These days are called Eid, meaning holiday, and the Kingdom is virtually shut down while the Moslems celebrate the end of their fasting month of Ramadan. This also means a holiday for us. For me it means Antioch. Having now both the time and the money. I told my friends that I will go there, because of the history, the beaches, and the famous “blue coast” sailing tours. Well, this is my plan.
My friend Tony calls before I can purchase my ticket. He says that he passed through Tabuk and connected with someone who told him that a group of 200 Christians there have no shepherd. “Could you go up there when you have some time?” he asks.
I think I see a way to escape, so I whine, “Tony, I don’t think I should go there by myself. That’s Matawa country.” That is our term for an area beyond the reach of any Christian support group or known safe areas and with high Matawa (religious vigilante) activity.
But Tony says, “We can go together. I’m planning to go to that area on business. I can introduce you to my contact there. I feel strongly that they need one of you guys.” He means a community builder, Eucharistic Minister, working in association with the Bishop of Arabia “You guys” is a good enough label. “I can’t do anything else for them,” he adds.
The Antioch vacation plan for my ten days of administrative leave is beginning to crumble. I mumble, “Here I am, Lord. Send me,” then, “I’ll drive.” I won’t detail my reaction when I hung up except to say that I had to buy something to clean the shoe marks off my wall.
We arrange to meet in Riyadh on Wednesday and start for Tabuk on Thursday. It is a 4,000 kilometer circuit of Northern Arabia. Here I am, on an actual missionary journey. I have no other reason to be out here. There is much evidence that this is God’s plan for my time off. For example, in the past I have been delayed both ways on a trip to Riyadh while my papers were scrutinized at each of the two police checkpoints. On this trip to Tabuk and back we are waved through thirty checkpoints. At some we have to pull out papers to show that we have them but nobody reads them. At most we don’t even have to stop.
This part of Arabia is beautiful with much variation in landscape. When we stop for lunch we have to get way off the highway because it is Ramadan and we cannot be seen eating in the daytime. At those stops I have this feeling of being surrounded by apostles and missionaries, who are laughing and enjoying our discourses and reminiscing about their times on the road. I feel a bond with them. They hobbled their donkeys just over there where the car sits, and spread a mat on this level sandy spot just as we are doing, and felt like royal diners as they thanked God for whatever was in their food box to eat. As I look out at black mountains and soft skies, I have to exclaim, “Tony, there is no one on earth as rich as we are at this moment!”
Tony and I pray without ceasing the whole seven days of the trip. We have praise tapes, and hymn tapes, and a wonderful chant tape. We pray the rosary in English. We put in a tape of John Paul II and pray the rosary with him in Latin. We pray the Divine Mercy chaplet. We pray St. Michael’s chaplet, We share, we discuss, we argue, we sing, we praise, we read, we listen, and we pray for everybody and everything we can think of, and it is like salt water; the more we drink of it, the more we want to drink. All this in a country where any Christian prayer is a criminal offense.
Tabuk is the place where Lawrence of Arabia blew up the train. No one has cleaned up the mess yet. You can still see it rusting away today. Our main objective is to locate the remnants of the Catholic Christian community in Tabuk, have a Eucharistic gathering, give them a Catholic format for assembling, and encourage them. In this we have mixed results. We contact the contact, who owns a shop and is perfectly located as liaison to the community. Because many people are away for the holidays, or working double shifts for those who are away, we are unable to assemble any group for Eucharistic celebration.
The problems here are many. Two years ago, when there was western presence at the local military base there were chaplains, including priests, and general freedom to worship for the careful and discreet. Because of this reputation and isolation, they haven’t been getting support from other Christians in the Kingdom. Everyone thought they were safe. Withdrawal of the Westerners, which was sudden, left them unprepared to go it alone. The Matawa moved in forcefully to save the area from the Christian progress that had been made. Assemblies were smashed and the faithful thrown in jail or deported. Fear is rampant. The Matawa invade places of work and prevent promotion and benefits to anyone who will not convert to Islam. They offer rewards for information about prayer meetings and prayer leaders. One Christian believer told of a man who had not been paid for months who, because of mouths to feed in his home country, succumbed to temptation and informed on fellow workers who were meeting for prayer. He was to receive 5,000 riyals (about $1,800) as a reward, After the group was rounded up and jailed, the Matawa agent pocketed the reward for himself and deported the man anyway. You can imagine the devastating shame for this fellow. Lord, have mercy on him.
The Matawa send agents to give uninvited instruction to laborers and nurses, even on the job. The courageous few who still meet to pray are understandably very wary. Their assemblies tend to be interdenominational, but in the sense that they are commingled rather than cooperative. They are a stew rather than a salad. Still, I think we are doing what we came to do. To communicate to them that they may be isolated but they are not abandoned. They are still part of the Body of Christ. Mary and the Church have a stake in their continued faith. We are able to distribute 200 rosaries, 200 medals, and various other sacramentals. This is a victory, because it restores Catholic identity to those in whom it is evaporating due to a lack of Catholic activity. Tony and I feel we have rearmed the Church Militant in Tabuk.
All along the route we are surprised by how many Catholic Christians we meet. You may be interested in our approach. I call this technique “hiding behind Mommy’s skirts.” If I meet a Filipino worker, I ask: “Katoliko ka ba?” (“Are you a Catholic?”). Even though my facility with his language is not good, he takes the cue and replies in Tagalog, “Oo, po” (“Yes, sir”).
“Do you pray the Rosary?” If “yes,” I continue: “Do you have a rosary?” If “no” (usually “no, they took it away at airport), I slip him one.
“Do you pray by yourself or with some friends?” Usually, there are three, or four or ten. He is given as many rosaries as he needs, along with medals and pictures.
“Do you have a safe place to meet?” Regrettably the answer is usually “no”. A “yes” will bring further exploration to see if a Eucharistic assembly can be formed.
With Indians, Pakistanis, and other nationalities you have to start with “What province are you from?”(Iistening for places with known Catholic populations) or “What is your name?” (listening for the name of a Saint), then follow behind Mary.
If I could show you just one face of someone who has received a rosary after his has been confiscated and thrown in the trash before his eyes (and yet he has continued to pray it on his fingers for years), you would fall in love again with Mary. She does magnify the Lord. She makes possible the communion between Jesus and those who desire him.
On the way back we visit a community that is much more dramatically reawakened. We have Eucharistic assembly, and they tell me of their wonderful progress and how they reach still other groups. This is the same tiny group that celebrated Assumption Day with me last summer. Now they are big, organized, and self-propelled. I have to say final good-byes to them because my pass to that area will expire in only days. It is awesome what God has done there.
All in all I’m glad I spent this time with his people and put Antioch off for another day. It will be satisfying to visit the place where believers were first called Christians and Christians were first called Catholic. The lesson for me on this trip is this: It is more important to have the freedom to be called Christian and Catholic where we are today.
Now, Where’s that bottle of 409? 1 have to get on my knees and do some scrubbing. What a mighty God we serve!