Joys and Struggles of Mission in Myanmar

 

By Fr. Kurt Pala

 

When people ask me, “What is mission like in Myanmar?” I often pause.

Mission here is difficult and beautiful. It is broken, yet filled with  hope. It is cautiously walking along  a narrow path ―between the sounds of Buddhist chants and bells, and the echoes of rockets fired from Myitkyina to the surrounding villages.

Mission in a Land of Tears

Myanmar has long been known as the Golden Land but today it has become a war-torn country – a Golden Land of Tears.

Many families live in fear, in displacement camps, or in villages that can disappear overnight. Young people who used to carry dreams now carry firearms and deep trauma. Parents worry not only about their children’s future, but about tomorrow’s meal. Parents are left behind while the young leave the country trying to escape army conscription and poverty.

As a priest, I have anointed  young people wounded in protests, and others dying far too soon ― victims of drug addiction. I have listened to mothers who moved from one camp to another, and for many have nowhere else to go. I have listened to many young people speak of  feeling lost and disheartened. I have celebrated Mass with communities displaced by the war, who are tired, yet still singing the psalms of hope.

My first struggle in mission was coming to terms with the truth  that I cannot fix Myanmar. I cannot stop the war. I cannot take away  all the suffering or ease their worries and pain.

But I can be present. I can listen.

In Laudato Si’, Pope Francis reminds us to listen to the cry of the poor and  the cry of the earth. But in Myanmar, both the poor and the earth are not only crying ―they are wailing.

Slowly, I learned that mission is not first about doing things for people; it is about being with them.

 

Learning from the People

The Kachin people and the many other communities of Myanmar have evangelized me more than I have evangelized them. They have taught me how to pray while waiting for peace, to trust in God every moment of life, to share the last cup of rice with a neighbor, and to find joy in the small things, even when there is no electricity and internet for weeks. I have learned to give more thanks and to complain less.

I remember preparing for a homily and later sharing it, doubting myself as I spoke that God is good and He cares for us all. I remember asking,  “Where is God in all of this suffering?” Yet when I celebrate the Eucharist―in an IDP camp, among young people, or with recovering alcoholics and those struggling with drug-addiction―they sang louder and sweeter than any choir I have ever heard.

In that moment, I understood: Emmanuel―God is among us. The Church is strongest when it is poorest. They have lost everything―their homes, villages, and many sons and daughters to the war―but not their faith.

 

Struggles of a Missionary

Nothing prepares you for the mission. In my first few months in Myanmar, I was very excited and had so many ideas for the ministries I intended to do. But I soon realized it is not my mission, but God’s mission.

I struggled with helplessness when young people asked me for jobs I could not provide, or questions I have no answers for. I struggled with anxiety when I carefully plan and things do not happen the way I want them to. I struggled with fear every time I encountered soldiers at checkpoints. I struggled every time a young person gave up.

There were days I asked God, “What am I doing here in Myanmar?” Mission in Myanmar has stripped me of the illusion that a missionary is a hero. I discovered I am simply a companion, often weak, often confused just like the people I minister to, yet called to remain.

My friend Ashin Nandasara, a Buddhist monk now studying in Thailand, once brought me to his village and his childhood monastery in Shwe Bo. I often visited him before the  coup began. During the month I stayed in the monastery, his parents would prepare my dinner every night,  because the monks in the monastery do not eat in the evening.

Pottery in Myanmar is dominated by handcrafted clay pots produced in his village. The city is famous for its natural clay, and its skilled craftsmen and women make huge clay pots for water and other purposes. These pots are then loaded onto boats and sent to all parts of the country. Now, his village is a battleground for the Burmese Army and the young people who call themselves the “Peoples’ Defense Forces.”

The clay jars remind me of St. Paul’s words:  “We carry this treasure in clay jars.” Everyday, I feel the cracks of that clay jar.

 

The Joys that Keep Me Alive

 Yet, the joys outweigh the struggles. I see joy when a young person becomes confident and able to carve his or her own path in life; when the youth organize themselves to help the poor; when young people  from different faiths celebrate together each other’s feasts; and when Buddhists, Baptists, Catholics, and Muslims protect one another in times of danger.

But my greatest joy is witnessing faith. I have given First Communion to young deaf adults and to  children with special needs who had waited years to receive the Eucharist. Their joy and smiles after receiving Jesus  reminded me why I became a priest.

I have heard confessions under makeshift halls and chapels, celebrated Christmas with the displaced―just like Jesus, Joseph and Mary― and felt that Christ was more real there than anywhere else. God is no longer just Emmanuel. Mission has given me a new name for God: God-with-the-suffering-people.

 

What Mission Means Today

Mission in Myanmar today means:

• accompanying a crucified people – the displaced and the youth;
• forming young people to become confident and resilient leaders who still believe that peace is possible; and
• advocating for the care for creation when forests and land are destroyed by mining and conflict,

It is not about building big projects. It is about building small communities of hope.

As Columbans, we say that  we cross boundaries. In Myanmar the boundaries are many ― ethnic, religious, political, and even the boundaries of despair. To cross them requires patience, listening, and sometimes, more silence than words.

 

My Prayer

When celebrating the Eucharist, I often pray: “Lord, do not let me be a visitor to the pain of your people. Make me a neighbor. Teach me to break the bread of hope even when my own hands are empty.”

In Myanmar, the Eucharist comes alive in the lives of the people.

So what is mission like in Myanmar? It is Good Friday and Easter morning living in the same house. It is walking with a people who refuse to give up on God, even when the world seems to have given up on them.

At Mass, we remember the Roman Centurion who asked Jesus to heal his servant saying, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you under my roof!” We, too, recognize Jesus’ mercy and his power to heal and to enter our lives, especially during this Lenten Season.

I keep returning to Myanmar― and I remain here ―because the Gospel is most alive among those who are suffering and wounded. And because the people of Myanmar have taught me that mission is not where we bring Christ—it is a place where Christ is already waiting for us.

Thank you for walking with us in prayer and solidarity.

Please continue to pray for us. Do not forget us!