It’s a hard life, but at the service of Christ they need assurance it is not in vain
In 1998, four years after I was ordained priest, I returned to Vietnam after the Redemptorist Provincial Superior there invited me to teach Moral Theology at the Redemptorist Seminary in Saigon city. There I met my fellow Vietnamese priests of our Order. They are currently missionaries in the highlands of the country, where there are a great number of ethnic Vietnamese. The following article was originally published in the 2009 Winter edition of The Swag, a quarterly magazine of the National Council of Priests of Australia. I’ve updated it for publication in the Asian Fisherman and want to dedicate it to the Redemptorist missionaries in the Vietnamese highlands. I also want to dedicate it to the diocesan priests working in the countryside or in distant regions to express my sympathy for the difficulties and isolation they bravely accept in their missionary work.
Michel Quoist is a rather familiar name to most of us. He has become famous for a number of publications, especially his book Prayers of Life (Dublin: Gill and MacMillan). This work has been translated into 24 languages, and more than two million copies have been distributed all over the world.
Quoist wraps up in this composition almost all of the very precious experiences of a priest’s life. He sincerely and wholeheartedly shares all his sadness, sorrows, happiness, hardships, loneliness and disappointments.
This masterpiece gave me the understanding and spiritual support of a senior priest who has been through a lot, and stumbled and tasted the sweetness and bitterness of life. I admire Quoist very much even though I have never met him and only know him through his publications. It is the same as having not received the blessing of seeing Jesus Christ as the disciples of His time, but I have met and known Him through His Words, Words that have become flesh and live among us.
It is thanks to my meeting with Jesus that my life has been transformed. I changed the direction of my life when I was a teenager and eventually became His disciple in my mission as His priest.
Quoist impresses me greatly, especially with his writing, The Priest: A Prayer on Sunday Night.
People ask a great deal of their priest, and they should. But they should also understand that it is not easy to be a priest. He has given himself in all the ardour of youth, yet he still remains a man, and every day the man in him tries to take back what he has surrendered. It is a continual struggle to remain completely at the service of Christ and of others. A priest needs no praise or embarrassing gifts; what he needs is that those committed to his charge should, by loving their fellows more and more, prove to him that he has not given his life in vain. And as he remains a man, he may need, once in a while, a delicate gesture of disinterested friendship… some Sunday night when he is alone.”
Michel Quoist, The Priest: A Prayer on Sunday Night
Bringing the Good News to those society has forgotten
While reading the above lines, my thoughts were directed to my companions who are currently scattered all over Vietnam and overseas in the course of their missionary work. They are missionaries from the Redemptorists Province in Vietnam and filled with the spirit and burning fire to bring the Good News to the poor and disadvantaged, those forgotten by society and the Church.
For this reason, they have not hesitated to travel long distances to reach the small villages in the highlands, and even dwellings on the borders of Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos. They live in extremely poor circumstances and yet they still preach God’s Words enthusiastically, Living Words that have the power to give new life and transform their listeners from selfish individuals indifferent to others’ needs to generous people who can give and live completely for others.
In 2004, when I was stationed in Vietnam, I was once allowed to accompany the Provincial of Australia to visit members of the Vietnamese Province at the missionary locations in the highlands of Bao Loc, Pleiku, Kontum and similar places. On reaching those places, I was somewhat shocked and very surprised because I wondered what had motivated the young priests of the Vietnamese Province to sacrifice their life and happily serve there.
When I was invited into the hut in which they were temporarily residing, I saw that their lodgings were so bare and poor that it was beyond what I had expected. I could not hold back my tears. Their bedroom was furnished with a single mat on the floorboard and old pillows for each of them. Their office was also very modest, some used their suitcases as work desks. Food for them was meagre and sometimes they did not have rice to cook and instead ate sweet potatoes or corn the villagers gave them.
As for remuneration, they were paid bunches of bananas, gourds and pumpkins. In spite of this extreme poverty, great joy emanated from them. They constantly smiled and were always happy. These missionaries seemed to experience something very mysterious, a joy in giving even one’s own life to love and serve the poor, those who were shunned and rejected by society.
Loneliness is often a constant companion
I also thought about my fellow Vietnamese priests serving in distant country dioceses in Australia. They have shared with me their feelings of loneliness because they lived in isolated environments, too far away for parishioners and friends to visit them. Some priests said they had to drive over 100km to celebrate Mass for only four or five Catholics. Once they were done, they drove a similar distance to celebrate Mass at another location. However, the parishioners’ friendliness, respect and love for them compensated for the long distance. This helped them feel they were truly supported on the spiritual plane.
As for myself, when I was a religious priest then, I lived with the community of my Order. All daily activities were clearly regulated such as meal, prayer and Mass times. This was a great help for me in my life as a religious priest. I got the support of the community in good and bad times and always had someone to confide in when I needed it. There was always someone by my side.
From 2005-2007, I had the opportunity to serve in a rather active parish, Saint Martin de Porres in Avondale Heights, Melbourne. In this parish, Catholics attended Mass regularly on Sundays and weekdays. Here, I learnt a lot from the experience of Fr Tony Kerin, the diocesan parish priest, who was very diligent and capable. He was always joyful, welcoming and ready to help his parishioners. God has blessed him with such a helpful attitude that he rarely refused any request.
I worked and lived with him for two years. We were very close, ready to share our daily tasks and burdens. We respected and reserved the necessary time for each other. I loved Saturday and Sunday evenings when both of us were home after we celebrated the Eucharist and closed the Church. We cooked, had dinner together and often opened a bottle of red wine to enjoy, because “good wine needs good company”. Sometimes during meals, we discussed parish business or future programmes and plans. Other times, we confided in and shared with each other our feelings about life or our missionary work.
I remembered once he went on vacation for a month and I had to look after the parish alone. When evening arrived, especially on weekends after celebrating Mass on Saturday nights, I helped a few parishioners to close the church, and returned to the empty and quiet Parish house. As I was alone, I just ate anything that happened to be available in order to finish dinner quickly and turn in early so that I could get up the next morning to celebrate another three Sunday masses. Once, I got a cold during the week and had a fever. I was coughing a lot and could not sleep much. The secretary tried to find a replacement priest, but to no avail, as it was too close to the weekend. All the priests within reach were too busy to help me out.
So, I had to soldier on. Though I still felt weak and nearly lost my voice, I had to make a great effort to get out of bed and carry out the timetable of three masses. I tried hard to give a homily, but after doing so, I lost my voice again.
In times like these, I thought of my fellow priests, particularly the diocesan priests, who were serving in parishes and who could be experiencing the same dilemma as I was. They had my sympathy because I had been through this test, having to look after myself in sickness while still manning the parish and performing all tasks as scheduled. After spending two years at Saint Martin de Porres, I empathise and understand somewhat the life of diocesan priests. They have heavy responsibilities and can be under very stressful conditions. They work hard to respond to all the needs of parishioners, from baptism and marriage to weddings and funerals. They take on the role of leader, Good Shepherd, counsellor, advocate, mediator, peacemaker, and even the safe target for everyone to shoot at when there are conflicts between various groups. In summary, they are truly the “servant of a hundred masters”.
This role is very hard to execute especially when there are harsh “masters” who delight in dishing out sarcasm, criticism, and disparaging remarks but rarely support, encourage, or give sincere praise.
This is why I find the ideas expressed by Father Michel Quoist very realistic, and to conclude this personal sharing, I would like to quote him again:
People ask a great deal of their priest, and they should. But they should also understand that it is not easy to be a priest. He has given himself in all the ardour of youth, yet he still remains a man, and every day the man in him tries to take back what he has surrendered. It is a continual struggle to remain completely at the service of Christ and of others.
