Missionaries of the Sacred

Before I was assigned to the missions, I had served for several years as the editor of our mission and family monthly magazine, Our Lady of the Sacred Heart.  On that account, I already had a working knowledge of the territory, of the people and of the missionaries assigned to what was then the Vicariate of Kavieng. My first opportunity to go to the South Seas came about when one of our priests took sick with a debilitating case of hepatitis and needed about nine months to recover his health. As that period of time came to a close, the mother of another missionary became terminally ill, so I was allowed to stay for another nine months to cover for his absence. I mention this to give you a certain perspective on my overall experience in the missions. I came as a substitute, to fill in as it were, with the understanding that in view of my return to the magazine my stay was to be on the order of a journalistic junket. That was a blessing in disguise. Having no projects to speak of, I had more concern for what I could learn than for what I might accomplish. Four years later, given the good fortune of an open-ended assignment to the missions, I returned with a high regard for the people, a deep awareness of their spiritual and material needs and a readiness to work for the betterment of their daily lives long before Pope Paul VI was to lay stress on the need for human development in his letter Populorum Progressio—on the progress of peoples.

My first-hand or working experience in Papua New Guinea came to only about ten years. However, it spanned the time from when the colonial era was just ending, on to the preparation for and the realization of self-government and into the early years of struggle to maintain the standards that had been achieved in health, education and primary development under a prevailing presence of law and order. Times have changed, and just as Africa held many lessons in what is known as missionary adaptation, Papua New Guinea adds a chapter or two in regard to the interaction or faith and culture.

When you consider the life of my catechist, you may appreciate the challenges that our early missionaries faced in what is now the Diocese of Kavieng. Matthew Tapo was in his mother’s womb when his father was killed in tribal warfare. He was almost a cannibal, stopped by his mother as he was about to put a piece of human flesh into his mouth. As the son of a chieftain, he had three wives. When he was baptized, he had to dismiss and see to the welfare of two of them. He had about a sixth-grade education and more wisdom than a PhD. He received a medal from Pope Pius XII through the Vicariate of Rabaul for his first 25 years of work as a catechist, and he stood up to verbal and physical abuse dealt to him by the followers of a cargo cult that broke out on the south coast after World War II. Among my lasting memories of Tapo is a patrol we made to his home village of Sohonerhiu. It took us from the coast up and down ridges, through sago palm swamps, across streams and rivers, along once heavily populated but now all but deserted ridges and up to a collection of huts with dirt floors, thatched roofs and split bamboo siding. On our way, Tapo was telling me how he has urged Fr. Borchardt to hide out in the bush when the occupying army reached the mission of Patu so he could continue to teach the people about the faith. Fr. Borchardt told him that if he were to do that, the occupying army would kill one villager a day until he came out of hiding. Tapo thought that would be fine, because it would teach the people how important their faith was. I was thinking that Tapo was into what is known as “Monday morning quarterbacking”—saying how the game should be played after it was over. At some point, Matthew realized that I hadn’t got his drift. He held up his long-fingered bony hand right in my face, with a look of astonishment on his own. Then he said this in Pidgin English: Pater man I no savvy kisim bilip; bilip I savvy kisim man. That means, “Father, a man cannot take possession of the faith; the faith must take possession of the man.”

As we see how many Catholics fall away from the practice of the faith, we need to take Matthew Tapo’s words.

Of all my cherished memories of Papua New Guinea, I guess I owe my best one to my parents. My dad's side of the family was Slovak while my mom's was Ukrainian Orthodox. Being raised in a family like that I was taught:

When I was on patrol in the back islands the people would wait till I finished supper and then sit on the "porch" of the little house reserved for the priest. This was their cue to drop by, sit down and visit with me. And we would tell stories. I remember one evening when I asked some of the old men in the village if they had any stories about the stars. They told me how they would navigate by the stars but stories... "No" they didn't.

Well, I said, we had stories about the stars. Do you see those three stars in a row and the three in a row near it? We call the first three stars the belt of Orion and the next three stars are his sword.  He was a great hunter and he is following his dog (over there) and they are chasing a bear (over there).

There was silence as the men considered this.

"Father, we do have a story. That is a canoe with three women in it and the next three stars is a shark chasing after them ...."

You have a story.

They have a story.

They do not laugh at your story.

You do not laugh at their story.

Each one shows respect for the other and each grows in appreciation of the other. Why, after a few years I, the new guy on the block, learned about the huge snake that lived in the middle of the island and would call to his mother the rain god and....

But that is a story for another day.

Fr. John Kavcak, MSC served in Papua New Guinea from 1982 to 1988. When he was on patrol in the back islands the people would drop by after dinner, sit down, visit with him and tell stories.

The article above tells of one of these stories.

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My first six months were on the mainland parish in Namatanai where I learned the language and customs of the people. After that it was all "island" parishes including Lihir Island group and Tanga Island group - a lot of island parishes for a guy who does not know how to swim.

My idea of being a missionary was "carrying the cross to distant shores." I found out I was mainly a pastor; in one place I was the pastor of four islands, 20 some out-stations, six or eight "primary schools," a vocational school, and a hospital. I was also the banker, the post master, and the guy who ran the largest "trade store" on the island. I was also responsible for coordinating the travels of the 40-foot mission boat as it took the nurses and sisters around the islands, gathered the children traveling to and from the islands to the school, and made the 40 some mile trip over the sea to get supplies and carry trade goods to the mainland.

When I was at the main mission station there was always something that needed to be done. It was when I was on patrol, especially to the back islands, that I felt like a pastor again. On patrol the big works were Mass, confessions, anointing the sick, blessing the graves of those who died, etc. At the main station the big works were fix the boat, order supplies for the store, run the bank, etc.

Fr. John Kavcak, MSC served in Papua New Guinea from 1982 to 1988. When he was on patrol in the back islands the people would drop by after dinner, sit down, visit with him and tell stories.

We invite you to read one of these stories by clicking the link: Stories About the Stars.

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The children here are looking at a christmas tree that dances with its branches and sings Jingle Bells.*  I bought it a few years before while on leave in the USA. It cost several time what I paid for it to ship it by air to get it in time for Christmas and to get through customs. At that time I was stationed at Kavieng on New Ireland.  I put it in my window so that all could see and hear it. (In the tropics all our windows were louvered.  We could open and shut them with ease. Screens kept the mosquitos out.)

This tree worked on batteries. Turn it on and it would dance and sing Jingle Bells. When it finished, clap your hands and it would start again.  At one time, when people were coming out after Mass there were about forty of them watching the tree perform.  The kids loved it.  They wore out three sets of batteries the first Christmas season.  The following July or August I heard a little girl playing near my room singing Jingle Bells.  I guess it was worth it after all.

*The picture was taken on New Britian a year or two after the tree first arrived. The building is the chapel for the Missionaries of the Sacred Heart Novitiate.  The tree didn't get the reaction here that it got on New Ireland.

Br. Joseph Tesar, MSC served in Papua New Guinea from 1989 to 2006. His final assignment was as spiritual director for Chanel, a minor seminary for young men who aspired to become priests and a few young sisters aspiring to get their high school diploma.