Interreligious dialog a must for Mindanao

By Nono Alfonso, S.J.

MANILA: Among the more serious concerns facing Church leaders in the ongoing war in Mindanao is the possibility that this might turn into a religious one between Christians and Muslims.

Already, in parishes where there are Muslim communities, ages old biases and prejudices are coming to the fore. And so, once again, the Church has been thrust into the very delicate and urgent task of interreligious dialog.

Apparently, the work of interreligious dialog and, even interdenominational dialog, is a difficult one. Yet in a diverse world such as ours, it is the only way toward peace and harmony. I had my own experience of how tough, and even risky, the work can be.

The "dialog" actually happened not with Muslims but with another Christian sect which has been known to be very critical of Catholics, more so of the Catholic clergy. It took place on a rural island in Mindanao where as a novice I was sent for a summer exposure.

I had just given a recollection to a barrio, about 10 kilometers from the municipality where I stayed in a convent with two Jesuit priests. It was around five in the afternoon. I was anxious to get home before dark. There were rumors then about groups of New People's Army guerrillas and bandits terrorizing the area. On this island, one got around on a rented motorcycle because the roads were not yet paved except for those in the town proper.

After 30 minutes of waiting, a motorcycle came into view. I waved at it and the driver stopped beside me. He was in his 40s. He looked lean and wore a serious face. I noticed that unlike the regular drivers of motorcycles for hire, he was wearing a helmet on his head, a jacket, a pair of jeans and a pair of boots. I climbed behind him and as the motorcycle sped off, I told him I was going to the poblacion. We were running slowly and after a short while, he pulled over on the side of the road and told me he needed to talk to someone. "It won't take long," he promised.

Where we stopped, there were very few houses. I saw him walk toward one of the houses where he was welcomed by a couple and their kids.

They talked for a while and every now and then the couple would look at me. Finally he bade them goodbye and he went back to his bike.

When we hit the road again, I decided to be friendly and carry on a conversation with him. I introduced myself, saying that I was a Jesuit seminarian and that I was on the island as part of a month-long experiment.

"You are a seminarian?" he asked, as if to make sure he heard it right.

"Yes," I said.

"You are studying to be a priest?"

"Yes," I said proudly.

"And you are staying at the convent in the poblacion."

"Yes. That's where I want you to bring me. Do you know Father Argarate?" I asked referring to the legendary Jesuit priest who practically founded the island in the 1960s.

Usually that question would make anyone from the island open up with stories. But the driver answered my question with silence. Then he straightened himself up and stepped on the gas.

I was nearly thrown off the motorcycle, but I hung on tightly to his shoulders. I asked him again if he knew Father Argarate, but he did not answer. I wanted to continue the conversation but I realized that it was impossible to do that because of the noise of the motor.

I also had to close my mouth to keep myself from swallowing the dust being whipped up by the bike.

We were running very fast and I was getting scared. I had ridden other bikes during my first days on the island but we did not go as fast as this one. The driver would not slow down even when we were negotiating a bend on the road. I could not tell him to go slow because he could not hear me anyway.

Several thoughts raced through my mind. Is this guy trying to throw me off his bike? Am I just being paranoid? We're almost there -- just two more barrios and I'm going to survive this ride. Oh, please, Lord.

I could hear my heartbeat as it raced with the bike. I was sweating and my skin was already sore from the lashing of the wind.

Finally, we reached the outskirts of the town. I heaved a sigh of relief. I thought perhaps he would slow down once he hit the paved road. But the driver never let up. I nearly fell off when he went over the humps on the road. Finally we screeched to a halt in front of the convent.

Still shaky from the ride, I climbed down from the bike. But before I could pull out money from my pocket to pay him, he sped away back to where we came from. "Must be a friend of the Jesuit fathers," I thought.

My knees were still wobbly from the ride when I walked toward the convent. One of the parish workers was looking out of the window. He had seen me climb down the motorcycle.

"Nono," he asked, "What were you doing on the pastor's bike?"

"Who?"

"The head pastor of one of the sects here. Is he your friend?"

I was dumbfounded. The hell ride came back to me. "That figures!"

The moral of this amusing story is that interreligious or interdenominational dialogs are possible. We have to believe that like my pastor friend there is sufficient goodwill in everyone.

Secondly, even if we have to drag our feet or do these dialogs grudgingly, these are something we must do.

In this regard, I salute the Bishops-Ulema Conferences for trying to shed light on the darkness that has engulfed Mindanao in recent months. I have one advice for them, though: Never conduct such dialogs while riding a motorbike.

-- The Philippine Daily Inquirer/Asia News Network