Legendary Missionary in Mozambique:
Father Aldo Marchesini, SCJ

Fr. Aldo Marchesini, SCJ

Fr. Aldo Marchesini, SCJ, has become a mission legend. Despite great personal danger he has emptied himself to benefit the neediest and poorest on the African continent and continues to do so to this day.

Born in 1941 in Bologna, Italy, he completed the program of study there required by the local Faculty of Medicine and Surgery. In 1962 he entered our SCJ Congregation and was ordained a priest in 1969.

After obtaining his doctorate in medicine, he set about getting ready for a medical-missionary apostolate by attending courses in tropical diseases at Bologna and Lisbon. In 1972, he left for Africa. He spent two years in Uganda to specialize in surgery. Then in November 1974, he arrived in Mozambique and began his intense activity in the hospitals of Mocuba, Songo, Tete, and from 1981 until the present; at Quelimane.

While there he was witness to all the decisive events in the history of Mozambique, from the short-lived euphoria resulting from achieving Independence (1975) to the tragic experience of the civil war which scattered destruction and massacres throughout the country for more than ten years. Kidnapped and imprisoned a number of times by rival groups, he ran the risk of being killed. His life was spared because he was useful to all sides as a medical surgeon.

From October 1992 onwards, an atmosphere of reconciliation and peace has returned. Under such circumstances the work of Fr. Marchesini is greatly appreciated by the sick of every kind and in reestablishing hospital work. He is one of the most highly esteemed doctors in Mozambique. The mass media of Southern African generally refer to him as the "Doctor Schweitzer of Today."

In 2001, Father Aldo was aware the Cuore Amico (Friendly Heart) award which is given to Italian missionaries in recognition of their exceptional service in third world countries. The prize is awarded annually to a priest, lay person and a sister for outstanding achievements in their ministry.

The following is taken from the acceptance speech for the Cuore Amico award by Father Aldo, SCJ, on October 6, 2001, in Brescia, Italy.

There are some phrases in Scripture which follow us throughout our entire life, returning to ring in our hearts throughout the years. One day, Jesus spoke to a rich pharisee who had invited him to eat in his house: "When you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous" (Luke 14:13-14).

I think that few words of Jesus are more real than ever in the missionary life. The blessedness which is discovered is not that which one might imagine - it does not consist in feeling oneself selfless and magnanimous, rich in mercy. Rather, it consists in discovering that we who prepare the table are creatures with empty hands, just like those whom we invite. It is not that we could feed someone who is poor, but that we sat down together and ate the same food. The fact that they cannot pay us back is the great reward which the Lord gives us - the gift of recognizing that there is nothing to be paid back since we are all poor and we are simply fulfilling our duty. I would like to illustrate the truth of Jesus's words with a few stories.

The first occasion happened in Uganda a short time after I arrived there. I was in the hospital of Kalongo where I went to study surgery. I was passing the pediatric ward when I heard a nurse calling me. There was a baby with whooping-cough. The baby was going through a terrible attack at that moment.

What to do? I felt myself impotent. I took the baby in my hands and sat down on the bed. The baby was about one year old. He was struggling to breathe and I tried to provide oxygen. The baby had another coughing attack and nothing we did could stop the coughing. The baby was turning purple. How could I help him? It was impossible. Gradually the baby stopped breathing and we tried to revive him with mouth to mouth resuscitation and cardiac message. Nothing helped. The baby was dead.

The baby was the first person I had ever seen die and he died in my hands. It was the first time that I tried to save someone from death and I failed. I could not say anything. The nurse who was helping me was also speechless. Then I heard quiet weeping - it was the older sister of the baby who placed the baby on her back in the way African women do. She packed up a few things and, without saying a word, crying in silence, went home.

A few years later, I was in Songo, in Mozambique, where I was the only doctor. I had to take care of every case. A few days before, a young man in his twenties, looking like a walking skeleton, arrived in the tuberculosis ward. His name was Matthew. He coughed a lot and the coughs seemed to come from deep in his lungs. From time to time, he spat blood. His strength was leaving him. He spoke with a soft voice which was clear even though he was near the end of life.

One morning, he called me and whispered in my ear. "Am I going to live?" Then he added, "I am Catholic. I would like to receive communion." This was during the dark years of the civil war. The authorities closed the Church of Songo and I emptied the tabernacle, transferring the Eucharist to my home. We were forbidden to celebrate Mass in the presence of the faithful and to worship outside Church. Christmas was a work day.

"O.K.," I told him. "Do you also want to go to confession and be annointed?" He said yes. He made his confession right away. Because of his serious condition, he was in a room with only one bed. At midday, I brought him communion and celebrated the sacrament of the Annointing of the Sick. No one saw or know what happened.

I stopped to visit him before going home for dinner. He was happy, even though he confided that his parents were dead and other family members showed no interest in him. He was alone in the world. I told him that we in the hospital would take care of him. He waved good-bye in silence.

At midnight, the telephone rang. It was the nurse. She told me that she thought Matthew was dying. I got up and went to see him. I knew that I could do nothing and that I would be dead-tired in the morning. But I went because I was the only person in the world who mattered for him. When I entered his room, he was already dead. Matthew died alone. I knew that running to see him was the most important thing I could have done for him.

Katia was a young mother of 18 years in Quelimane. She was recovering from a severe case of peritonitis. She arrived when I was in the emergency room and I operated on her. Even though her condition was very grave, the operation went well. But, two days later, she had a relapse: violent pain, high fever, and symptoms of septicemia. No matter what I tried to do for her, her condition worsened. She fell into a coma. I did not want to operate a third time because I did not think she could survive it. I continued to treat her with antibiotics and watched over her constantly. I saw her gradually slipping away and resigned myself to seeing her die. A few days later, to the great surprise of everyone, she began to recover. Gradually, her health returned and after three weeks she was able to return home.

How did this happen? I will never know.

I have reflected a lot on these things and I think I have discovered meaning in them, a meaning which makes it worthwhile to continue. In his second letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul says that "Christ became poor though He was rich, so that by His poverty you might become rich" (8:9). He has made us rich on this earth, not so much with His divine richness as much as by His poverty. That is, by renouncing His power as Son, by coming to live with us. Our richness consists in this, that the Son of God, Jesus Christ, came to live in the midst of us, poor like us. And He wishes to remain poor and impotent unto the end, dying without glory and almost without friends on the cross, having abandoned everything into the hands of the Father.

As long as we remain on the earth, our true and only richenss will be that of being participants in the poverty of Christ; and the only way to save others will be to offer them our poverty. This poverty is simple. It consists in sitting down with our brothers, without offering anything but our solidarity and in confiding everything to the merciful and infallible power of God our Father.