Shepherd in Doubt

It was an ordinary Thursday afternoon. As ordinary as a day before Christmas could be anyway. The small church was buzzing with activities. People came and went with this and that. A few teenagers were cheerfully giving finishing touches to a small construction that passed for what popularly -- and mistakenly -- known as a Christmas cave. That Baby Jesus had not really been born in a cave meant little to them, to anyone. What was Christmas celebration without a Christmas cave? So they joked and laughed at one another while arranging small, hand-made dummies that represented Joseph, Mary, and the three Magi.

A mini choir of ten was rehearsing the songs for the night service. The leader -- a middle-aged lady in Javanese traditional dress -- was showing them how to articulate the songs more by forming perfect Os with their mouths. Here and there kids were putting on the usual Christmas decorations, which were getting more Westernized every year. Young men were bringing extra seats into the church and arranging them neatly. People say that you can skip regular Sunday masses now and then, but you have to come to church at least for Christmases and Easters. Hence the extra seats.

"Romo Bouten, the cave is set. We're saving you the honor to put the star on."

Marcus Bouten, S.J. smiled and duly complied, securing the big star on a pole behind the Christmas cave, to the cheers of everyone around. At 67, the Dutch priest was likeable, to say the least. Still very fit -- the story had it that he had once served in the army -- and sharp-minded, he always tried to be involved in any church activities. His parish came to him for advice and invited him to their homes. He was a brother to everyone. The Catholics adored him. Others respected him. He was very much part of the local community, where Catholics were minority.

Little did they know that their beloved Romo Bouten had begun to question his calling. As a priest it was his duty to lead his parish by example in faith. Yet he was losing faith himself. He no longer believed what the world had to offer. Things that were theoretically good were not. People who supposedly guided the society to the better did not. Sixty-seven years was a long time to witness hypocrisies in all aspects of life. And where had He been all this time? He kept asking for signs and getting none. Marcus Bouten, S.J., a shepherd who was to guide his sheep to lush pastures, now was not sure the pastures even existed.

Thankfully, all that was about to change. That afternoon a very old looking man walked into the church's small yard through the back gate, fell, and let out a loud cry. Everyone stopped what they were doing and then the men on hand rushed outside to help, followed by just about everyone else.

"Are you okay, sir?" To which the old man mumbled something and pointed to his left ankle. "Oh no, I think he sprained it. Let's get him inside." And they started helping him stand.

Father Bouten, ever adept to thinking on feet, quickly took over. "Bring the gentleman into my quarters. Yos, get him some water, will you please? Thanks."

As the parish priest, Father Bouten lived in a modest house behind the church. It shared the yard with the church and was at that point closer to the hurting old man than the church building itself. So they took him there and help him sit on one of the chairs in the living room. When moving in several years ago, Father Bouten had asked to have the house's two biggest adjacent rooms combined into one to serve as a living room as well as the parish's meeting room. After which he then settled himself in the only other room left, a very small bedroom.

Yosaphat Adu was Father Bouten's personal assistant and very much the church's all-around helper. He fetched a glass of water and passed it to the old man, who took a few gulps gratefully. Having done his deed, Yos now stepped aside and looked at the man rather scornfully.

Almost everyone had now gathered around. Some went into the living room and stood there whispering. Those outside craned their heads to have a look inside through the room's windows. Father Bouten quieted everyone with his hand before turning to his unexpected guest. He waited patiently for the man's breath to come back and then asked him how he felt.

The old man nodded his gratitude and wiped his mouth with his hand. "I'm okay now," he said, "guess I must've slipped. Sometimes I forget I'm no longer 20, should be more careful." He smiled and most of those who were present did likewise. Father Bouten let out a sigh of relief. Yos kept his stare. Full of suspicion now.

"What about your ankle? Does it hurt?" asked the parish priest. Carefully he touched the man's left leg.

"It doesn't look so bad," replied the old man. It did not. "I sprained an ankle a few times in the past and this one doesn't feel as painful. If you don't mind, though, I'd like to stay here for half an hour or so."

"Of course, of course. Please make yourself comfortable." Father Bouten looked around. "Friends, thank you for your help. I'm afraid now I have to ask you all to go back to our Christmas preparation. Our guest here needs to rest." With that the crowd reluctantly dispersed. Yos did not move. The three of them were now alone inside the house. Several kids were still standing about outside. Father Bouten smiled at them and closed the door.

The initial excitement gone, curiosity took over. "I am Father Marcus Bouten." The old man nodded and shook the extended hand with his own rather dirty hand. "Karno. Thanks for your help." Father Bouten then introduced Yos, who simply nodded.

"Your people have been very helpful," said the old man -- Karno. "Much appreciated."

Father Bouten smiled. "They are not my people. They are my brothers. Just like you are our brother." His curiosity mounted now. Karno's attitude did not match his outward appearance. His shirt was dirty and his pants muddy, as if he had had them on for weeks. He wore a pair of cheap sandals and an ugly hat. "Sorry, I don't mean to offend you, but please, would you like to change? I have a clean shirt and trousers that should fit you," offered the Dutch priest, eyeing the other man's clothes.

Yos turned to his priest disbelievingly. Father Bouten did his own laundry and ironing, but Yos had had looks into his wardrobe to know that the priest did not have too many things inside. He started to say something, but Karno beat him. "Oh, if it is not too much trouble."

Having received the promised clothes from Father Bouten's bedroom, Karno accepted the priest's offer and went to take a bath in the house's only bathroom. Two of them now alone, Yos whispered to his priest, "Romo, I say we should be careful with this man. He's definitely a stranger. Noone seems to recognize him. And strangers don't just walk into our church like that."

Father Bouten nodded and patted his assistant's shoulder. "Point taken, Yos. Thank you. But let's not assume anything first. Even if he means harm, with so many people around, what can one man do? And who knows, he might just want to check out our Christmas Eve service time."

"He doesn't even look Catholic." Yos slapped himself mentally the moment he said that. The Dutch priest's sharp look told it. "I know, Romo, I'm sorry. I'm just concerned, that's all," he quickly added.

"Right. Now why don't you help the others. I have to entertain our guest."

"But, Romo... Don't you have to prepare yourself for tonight's service? You always do a few hours before the mass."

"Yes, yes, I do. That's why I will need you to remind me later. I'll be all right, Yos. I can still defend myself should it come to that." Father Bouten winked while saying this, but Yos knew he was not just joking. The priest was as fit as a 67-year-old man could ever be. A younger man would think twice to pick up a fight with him, let alone an older man, which apparently Karno was.

"All right, Romo, I'm going now. But I will be back soon."

And he did. Just as Karno, who now looked -- and smelled -- much better, was telling his life story. Father Bouten, ever a good listener, was paying much attention. A very reserved man himself, he liked listening to other people and learning new things.

Old Man's Story

"...I was a sergeant. Well, everyone got into ranks quite easily then. If you could read, then nothing less than a sergeant you would be. Mind you, we were fighting to defend our country and we needed all help we could get." He stopped abruptly. "Uh, Father Bouten you said? Are you Dutch?"

The priest smiled. "I am. But it's okay. We know we did bad things to this lovely country. And I can never apologize enough for those."

Karno looked relieved. "Those were things in the past, of course. To be put behind. We're all friends now."

"We are. You were saying...?"

Yos took the chair next to the priest. Karno looked at him. "I am telling your priest about my younger days as an army soldier. You might find this boring, I must warn you."

"It's all right," said Yos. And just being polite he asked, "So you were fighting the aggressors, huh? The Dutch or the Japanese?"

"A bit of both, actually..." Suddenly Karno looked serious, as if he had just remembered something important. "Is this, uh, a Catholic church? Are you people Catholic?"

"Yes, we are. Nothing wrong, I hope?" said Father Bouten, well aware of the sudden change.

"Oh, no, no, no. Nothing is wrong." Karno shook his head hastily. "It's just that suddenly I remembered something important. Oh yes, how could I forget about it! It was something that you in your religion might call a miracle."

"Really." Yos snickered. Then upon receiving the sharp look from Father Bouten, he winced as if saying, sorry, but I could not help it, Romo. A miracle? Come on!

Karno did not seem to notice the sarcasm. "Yes, a miracle indeed. A Christmas miracle, you might say, as it happened just a day before Christmas."

"You mean like today?"

Karno apparently just realized this and seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh, oh, that's right! Wow, what a coincidence! Yes, yes, this day tens of years ago, the miracle happened."

And he went on to relate how he, as a young, newly-promoted sergeant, had been sent to Sulawesi island. The year had been 1946, one year after Japan had surrendered unconditionally to the Allies and Indonesia had declared its independence. The mission had been to capture and disarm the remaining few groups of Japanese soldiers who either had not known or had not cared that their emperor had surrendered.

"These groups were very dangerous. They were still very much armed and hiding in mountains and forests. From time to time they would attack villages. And when they did, literally nothing would be left of those villages. They would take everything, kill everyone.

"And there we were, about seventy of us. Some were locals. Myself and twenty or so were deployed from East Java. A major was in charge and he was rather experienced, you might say. The rest of us were instant soldiers and some had even seen real guns for the first time only weeks before. Yet we were full of patriotism and excited to hunt down the enemy. Within a month after my deployment we managed to find and disarm two or three such groups without significant casualties. We were so proud of ourselves.

"On 23rd of December -- oh yes, I remember it well -- on that day thirty of us, led by a captain and a lieutenant, set off for the village of Amba, roughly fifty kilometers northward from where we were stationed. Reports had it that some 10-15-strong group were hiding in the forest nearby, having fled from our earlier raids. The plan was to settle ourselves in Amba for the day and night. The people of Amba were very friendly and considered us their saviors. They welcomed us warmly, unaware that the real battle had not even begun."

At this point Karno's old eyes were full of warmth and he took a moment to reminisce. "There was a small church. I mean, it did not look like a church, just a regular traditional house, but there was a young priest and he was well respected. He was a Dutch, much like yourself, Father. His name was Father Jaan. He offered his small church for our accommodation, but warned us rather strongly that we could not discuss any war plan inside or within his earshot. No wars are good, he always said. And they were preparing for Christmas, two days away. No better time for peace."

At the mention of the Dutch priest, Father Bouten begun to show even more attention. The priest could relate himself to the story, Yos thought. He had heard stories about Father Bouten serving in such remote churches before coming to this parish.

Karno also noticed this and he smiled before proceeding. "Some of us were not Christians, you see, so not everyone could take his offer, which he fully understood. But the others happily accepted. Those who did not split and would sleep at the villagers' homes. But..." Karno sighed. "...as they say, there's always a calm before the storm."

"What happened? Did something take place that night?" asked Father Bouten.

"No, no. The night went by peacefully. It was the day after." There was only grief in those old eyes now. "In the morning we left the village and went into the jungle. Ten villagers went with us as they knew the area best." The old man's voice began shaking and he took a gulp of water from the glass in front of him.

"What happened?" asked Father Bouten carefully. He believed he knew what was coming.

"The Japanese renegades ambushed us. And there were more than just ten or fifteen of them. Oh, there were much more. Apparently several other groups had joined forces and they had known we were coming." Karno closed his eyes and covered them with his hands. "Our men and the villagers fought bravely, but there were too many of them. Within minutes half of us were down and we had to retreat to Amba, carrying with us as many wounded ones as possible. Some had to be left behind, we had no choice."

"But that way you were dragging the innocent Amba people into battle!" Yos exclaimed.

"As our guest has said, Yos, they had no choice. Besides, don't you think the Japanese would've come to the village anyway, sooner or later?" Father Bouten signalled to his assistant not to upset the old man. It had been, after all, in the past.

Karno nodded slowly. "Yes, we had no choice. It was our luck -- if you could call it that -- that the Japanese did not chase us to the village. Not right away, anyway. That Dutch priest, Father Jaan," Karno looked at the present Dutch priest in front of him, "he had a bit of experience with medicine, so upon seeing us, he took charge and started organizing the villagers." Father Bouten nodded. It had been normal for a missionary such as Father Jaan to possess useful skills, like medical and managerial. God would be with them as always, but human had to play their part.

"Our captain was among those wounded badly. Our lieutenant did not even make it back to Amba. So it fell on me, one of the two sergeants -- the other was also among the casualties, to be in charge. I really did not know what to do. I knew the Japanese would likely attack the village soon, but there wasn't much we could do about it. We were running out of ammunition and only about ten of us soldiers were still in capable of fighting. Even with the help of Amba people, there was no way we could defend the village.

"Father Jaan told me to concentrate on whatever plan I had and he would look after the wounded men. Not that he had much to start with. On the contrary, we had barely carried with us medical supplies to Amba and the only person with medical skills in our group was a sixteen-year-old boy. His father happened to have served at a hospital during the Dutch occupation. I did not know anything about medicine, but I knew whatever we had was nowhere near enough."

Karno squeezed the glass of water in his right hand. He stared blankly past the men in front of him. "Oh, I still remember vividly that small village. It's almost like I were there now." And indeed he looked as if he had been there -- or anywhere but the small house he was sitting in. "There was a lake there. It was rather big, too big for such a small village. It was beautiful, too, had only the situation been different.

"After sending one of the healthy men and one villager to our command station, some fifty kilometers away, I wandered alone and found myself by that lake. Did I tell you how secluded this Amba village was? No? Well, it was very remote. There was a river flowing from that lake and it very much separated the village from the rest of the area. On the other side of the river there were small hills and farther still a thick jungle -- where we had fought the lost battle earlier.

"I sat by the lake, looking at the jungle ahead -- half expecting anytime some enemies would come out charging to finish us off. Nothing happened and I had been sitting there for about half an hour -- I think -- when a man approached me. He came from the village's direction, so I assumed he was one of the villagers. Noone else was in sight. Everyone was aware of the terror ready to strike and tried their best to stay inside the houses, save for a handful who were on guard outside. By then all of the wounded had been moved inside the church, the biggest building in the village, in Father Jaan's care.

"The man sat next to me, saying nothing. It was quite difficult for me to communicate with the locals, different languages and all. Some men in my ranks spoke the language, of course, but I had noone handy at the moment. So we just nodded, sat side by side, and continued with our own thoughts. I couldn't help but notice, though, how every few minutes the man would look up and stare at the jungle. And not like me, who feared the worst, his gestures were those of a man who was weighing some options.

"So I finally spoke to him. Using a mix of sign language, Javanese, and Indonesian, I tried to ask him what he was thinking of doing. He said something in the local language and pointed to the jungle. I shook my head, trying to say I didn't understand. But he nodded, repeated what he had said, and kept pointing."

Father Bouten looked very interested. But he kept quiet and patiently waited for Karno to take another gulp of water. Yos was also listening intently, seemingly against his own will, but he still maintained the suspicious stare.

Karno continued slowly, as if trying to remember the smallest details. "I shook my head again and the man gave me more nods in reply, more firmly this time. He pointed at himself, then back at the trees. Suddenly it dawned on me that he wanted to go into the jungle. He must have thought I was trying to stop him. Which is, of course, what I would do anyway. We had gone in, almost forty of us, and had left with heavy casualties. And now this man wanted to go by himself.

"'No,' I said to him, 'you are not going there! Noone is going there!' I even grabbed his arm when he stood up. He looked at me almost without expression. Then he spoke to me. I know this sounds so strange, but I could've sworn I saw him smile slightly. He politely removed my hand from his and I noticed that he was wearing a simple form of bracelet with a small wooden crucifix dangling. I also noticed there was something unusual about the crucifix. One of the horizontal arms was broken. I still remember this because of what would happen later on. The man then said a few more words. Somehow I got this impression that he was trying to tell me not to worry. I was relieved to see him turn around and walk toward the village. I mean, perhaps I was just being silly and he was talking about something else altogether, but well...

"It was starting to get dark then. My head was starting to spin. I knew how these groups of renegades loved to strike after it was dark. It was by our good fortune that for whatever reason they decided not to come after us during the day, but now that the dusk was settling in, no way they would not attack."

"And by God's will," said Father Bouten, smiling.

"Sorry? Oh, you mean, it was by His will that the Japanese had not attacked the village by then? Yes, yes, of course it was, I'm not undermining His powers. It's just..." Karno shrugged. "I'm sorry, Pastor."

"Hey, don't worry about it. So, what happened next?"

"Yes, yes, what happened next?" asked Yos eagerly. Whether he liked it or not, he was beginning to admire the old man's storytelling skills. Of course, whether it was true or not was a different matter. "What did you finally decide you would do? And was there any news from the messengers you sent?"

Karno shook his head. "No, not that fast. It would take at least a few hours to reach our station. They took one of the small trucks we had, but the village was really remote, there wasn't even any real road. It was really a blunder on our end, but you know, our spirit had been so high after the Independence and our small victories, if you could call it that." He sighed. "Help, if any, would come much, much later."

Back to his distant stare, Karno murmured something and continued his story, "I told myself that we would give our best, even if in the end it would prove fruitless. So I gathered my men -- what was left of them -- and the local men. They were all afraid, I could tell, but to my pride most of them tried not to show it. And none of the villagers blamed us for what was about to happen. I mean, they had been in peace before we arrived. And now they could be minutes away from death. Because of us."

"The Japanese would have attacked them anyway had you not come," Father Bouten pointed out. "From what you said, Amba was really a sitting duck."

"I tried telling myself that. But still... Anyway, I tried to search for the man I had seen earlier among the villagers. I could not find him, so I thought he had to be inside the church, helping Father Jaan. Other than those there, all men -- about a hundred of them, teenagers and adults alike -- had gathered around me. I had them collect all forms of weapon they could find and spread around the village. I did not expect much and I knew they didn't, either. We were all aware of what was coming. Nevertheless, we were ready to die patriots. Upon Father Jaan's suggestion, we had women and children stay inside the small church. With luck," Karno looked at the Dutch priest in front of him, "and His will, the attacking Japanese would show some respect and leave them alone."

"The church had to be very crowded, then," Yos commented. "With all the injured men and now the women and children."

"Oh yes, yes. As I have said earlier, it was just a makeshift church and there were hundreds of people now inside. We had to make room for the badly wounded, so we tried our best to fit women and children inside. Those who could not get in stayed in the nearest house. It was so chaotic. Children started crying, even the smallest of them could feel the fear. Their mothers tried their best to calm them. Almost impossible since we had to do with minimal lights. The village was practically in darkness, save for the church, where Father Jaan, our sixteen-year-old medical personnel, and two or three others worked tirelessly to keep their patients alive.

"The men took their positions. We put barricades -- whatever we could find -- by the river, around the village. If anything it might slow our attackers a bit. A few extra hours were invaluable to us. We kept telling ourselves, help was on the way. With a few men I trusted the most, I made endless rounds, checking on the men, checking on things -- all the while taking anxious looks at the darkness across the river. If our feet were hurting, we did not feel them one bit."

"You are a very brave man, Karno," Father Bouten said seriously. "A true hero. All of you are."

"Thank you, Pastor. Only 'hero' was the least likely thing on our mind at that time. We said prayer after prayer that we would still be able to see the daylight tomorrow. When he was not attending the wounded, Father Jaan would lead the people in the church to pray. To sing aloud. And sing aloud they did. It touched me, how much faith these simple villagers had."

"It was Christmas Eve," Father Bouten remarked, looking at Yos beside him. "When everyone was supposed to be happy and celebrating." Yos nodded. Both of them were very much into the story.

Current music: Sinead O'Connor - I Believe in You
Current mood: happy