I remember a colleague recounting an anecdote about an election in England. During the campaign period the Labour candidate accused his Conservative counterpart of going around the constituency “whipping up apathy”! Well there’s no need to whip up any apathy among a recent mission area of mine: it lies thick on the ground and the air is heavy with it. The Messiah-complex with which I have felt burdened on other missionary endeavours (!) isn’t even a distant possibility here. I’m just another salesman strutting his stuff and many of the good folks in the area show no outward interest in what I’m peddling. (That “outward” is to allow for the gospel possibility of some response unbeknownst to me, as the seed grows in ways mysterious to the astonished farmer in the parable [Mark 4: 26,27]). There is never any antagonism, just what seems to be a complete lack of interest, but who truly knows what’s going on within any other person?
So after a few weeks of seemingly fruitless toil, I take to the hills, and head for our house in Busai (the word means “waterfall”). The house affords a spectacular view of Cebu city (the second city of the Philippines). Busai is about 6 or 7 miles from the city, near the summit of a series of hills, very fertile for growing flowers. It is a haven of peace and quiet, especially during the more rambunctious times here, like New Year, when the Chinese desire to expel all bad spirits takes the rather thunderous path of ever-louder fire-crackers and some fire-works.
When I was assigned in Cebu I would bring people from squatter areas to Busai for a short recollection. They would be amazed at the quiet and the greenery of the place, especially compared with the squalor and incessant noise of their own home areas. When the group had gone back to their home place, I would often go for a walk in the blessed silence. I met some memorable people.
One day as I was walking along, I approached a group of 9 or 10 men. Their labours over, they were enjoying a few glasses of J&B. No, not the Scotch whisky, but “Jazz & Bahal”, the former being a local version of Coca-Cola, the latter being the rather strong fermented coconut juice. Filipinos are initially somewhat shy in the presence of an unknown foreigner (me, in this case) and, with the courage-giving J&B, they tried a few greetings in English. But we soon found a more agreeable medium of communication in the native language, Cebuano, of which I have a passable grasp. Two piles of freshly-cut wood were the evidence of their work. The firewood was for the upcoming wedding of the daughter of the organizer, who duly invited me to the festivities. It was a scene of contentment and hospitality; apart from being invited to the wedding, I was offered some J&B! The poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote about a “sweet especial rural scene”, and the encounter with the men left me in high spirits: such rustic calm, simplicity and gentleness. However it’s somewhat ironic for me to be quoting Hopkins in this setting of wood-cutting, as the line quoted above is from his moving lament at the felling of some aspens (“Binsey poplars”), with the wrenching line: “after-comers cannot guess the beauty been”.
Another incident was a moment of pure joy. As I rounded a bend in the road, I came upon a girl, perhaps 8 or 9 years of age, leading home her father’s goats. As I passed she beamed a smile of utter charm and said “good afternoon”. Was it my imagination or did she bow slightly? I replied “good afternoon Inday” (young lady), and the words of Belloc, quoted by Chesterton in reference to Francis of Assisi, came to mind: “Of courtesy it is much less than courage of heart or holiness; but in my walks it seems to me that the grace of God is in courtesy”. Such politeness and friendliness seemed natural to the girl, and it certainly provided a welcome respite from the often raucous voices of other children who identify me (and any foreigner) in the same way as their grandparents identified the American troops during the Second World War, “Hi Joe”, a reference to GI Joe.
Felix was exquisitely, aptly named: a man of an almost constant jolly, upbeat temperament (in Latin, “Felix” means happy). His joi de vivre was infectious and one felt appreciative and buoyed-up having been in his company. The only problem was that Felix was a drug addict – an on-and-off addict, to be precise (if that is not a contradiction in terms). Our paths crossed when a former member of our mission team, who also worked part-time with a government drug rehabilitation programme, introduced us. Felix subsequently joined us for a few of our mission activities in Cebu, and he was always a great presence.
You see, he was the perfect “insider”. He knew all the tricks of the trade, all the code words, all the slang. He had been sent to rehabilitation centres eight times (each time paid for by his hard-working, anxious parents), and after each stint inside, he had fallen again when the irresistible craving for the apparently problem-solving injection would strike again. At the eighth hearing, the judge had warned him that the next time he’d find himself behind bars.
Nevertheless, he was great company at our mission gatherings. Sometimes he spoke from a stage, telling his tale. Other times, in a more relaxed setting, his input would be followed by a question & answer session, and that was fascinating. I could sense that the parents were genuinely eager to hear Felix’s answers and advice.
He was the eldest child and was spoilt, especially by his grandmother. In her eyes Felix could do no wrong, but the trouble started when he began to steal in order to finance his drug use. He would steal from his mother’s purse and pawn any household items he could get his hands on. Eventually every bedroom in their house had to be padlocked in order to frustrate his crafty designs.
But an addict will go to extremes in order to satisfy the craving. So Felix began robbing shops and petrol stations. But he was something of an inept criminal because he was always caught, and ended up in yet another rehabilitation centre. He spent time in both government-run centres and private ones – the latter being quite expensive, and often with draconian prison-like regimes. But no matter how severe the treatment, Felix would finish the course, re-enter civil society, and soon enough the craving for drugs would rear its ugly head. (The shortest time he lasted having come out of a rehabilitation centre before being re-admitted was three days). When I first met Felix he had managed a near-miraculous six months without taking drugs. I gave a talk at a government centre and he was enthused to volunteer, on a part-time basis, to accompany our mission team.
His father was a captain in the police, his mother was a teacher. They were clearly concerned for Felix and were at their wits’ end as to how to help him. I met them just once and spoke with them by phone on another occasion. The former was when I, along with some of the people from one of the mission areas where Felix had spoken, attended his birthday party in their home. It was both a relaxed and somewhat solemn occasion. Before the meal we had a ceremony wherein each person lit a candle and spoke a prayer or wish for Felix.
It was quite prayerful, and I distinctly recall giving Felix a nickname. Barnabas, whose own original name was Joseph, was the fellow who sold his farm and donated the proceedings to the early Christians (Acts 4:36). He was given the nickname Barnabas, which means “son of encouragement”, which I thought suited Felix perfectly; if not in terms of his long-suffering parents, at least in the effect he had on others when he shared his story in the mission areas.
Whatever about Felix’ own struggles with his addiction – two steps forward, one step back – he was always a gracious, approachable and helpful presence at our gatherings. Parents listened intently to him because drugs are a huge problem in the Philippines, both in cities and rural areas. He knew all the tell-tale signs of addiction or, more importantly, of the tactics to hide it, and that’s why the parents were so interested and alert to his words.
Time passed and Felix ended up again in a low-security rehab centre. Together with those same neighbours who had attended his birthday celebration, we drove the 100 miles to visit him. It was during that trip that I spoke again with his parents who were on their way home having visited him. I was praying that their hopes for his long-term recovery hadn’t been exhausted. I was thinking of Simeon’s prophecy about how Mary was destined to suffer & have her heart pierced because of the negative reaction of many to her Son, (Lk: 2:34,35). Surely the hearts of Felix’ parents had been pierced many times. We visited Felix, chatted with him, had some lunch, wished him well, and returned to the city.
The last time I met Felix, before I was transferred to another island, was in the hills overlooking Cebu city (Busai, mentioned earlier). I used to go there regularly on Sundays when the mission activities were over; in fact, Felix had given one of his most impassioned talks in that house. I was returning to the house having walked in the hills when I met Felix and his girlfriend Portia. He seemed completely at ease, his usual smiling, exuberant self, as if all his former woes were a thing of the past. I surely hope so.
That final meeting was some years ago. In 2021 I sought news about Felix from the social worker who first introduced us. The news is very encouraging: Felix is married and has two children, and he has a tailoring business.