand accounts of the genocide—including the church’s role—and seeing the constant reminders of memorials, destroyed houses, and broken lives on every hill and in every eye. Rwanda and I are now a part of one another. Stories and faces of brave, hopeful, barely subsisting people, and hands raised with voices singing praise are seared into my memory.

Fifty years after the Holocaust, the world allowed another genocide to take place, this time in Rwanda. In April, 1994 the international community, including the U.S., sat by and watched as over 800,000 Tutsi men, women and children were massacred in 100 days, under the eyes of U.N. peacekeepers. Approximately three million people were forced into exile and 300,000 children were left to rear themselves. As thousands sought safety in churches (60 percent of the country is Catholic) during the massacres, dozens of clergy aided the slaughter. The institutions in charge of upholding the law ceased to function. The country was laid to waste. Today Rwandans quietly bear this painful reality and with the committed assistance of Catholic Relief Services (CRS) are painstakingly working toward reconciliation and designing structures to promote a vibrant, peaceful, and sustainable post-genocide society. As if AIDS and material poverty are not enough, Rwanda is challenged with rebuilding its soul.

For five days I lived at Nyumba parish in the Diocese of Butare in southwest Rwanda, where an estimated 20,000 people were murdered in the church building and buried on its grounds following which there was no Mass for 3 years. However, arising from the devastation, we met one of the most organized, personal church structures I have ever seen. We heard presentations from the pastoral council, 8 commissions (liturgy, listening, AIDS, charity, peace, etc.), 15 associations and lively school children. We visited Rusenge, one of four sub-parishes, and one of its 20 small Christian communities, where stories will be told about the day the first muzungu (white people) came to visit. We visited CRS Development Projects building irrigation infrastructure to aid in agricultural development and micro-finance. We met with those working directly with the ART (anti-retroviral drug therapy) program sponsored by President Bush’s AIDS plan. We toured the Rwandan National University where education will hopefully help eradicate and prevent past sins.

Day after day we witnessed the embodiment of tangible solidarity, radical reconciliation, and a kaleidoscope of hope. One cannot be intimately welcomed in embrace by the slim, tender arms of Rwandan widows and walk away unchanged. In a nation where neighbor killed neighbor and relatives were forced to kill their kin, the traditional family structure that is the bedrock of African culture was as much a victim of the genocide as those who died. Rising from the depths of the worst atrocity imaginable, where every person in every part of this enchanting country was personally confronted with murder, destruction, suffering, betrayal and the resulting trauma, fear and devastation is an inspiring dedication to peace, justice and healing. They bear their suffering and hunger together through associations and small communities. As one woman told us, “no one should suffer alone.”

The U.S. bishops, statement A Call to Solidarity with Africa, states “We stand with the Church in Africa, we seek to call attention to Africa’s problems and potential; we want to amplify the voices of Africa, so that they can be heard by a sometimes distracted world.” It is more than a policy option; it is a moral obligation to support programs that encourage integral human development and long-term economic growth. Rwanda allowed these statements to become more than words for me, they are now faces, stories, and a new reality for my own life.

Right now in the Sudan the same horrific events are taking place. Will we hear their voices and amplify them before it is too late again? Let us not be too distracted to respond.

Working Through the Messiness
  by Anthony J. Albence, Diocese of Wilmington

My experience in Rwanda as a participant in the Called to Witness program has encouraged me to more closely reflect on who I am and what drives me as a person. In light of this introspection, I offer this reflection on my time in Africa.

In recent years, I have become much more comfortable in naming myself—in defining who I am in unapologetic terms. I know that I am a person who loves order. I am the definition, in many ways, of a “Type A” personality. I am not afraid to admit that, every so often, I come ever so close to being a bit obsessive. I very much value organization, order, neatness, and a methodological approach in all things. I take pride in these personal attributes. I also realize that, in many ways that naming and claiming these characteristics has helped me to realize that I am a “typical American.” I want things and I want them now. I want the best, fastest, and most advanced gadgets. I am a consumer—of news, information, experiences and, most importantly, Diet Pepsi. I drink it, constantly—day and night. I also am proud to say that others often call me a “people person.” I agree with this sentiment. I think that I am generally a very friendly person and definitely an extrovert. However, in naming myself, I have come to embrace the other side of me—the fiercely independent soul who values my “alone time” and who thrives in achieving and accomplishing things on my own through sheer determination and will power. This characteristic also manifests itself in the fact that I am often reluctant to ask for help. Most importantly, I like things to make sense. I thrive on logic and I embrace clear, concise, linear thinking. The bottom line, I suppose, is that I like things to make sense and that I avoid disorder at all costs.

Accepting the Invitation
That being said I am, however, a very adventurous person. I like to test my limits, stretch myself, and step out of my comfort zone. In early June, the Holy Spirit tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear that it was time to “put up or shut up” in this regard. Here was my chance to put all this talk into action. Kathy Carver of NFCYM asked me to consider if I would be open to fill a spot on the upcoming Called to Witness trip to Rwanda that was scheduled for September. Wow, I thought to myself . . . an opportunity to travel to Africa. I love to travel—and I have never been to Africa. I have traveled to a good swath of the rest of the world, but never there. I knew this was not a “pleasure trip”—but I have to be honest and admit that I was enamored at the opportunity to travel to a new and far-off place. I love to go to exotic places—even places where Diet Pepsi is scarce. Then I thought: there is a reason I have never been to Africa. Why would I go somewhere that would put me so far outside of my frame of reference? Somewhere that would test my mettle. That would put me in the middle of so many of the jagged edges of the world that I find distasteful and uncomfortable—poverty, illness, and economic distress. These are things that I cannot explain or understand—and this frustrates me. I know these things are out there and that they are close to my doorstep much more often than I care to admit. I did not need to go to Rwanda to figure this out. I could travel about a quarter mile from my home and find the same reality. This was my chance, I thought, to put all my professed beliefs to the test—and, maybe, to step outside of these personal parameters. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in so many ways.

Becoming Free
After the trip how, then, could I possibly sum up my feelings and my thoughts on this amazing and overwhelming experience? In some ways I am able to boil it down to one thought. Those whom I met in Rwanda were those whom many in the Western world would describe as those who “have nothing”. The “nothing” they have, in the eyes of so many Westerners, translates into a lack of control over many aspects of their lives due to civil unrest (past or present), economic uncertainty, natural disasters, and disease and illness. This view, however, is in complete opposition to my sense of reality coming away from this experience. The Rwandan people helped me to begin to realize that having so much—so many choices—does not always equate to being free. In an extremely affluent society like ours, I now realize that choices can so easily become shackles. It amazed me that Rwandans possessed an incredible sense of freedom. Freedom from things. Freedom to commit themselves wholly to the real meaning of being a Christian—to truly love one’s neighbor, to really see Christ in each other. This can be difficult for us if our neighbor so much as plants an unattractive shrub in her yard. Could we ever see God in another person who very well may have perpetrated genocide on your family? This is the real experience of many Rwandans. After this experience, I am now able to begin to learn the vitally important lesson that being a “control freak” really only entails erecting artificial barriers between the holy and the everyday. These barriers block out the light of Christ and the warmth of the Holy Spirit which so clearly reveal to me that the everyday is holy . . . if only I let go of control and let God in.

The Nature of Politics
One of my other passions is politics. Little did I realize that this passion would call me to “witness” in a new and a very unexpected way. I ravenously consume not only Diet Pepsi, but also political news, views, opinions, and discussion. I am a not just a soda fiend, but I am also a political junkie. I love to discuss current affairs and to parse out the issues of the day. Regardless if the topic is a local zoning issue or an international alliance; it is all fair game in my book. I can normally debate domestic and foreign policy with the best of them. However, traveling to Rwanda jarred me into a new sense of political consciousness that simply does not square with my former sense of reality. I could not find the words to put what I experienced into a nice, digestible format. Basically, the “rubber met the road” for me in Rwanda. It dawned on me that so often I have taken delight in emphatically asserting what I believed to be the salient points regarding finite aspects of our nation’s economic assistance to and military intervention in far flung parts of the world. Of course, I took such delight in making pronouncements about regions where I would have never dreamed I would find myself. But there I was—in one of these very places. When I was standing in the middle of a U.N. refugee camp on the border of the Congo a funny thing began to happen to me. It was not a very logical thing, but it was a very necessary thing. Looking around and taking it all in, I began to change the way I looked at the world and thought about politics. This kind of “a ha” moment, I realized shortly after I experienced it, was truly a gift from God. My initial discomfort—being surrounded by so many of the aspects of our human condition that I despise and wish to ignore—I could not help but feel the Holy Spirit washing over me and inviting me to deeper communion with by brothers and sisters who until then existed in a world that is normally so abstract and distant. It was as if a veil was lifted and I saw things as they truly are. These people really are my brothers and sisters. Although I live a world away from their experience, I occupy the same planet and bear at least some responsibility for their well-being. I began to realize that my nation’s foreign policy is not simply a set of logical, albeit abstract, ideas and theoretical concepts that I can discuss over dinner. It finally became real to me that politics isn’t just in the ethereal realm of conjecture and debate. It all of a sudden made sense that our national action or inaction profoundly affects the lives of millions upon millions of people. It is easy to talk about why the U.S. does not act in an area in which the nation has no “strategic interest.” Unfortunately, strategic interest does not always come wrapped up in neat packages or in crisp policy papers or newspaper articles. Sometimes it rushes up to you when you step out of a Land Cruiser and begs you for a football. I knew that giving these kids a football would not solve anything—at least not over the long-term. However, that was not the point at all. Here I was, in a milieu so completely unlike my comfort zone, and these “poor” kids just wanted a ball to kick around. Why was that? Not because they were uninformed or simple-minded or disconnected to the reality of a complex world. On the contrary, they wanted this ball because they were so very authentic. They realize that life is not a theory or a concept or order or consumption. It is about survival—but more than that. It is about making the all-too-present messiness a little less messy. It is about letting Christ into the debate, and inviting him to make the messiness a little less messy.

I learned these things, and so much more, as a result of answering the Call to Witness.

From Suffering to Solidarity
  by Kathleen Carver, NFCYM

Over and over again, regardless of who was speaking to me—the pastor at Nyumba parish in the Butare Diocese, a widow, or a member of the youth group—the word suffering was used to describe a situation, a person’s individual experience, the genocide of ten year’s ago, or the current condition of the local community. How many times a day that word was used, I do not know. But the impression with which I was left was striking—and it still is. Even in the aftermath of September 11, I did not hear the word suffering used as much as it was when I visited Rwanda this past September.

People described their own or another’s suffering in stark and often frank terms. The people were open and honest about it; they did not try to hide their pain. Suffering was factual. Suffering was physical. Suffering was emotional. They talked about hunger, orphans, HIV/AIDS, and the emotional trauma from the genocide all in the same breath. In Rwanda, for the vast majority of the people (especially in the rural areas), life is hard. Everyday is focused on making ends meet; of just getting by . . . walk five miles with an empty jug to obtain water, walk back home five miles with the jug filled; care for the children; till the soil, plant the seeds, weed the garden, pick the vegetables; walk to the market to purchase other food staples; cook the food over a charcoal grill or oven . . . the endless list of daily survival chores.

So I was stunned when the conversations would continue . . . when the people would talk about their needs, about what we could do to help. With my western eyes, I was thinking of . . . running water and electricity . . . medicine and clothing . . . decent housing and shoes. They spoke in quite different terms. This is not to say that water, electricity, and medicine are not genuine needs—they are. But, what the people always spoke about first was solidarity.

The Rwandans I encountered want to be in relationship with others. The youth from Nyumba parish asked if youth in the United States could become their pen pals. They expressed the desire to talk with young people outside of their country. They want to know that the international community cares about them. They do not want to feel alone in their suffering—a suffering that was borne out of prejudice and hatred, genocide, and the on-going poverty in their country. The adults in the community asked if our young people could write to their young people. They want our youth to encourage theirs—so that their youth would not despair, so that they would stay in school, so that they would have hope.

Hope—so that is what is more important than the modern conveniences of electricity, water, and medicine. I should have known that . . . and perhaps I did, but now I know it in a different way, in a more human and real way. Without hope, what is the need for water? Hope expresses the belief in the future, a better future than the present reality. Hope gives the reason for continuing on, water is a means to that end.

Solidarity is a word that I have pondered quite a bit since I have been back. What does it truly mean for me to be in solidarity with another? How can I be in solidarity with others who live so far away and in such vastly different circumstances? How can I be a catalyst that fosters this solidarity amongst the young of Rwanda and the United States? These questions will remain with me for the foreseeable future. But I now know that part of the answer lies in hope. We have to be about fostering hope as much as we work toward improving the standard of living among the poor. We have to seek ways to build genuine and caring relationships between those who have, and those who have so little.

I believe Catholic youth ministry is up to this task. We just need to apply youthful energy and compassion to this challenge and mix it with the creativity and faithfulness that are hallmarks of Catholic young people and youth ministers. Together we can start to bridge the divide that separates Rwanda from the United States, and the haves from the have nots. As we build these relationships, we will discover something we already know—that the young, the old, the poor, and those who have suffered because of the genocide in Rwanda are first and foremost our brothers and sisters in our Lord, Jesus Christ. As such, they have a claim on our time, our resources, and yes, most importantly, on our friendship.

Living Hope
  by Mary MacNamara, St. John Neumann Church, Reston, VA

Nyagatare Parish, Diocese of Byumba

  • Located in northeastern Rwanda, bordering Uganda and Tanzania
  • Many are returning refugees from English-speaking countries: Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania
  • 14,000 people in parish which is divided into substations and subdivided into small Christian communities

Open Hands and Heart
The most striking thing upon arrival in the parish was the tremendous hospitality. We were welcomed the first evening by an adult choir and a youth dance troupe performing traditional dances. This included our participation in the dances, despite the friendly laughter that was elicited. As I visited different groups, accompanied by Fr. Salvain, we were always enthusiastically greeted, often given the only or best chair while others stood or sat on a simple bench, and the only ones to receive a cold drink and meal.

Learning to Receive
The generosity of the youth at the town youth center was incredible. Most youth do not attend secondary school and work is very hard to come by. A center program teaches the youth to make marketable items: soap, candles, shoe polish, baskets, and embroidered cloth. Although they were grateful for the skill, they shared with me that one of their biggest frustrations was lack of funds to continue production. Nonetheless, they wanted to give me a gift. I was shocked as they piled up most of their remaining products in my arms. I began to protest at the enormity of the gift, when I quickly realized how important it was to graciously accept. It was very humbling to realize that they honored me simply because I came to visit.

Seeking Solidarity
The Rwandan people gifted me with a lesson in solidarity. Although the reality of poverty exacerbated by the genocide does call for material support, this was not their first request. The request made by the youth, widows, veterans, primary school and Fr. Salvain was for relationship, solidarity. Each asked me to find an equivalent group or a person that would correspond with them, to share and encourage each another. Clearly, they recognize that being sisters and brothers in Christ is our primary connection. Coming from my American “fix-it” mentality, it can be too easy to fall into a just “send money” attitude. By being in solidarity, we can share the rich blessings of the relationship while respecting the dignity of the individuals.

Justice and Peace-Building among Rwandan Youth
Even ten years later, the horrific effects of the genocide of 1994 are very present. Our conversations never went far, before some aspect of the tragedy and the suffering were apparent. The CRS project, “Justice and Peace-building among Rwandan Youth” addresses these effects.
The project includes:

  • Teaching history of Rwanda and genocide, conflict origin and peaceful conflict resolution, youth and the church, human rights and necessity of behavior change with regard to HIV/AIDS
  • Peer leader training
  • Youth camps

Fr. Salvain, shared that this is critical particularly because many youth were participants in the genocide. He tells them that the future of Rwanda is in their hands, for good or for bad. He said that the youth were very receptive to the message because they know how critical it is if they are to have any hope of a better future. Although there were obvious frustrations and challenges, there was great joy, hope, and faith among the young people.

No Room for Lukewarm Faith
I was so inspired by the dedication of the CRS staff and parish priests. This work is personal; they live the realities of the genocide. They have lost family, friends and many have taken in orphans. When I complimented them on their efforts, their response was always the same: “We have no choice.” I reflected that when the most fundamental structures of society are shattered, when even families and friends turn on each other, the question for the survivors is: What do we cling to? What do we rebuild upon? As I visited groups, I saw it was their faith. It is clearly integrated into their lives through vibrant prayer and worship, practical care for one another, and the hope and joy despite the suffering. Fr. Salvain put it simply, but profoundly: “We were not living the Gospel, if we were this could NOT have happened.” They realize that it is only in constant striving to live the Gospel, can they hope to rebuild and prevent future atrocities. As Americans, we experience the consequences for our failure to live our faith, but perhaps not as severely. I might be complacent and be fortunate enough to get by. For many of the Rwandans, being “lukewarm” is not an option. This realization was like a cold-water-in-the-face. It begs the question: Do I live just the comfortable parts of my faith or do I truly give myself “as living sacrifice?” The amazing courage and faith of the people I met challenges me each day to go deeper, to not settle for lukewarm.

My Witness—My Changed Heart
My eight days in Rwanda turned the statistics I started with into names, stories and friends who remain in my heart. Sharing their lives confers responsibility: to share, to respond and to participate in preventing future tragedies. CRS staff member, Gloriosa, shared the need for the truth of the genocide to be known. As with the Holocaust, there are those who deny it and just want to forget it. The deepest impression on me was the living hope. If there ever was a time to give up in despair, it was post-genocide. That is not the case with those I met. I witnessed the living embodiment of God’s grace, of his living, healing presence in his people gathered together. As St. Paul says: “Where sin abounds, grace abounds even more.” (Romans 5:20) What a testament to the enduring power of love; what examples I have to follow.

Offering One's Livelihood
  by Leigh E. Sterten, Diocese of Springfield-Cape Girardeau

When he looked up he saw some wealthy people putting their offerings into the treasury and he noticed a poor widow putting in two small coins. He said, "I tell you truly, this poor widow put in more than all the rest; for those others have all made offerings from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has offered her whole livelihood." (Luke 21:1-4)

While so many stories and Scriptures filled my thoughts during my time in Rwanda, this one, more than any other, was the strongest. My time in Rwanda during the Called to Witness trip was amazing and somewhat indescribable. I will attempt to describe it, though, using stories that illustrate this Scripture passage.

Generosity and Hospitality
One of the first things I noticed about Rwandans is their sense of generosity and hospitality. Along with Mary MacNamara, I was assigned to the parish in Nyagatare, in the Diocese of Byumba. Within hours of our arrival in this northeast part of the country, parishioners (or “Christians,” as the priests call them) had turned out to welcome us with singing, dancing, food, and drink. This was to become the pattern for all of my visits during the week spent visiting the “centres” or sub-parishes of Nyagatare.

Rwanda is the most densely populated country in Africa, with about 8 million people, 60 percent living below the poverty level and nearly all engaged in subsistence farming. I was given gifts everywhere I visited and always referred to as the “distinguished visitor.” Each gift is sacred and special to me, because each was given from the community’s “livelihood,” from their substance, not their surplus.

At Nkereneke, where we visited a school, I was given hand woven mats from one of the elderly women in the community. I was always aware of people’s ages in Rwanda, because the average age is about 18 and the life expectancy just 39 years old. Beatriz, a bar owner and member of Rwimiyaga Centre, presented me with a woven picture frame in the shape of Rwanda, with two spaces for photos. After she and the other leaders presented the gift, she then proceeded to wrap it, using all the gift-wrap she had. At Matimba, a centre which will soon be a parish unto itself, Stephen presented me with the beautiful basket that had been used just minutes earlier to contain the Holy Eucharist during Mass. There are no orderly lines for communion here, even where there are aisles and pews, people swarm forward to receive Eucharist. They swarm forward in the same manner before communion, to place their coins in baskets during the offertory.

At the vocational training program at Nyabwishongwezi Centre, the young girls learning how to sew, knit, and do embroidery presented an embellished cloth to me. Over and over again, I was humbled by the generosity of people who have nothing; people who look you deeply into the eye to welcome you, to greet you in Christ’s name. In many places, I was the only American they had ever seen. I was told in song, dance, and speeches, to feel as welcome here as I did in my own home. And I did feel that welcomed. Rwanda was difficult to leave; the people of Rwanda were difficult to leave.

On my last day in the parish, Fr. Paschal took me to one of the small Christian communities, which comes under a centre in their structure. He also thought I should have the experience of driving in Africa, so he made me drive most of the way there, in a beat up old 4 X 4 pick up truck, which had to be pushed in order to start! Again, we were welcomed with singing, with dancing, with food and drink, and some of the leaders told me of the reality of their lives in this poor community. Before the end of the program, one of the leaders who spoke English shared how giving gifts was part of their tradition. As he said this, he offered me a live rooster—le coque—by far the most unique gift of the week! I am sad to report the rooster was indeed served for dinner back at the parish that evening—the moment I came closest to becoming a vegetarian!

Words cannot adequately capture the feelings associated with these and all my experiences during our visit to Rwanda. I was struck not only by their generosity and hospitality, but also by the indomitable spirit of Rwandans. Just ten years after the Genocide, which took an enormous toll on both the land and the people, Rwandans are able to express joy, which amazed me.

A Spirit of Unity
In the many years preceding this unspeakable horror, people were forced to carry identity cards, to indicate whether they were members of the Hutu or Tutsi “tribes.” Friends, family, and neighbors during the Genocide slaughtered nearly one million Tutsi people. Many fled into neighboring countries like Uganda, Tanzania, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, returning years later to find strangers living in their homes. But today, the message is one of unity: we are not Hutu or Tutsi, we are Rwandan.

This spirit is visible everywhere in Rwanda. It is visible in the school children that rushed over to greet us when we walked through the village, shouting “How are you?” or “good morning” in their best English. It is visible in the young and old women that danced with us, enormous smiles on their faces. It is visible in the many lay leaders and catechists we encountered at each centre, who work so diligently to spread the Gospel. It is even visible in those living with HIV and AIDS or those waiting to hear the results of their tests, as they took time to sit down with us and share their hopes and fears for themselves and their families. Our God of hope and new life is visible everywhere in Rwanda: what an incredible gift.

Singing a New Tune (five weeks after returning)
  by Laura Henning, Diocese of Boise

I have been back in Idaho five weeks now, and I am still trying to make sense of my life, my work and my purpose in life. My time in Africa was profound in many ways and on many levels. Words of greeting from Xavier the sub-parish president still humble me, “Thank you for sacrificing your time and your family to come to this high mountain to see us.” It felt like no sacrifice at all to be with these beautiful, inspiring, faithful people who would burst into song at any moment to praise God. Life in Rwanda is as tenuously balanced as a grain pot on one’s head. They live a simple agrarian lifestyle: goats, cows, land, love, family, and friends. The words the young people uttered still ring in my ears, “I love you.” “I will never forget you.” “God bless you.” I brought neither great gifts nor a magic wand to solve their problems and pains. My hands were empty, but my heart and my ears were open, and that “is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Nyumba parish taught me what it means to BE church. They showed me, “that which unites us is far great than that which divides us.” Their parish was founded in 1945 by the “white fathers” from Europe. Their first Rwandan priest came in 1987 and made a radical shift. He started small Christian communities and allowed them to participate in their own development. Saying, “Do not wait for others to give to you. Ask for what you need with intent.” It was an alive and prosperous church. Genocide destroyed everything. They did not have regular Mass for almost three years. They literally rebuilt the parish from the ground up and the inside out. Teaching is now focused on tolerance, unity, and reconciliation and healing in Christ.

What did not die is Rwandan’s spirit of collaboration and community. CRS has had a presence in Rwanda since 1963. Since the 1980s, the agency has promoted self-help initiatives by introducing projects that encourage local communities to participate in the identification and resolution of their own development problems. The ideal of ownership is central to Africa’s future and ours as well. The church is just not some building where we gather, but instead is the people of God. Currently with 17,000 Catholics and 2 priests Nyumba parish has a healthy and thriving structure where the vision, idea and plans come from the people. They have four sub parishes that work like missions, where the priest comes once a month and the other weeks they have a liturgy in the absence of a priest. Regardless of limited resources and education, they have hundreds of small faith communities that support them. Each level of the parish has active commissions with leadership boards which develop parish life and minister to one another. Their parish council has 40-70 members made up of the different commissions: Evangelization, Justice and Peace, Finance, Liturgy, Pastoring Families, Education, Charity and HIV/AIDS.

Without even the most basic materials for Mass in many areas: books, cloths, candles, and crucifixes they continue to be church. Instead of being focused on what they do not have they are being the body of Christ and doing amazing things with what they do have. They are not waiting for more priests to come or for someone to build them a church. They are meeting with one another to share their joys and sorrows. They are making their own bricks to build a structure. They are praising God weekly and living their faith. It is an inspiration to me coming from a church which such comparative wealth. God’s people can do amazing things when they realize their own potential and are allowed to live it. May we all be equally dedicated to being the church and meeting one another’s needs and not waiting for it to be handed to us. The foundation of small faith communities and ownership of our faith is the key to our survival as a church and as individuals. We are not made to live solitary lives.