The Breath of Night by Michael Arditti Page A

old.
    Doña Teresa offered to take her on as a maid, ‘out of respect for you, Father’, which isn’t quite the motivation that I’d have wished. Nor do I feel altogether happy about finding jobs for children, especially as servants, but I have to be practical. This is a world without safety nets. Maybe Greg’s right and Britain renounced its sense of personal responsibility when we brought in the Welfare State; but we gained far more than we lost. The next time he jumps on his soap box to denounce nannyism (not that I recall him objecting when Nanny P pandered to his every need), you might care to tell him about Leonora or, better yet, Ariel and Grace Quebral, whose four-year-old son, Joel, was suddenly stricken with diarrhoea. Diarrhoea here isn’t the mild irritation it is at home and, as Joel began to shrink – no, shrivel – before my eyes, I had to prepare his parents for the worst. Which was when Ariel told me that Joel hadn’t been baptised. They’d never had sufficient cash to pay for the christening robe and celebration lunch, which are mandatory in
hacienda
culture. So I performed a hurried ceremony in a fetid room a few hours before he died.
    Sometimes it’s hard not to despair.
    Consolacion took Joel’s death especially hard but, when I questioned her, all she would say was ‘
Kagustuhan ng Diyos
’ (‘It’s God’s will’). ‘
Kagustuhan ng Diyos
!’ Is it the Church that’s bred this fatalism? I’m starting to think that we could learn from theProtestants with their history of revolt. Maybe the Basic Christian Communities (BCCs) will be a spur for action? They’ve come on by leaps and bounds, and we now have more than eighty across the two parishes. Our aim is for about twice that number. We finished training the lay leaders in August and, although we had eleven dropouts, which upset me more than it did Benito, our remaining choices have been vindicated. We couldn’t have wished for a more dedicated team. The sessions were intense. We held twelve residential weekends when, with the help of three priests from the diocese plus the Sisters of the Holy Face of Jesus, we encouraged the men to examine both their own communities in the light of the gospel and the gospel in the light of their own communities. It was a revelation to me too. Through all my years of study, I’d never realised that the Bible was so politically charged.
    No doubt you’ll echo Benito’s view of my naïveté. He even called me Father Oxford until I explained that, however kindly meant, it stung. I presume that he pictured an ink-stained scholar in mortar board and gown, mulling over the minutiae of Greek and Latin translations. Little does he know! For the first time in my life I’m beginning to understand the Bible, and it’s precisely because I’m not agonising over the historiography and exegesis but rather looking at it through the lens of the lay leaders’ lives. It may sound glib, but they teach me far more than I do them. Every Friday evening, a hundred or so men pour into the
poblacion
from the outlying
barrios
. We study and debate the weekly readings – sometimes quite heatedly. Then, fully primed and taking their share of the Host, they return home to lead their Sunday services. Thus people, who were long deprived of the Word of God and the Body of Christ, now have regular access to both. What’s more, we’ve shown them that they needn’t be passive recipients of everything the authorities – that includes priests as well as landowners and politicians – dole out, but they can take decisions for themselves. I’m proud of us – yes, I say that without boasting; I can think of no other group who’d so readily relinquish their own power.
    But you needn’t take my word for it; I’m hoping you’ll soon have a chance to see for yourselves. Have you given any more thought to a visit? The flight’s long, I admit, but you could stop over for a day or two in Singapore – or would that bring back too