By Father Pat Neary, C.S.C.

Before coming to Nairobi, Kenya, I spent six years as rector of Moreau Seminary at Notre Dame. One day, I had lunch with my Provincial to talk about my future. He asked me to come prepared with some ideas of where I might want to serve next. To be honest, nothing obvious came to me. It kind of left me with a sinking feeling. I had been doing seminary work full-time for ten years, but now I couldn’t see the next step. It didn’t seem that God was giving me any clarity about the future.



That lunch with my Provincial was providential. We seemed to talk about everything but my future. Finally I asked him, “What do you see me doing next?” He smiled and said, “Well, what I am about to ask you will seem like it’s coming out of left field. We need someone with seminary experience to run our formation house in Nairobi for two years.”

I was stunned. I had visited East Africa seven years prior at the invitation of a friend in Holy Cross who had been working there, but I never dreamed that I might be working there someday. It simply was not on the radar screen. Curiously, and to my utter amazement, something deep within me was thrilled at the idea. I think I surprised the Provincial too. I told him that I was open to it. He urged me to take all the time I needed to think and pray over it.

I had the strangest dreams that night. Africa entered my awareness in a way it never had before. There were so many reasons why it seemed crazy to entertain the idea. I had no experience of the culture. I had only spent ten days in East Africa. Most likely, I would have to learn Swahili. Surely there were other people more qualified in the province or district than I!



But after many conversations, prayer, and reflection, I said yes. To what do I owe this decision to go? Perhaps on one level it is due to my interest in travel and adventure. On another level, I knew that my life had grown quite comfortable the past 15 years at Notre Dame. Ultimately, however, I agreed to go because I felt that God was asking me to go through my Provincial.

When I was a college seminarian at Notre Dame in the early1980s, I was in awe of the old-time missionaries who would spend a few months of home leave at Moreau Seminary. These men had spent decades in Bangladesh or East Africa among the poorest of the poor. Their lives were no longer in America. Though they didn’t talk much about their missionary endeavors, they radiated a certain humility, simplicity, and inner peace. I remember watching a veteran Holy Cross missionary relish a bowl of ice cream one day, a rare treat for him in Bangladesh. Just the way he ate it spoke volumes about the soul of the man.

There aren’t many like him left these days. The whole notion of a missionary has changed dramatically. In former times, the Holy Cross missionary went to bring the Gospel to foreign lands and to save souls. They left the States on steamships and might not return for ten years at a stretch. They battled malaria, cholera, and typhoid, lived without electricity, and if they followed Notre Dame football, waited months for newspaper clippings from the sports pages to arrive.



There has always been a certain badge of honor that comes with being referred to as a “missionary.” That is why I laughed the other day when a friend referred to me as a missionary in an e-mail. In the traditional sense, I wouldn’t qualify. In the minds of most people, to be a missionary in Africa means you are surrounded by nomadic peoples dressed in traditional garb in a rural setting of grass huts. I live in Nairobi, a city of people where Western style dress, coffee houses, high rises and shopping malls abound. People are always texting on their cell phones. People might be surprised to realize that presently 60% of Africans live in urban settings. 



Am I really a missionary in Africa? I have a nice office with wireless internet. I have a car at my disposal. I can call my family on my cell phone for 4 cents a minute or for free on Skype. Not long ago, to make a phone call to the U.S. from East Africa required a physical appointment with an operator, who would tell your family when to expect your call. I can even watch ESPN or the History Channel if I so desire. To follow Notre Dame football is trickier, though I can usually find a game streaming live on the internet.

What does it mean to be a missionary today? At its most basic, it still means what it has always meant: a radical willingness to go wherever you are needed, to do whatever is needed, for as long as it is needed. It still means a radical openness to foreign peoples, languages, and cultures. It still means a radical love of the poor, even if the poverty is no longer that of the village.



The missionary spirit of the founder of Holy Cross, Blessed Basil Moreau, lives in the heart of every Holy Cross religious. He urged a readiness “to undertake anything…, to suffer anything and to go anywhere that obedience may call us to save souls that are perishing and to extend the reign of Jesus Christ on earth.”

That explains why I’m here. It’s that same desire to go anywhere that I’m needed. It has been a steep learning curve: three weeks of intensive immersion classes, the crazy traffic and roundabouts of Nairobi, speaking Swahili in class like a Kenyan toddler, and worrying about thieves in a way I never have before.

Deep down, however, I feel at peace and happy that God brought me here. The men in my charge are warm, zealous, and full of life. I learn something new every day. Once again I marvel at Divine Providence and how rich my life has been since I said my original “yes” to God when I first entered Holy Cross.

The ways of the modern missionary have surely changed, but the timeless mission of the Church—to bring the love of Christ to all peoples—has not.

Father Neary’s account is borrowed from two posts at the Congregation’s excellent vocations blog—well worth a read.