Of weakness and strength

We most recognize God's power and grace at work in our lives when we are weak and vulnerable

By Fr. Frank Hegel, S.F.M.
January 2004

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A raging fever, nausea, diarrhea, aching bones, and exhaustion were sufficient to keep me in bed at the parish house in Chiclayo, Peru, that particular Friday evening. The other residents had left for various meetings in the parish and would not be back until late. All the lights in the house were off; usually a good non-verbal sign that said, "No one home."

The knocking was incessant. These petitioners were desperate, undeterred by the dark house. At first I ignored them. I was too weak to get to the door, and major movements, however slow, made the nausea worse.

Five minutes went by, then 10, and then 15. The knocking grew louder with each passing minute. Summoning up all the energy I possessed and holding my breath in an attempt to control the nausea, I slowly shuffled to the door. It was barely open when a flood of words emanating from several mouths washed over me: "Padre, our daughter is dying. We need you to come at once."

I attempted to explain to them that I was very ill and would not be able to make it. I placed one of their hands on my burning forehead as proof of my condition. They seemed to understand that I was genuinely ill, but their daughter was even more ill. They would not leave without me.

I told them I could not walk far without collapsing. They would support me. I pleaded that I did not have the energy to make it a long distance. They only lived a block and a half away. And what if I threw up in the midst of the visit? They would understand. They had a solution for every conceivable scenario.

As I walked along, supported by two men, one under each arm, I thought, "This is ridiculous. What can I possibly do in this condition?"

Our arrival at the home was anticipated. They ushered me quickly down the hallway and into a bedroom. Four husky men were attempting to restrain an 18-year-old woman who was yelling profanities at the top of her voice and seemed to have the strength of a wild horse.

While the men tried to restrain the young woman, her mother, sisters and aunts were wailing inconsolably. It took me a moment to comprehend the scene and the stark reality into which I had entered.

Speaking to the mother, I obtained some history of what had happened, but the cause was never divulged. I indicated that this "illness" as they called it, was far beyond my capacities. They needed professional medical and probably psychiatric help. The mother assured me that all they wanted was for me to pray with them and to anoint her daughter.

It was impossible to approach the young woman. She was still struggling, with some success, against the force of the four men trying to restrain her. In fact, I feared that the force they were applying would break her bones. Without too much thought, I calmly asked the men to let her go and stand back.

"She will rise up in fury and destroy everything in her path," they said.

"Please stand back," I repeated, "so that I can approach her."

The men released their grip and I lightly touched the young woman's arm. They were astounded at her response; she became quite calm and rational. I sat on the bed beside her and asked her a number of questions to try to determine the nature of her illness. As long as I was touching her arm, she was calm and at ease. When I removed my hand from her arm, she immediately became agitated and unpredictable.

She told me that there was someone inside her telling her what to say and do, and that this "someone" was constantly moving about her body, sometimes in her legs, sometimes in her head, sometimes in her arms, and so on. In fact, that "someone" was telling her not to pay any attention to me.

"Do you want me to pray with you?" I asked.

"He says No," she replied.

"Who?" I asked.

"The one inside me," she said.

"But this is your decision," I said. "It is up to you. He has no power over you." Then I asked, "What do you want to do?"

She struggled with her response, "I feel confused. I don't know."

"Your mother and the rest of the family are very worried about you," I told her. "They don't understand why you are acting and talking this way. They are afraid for your life."

I then told her about the Sacrament of the Sick. "The Church has a wonderful Sacrament that we offer to those who are seriously ill to help them in their healing. It is called the Anointing of the Sick. If you want, we can celebrate it with you now," I said.

There was no response.

"You don't have to do anything but pray with us and let me put holy oil on your forehead and hands. Would you like that?" I asked.

It took some time, but eventually she agreed. While we prayed, she would sporadically burst out screaming. After the anointing we continued to pray.

As I arose from the bedside to see about obtaining a crucifix, the four burly men immediately moved in and the same violent struggle erupted anew. The only crucifix available was on a rosary the mother owned. Taking this, I returned to the girl's bedside and again she became calm.

"Hold the crucifix and the rosary in your hand at all times," I told her, "and whenever you hear the voice inside speaking to you, say 'In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.' As you make the sign of the cross, ask for Jesus' help."

I placed the rosary in her hand, closing her fingers over it. No sooner had I withdrawn my hand from hers than she flung the rosary across the room with such force that she nearly embedded it into the wall.

I picked up the rosary and returned it to her, repeating my advice. She said she would try, but that the "person" inside her was too strong. I assured her several times that this was not true, that she was far stronger than this person. I encouraged her to take control of her body and her life again.

As I got up to leave, the four men moved forward to restrain her once again. I suggested that this action would only harm her, that strength rarely conquered strength, and that they must apply a little compassion. They agreed to honour my suggestion, at least until I had left the house.

I ended the visit by suggesting to the mother that there were a number of steps they could take in terms of praying with her daughter, as well as in their physical treatment of her. And I encouraged her to take her daughter to a mental health professional.

Walking that block and a half home to the parish house that night took longer than usual. I had declined the offer of support and accompaniment, which I was now regretting.

Several days later, now recovered from the flu, I thought about what type of ministry, if any, I had done that night. It seemed to me that I was so sick that I could not have done much.

But then I began to think that if I had been healthy, the end result may have been different. In fact, perhaps it was precisely because I was so weak that God worked through me in a way that would have been impossible if I had been strong and healthy. The experience was a lived confirmation of St. Paul's exhortation to the Corinthians: "whenever I am weak, then I am strong" (2 Corinthians 12:10).

After 15 years in overseas mission in Peru and Ecuador, Fr. Frank Hegel now serves in Canada as Treasurer General.

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