I was on my way to the Kampong Ko Parish for my task for the day – de-clogging the toilets in our Laudato Si Learning Center – when I was first invited to write this piece. Speeding through the 15 kilometer dust road on my trusty motorbike, toilet plunger tied to the handlebars, I thought, yes, maybe there are things to share from my mostly dusty, sometimes muddy, but always adventurous life as a parish priest in the missions. 

It had only been two and a half years since I was given my first Parish mission, so I did not want pretend to be an expert about anything. Instead, what I thought to share were lessons I learned from fellow missionaries and the Cambodian faithful, and from my own experimentations and mistakes (mostly the latter).  All in all, however, what I thought worth sharing was what I had learned to love about parish work.

What is it I had found to love doing in the Cambodia mission?  What kept me going ?  Over and above the usual de-clogging and cleaning toilets, or making sure things were working properly in my 6 parishes, performing sacramental duties, visiting the newborn, the sick and the dying, teaching catechism and preparing our catechumen for baptism, or doing the accounting, cashiering and fundraising . . . what kept me happy and busy?

Making Our Churches Places of Welcome

I didn’t have any dramatic Abraham at Mamre stories of strange visitors turning out to be angels, but I did find it fruitful to make our Churches spaces where people feel welcome. The late great Sr. Ath (one of the most respected founders of the Jesuit Mission here who is a sister of Providence) used to say that the way a simple garden is planted and tended can help make visitors feel welcome. I believe the same goes for the way furniture is arranged, the way our staff and volunteers greet or receive visitors, the simple but love-bearing food we can offer, the way a guest room is cleaned and made-up, or the way leaves are swept from the driveway or the lawn.

Whether it was the occasional pilgrim or tourist passer-by that came through every once in a while, the Buddhist neighbors who liked to bring their children to the playground, or Dara (not his real name) our most regular parishioner who happened to suffer from slight schizophrenia – we tried, in the little ways we can, to give them sanctuary – be it in a glass of cold water, a place to sit in the shade, a gentle smile, a warm hello, a simple meal, or even a garden they can walk through or pray in.

Occasionally, we also got the desperate grandmother who came begging for her hungry grandchild, the parishioner whose in-laws had fallen very ill, or the youth with no one to turn to for scholarship support.  We tried our best to share what we could, and never to make anyone leave emptyhanded. Sometimes it was some money or financial help we could offer, but even those to whom we could not afford to give money, we tried our best to extend kindness and compassion.

In rural Cambodia, there is sometimes a directness to the language and culture of simple folk that sometimes makes it difficult to extend this kindness.  Sometimes, as early as 7:05AM, as I am tending to the Church gardens or making morning rounds in the village, I am greeted not by “Good morning Father!” but by “Father, give me money for this” or “Father, I need a new roof” or “Father, how come the Church never gives me money for . . .”

So, being welcoming, for me, also meant having to learn to humor or make light of not-so-polite requests.  I learned that I didn’t always have to say “yes”, but that I could still always be kind, even in the way I said “no”.  Often, I failed at this, and caught myself not being as gracious in my response as I should have been. But this kept me grounded in knowing I am far from the ideal and must keep toiling at the hard work of cultivating the goodness that will make me a good shepherd.