Bro. Valentino Fabris: a life for the poorest in Sudan and South Sudan

During his last three years, which he spent in our retirement homes of Verona and Castel D'Azzano, he read all the books available around, and every morning he would keep an eye at the newspapers, in order to be aware about the ups and downs of our world. But on the morning of 28th February things seemed different. He felt tired. A strange headache was confusing him and his legs had become very weak.

Then, suddenly he felt as if the confreres were holding him. They were asking him questions. But he could not understand them. He himself was also trying to tell them something, but they could not follow his new thoughts.

Then again, in a fraction of a second, everything changed: the confreres were not there anymore, and in their place there came a vast multitude of people. All the people he had known during his long missionary life had now gathered in what looked like a big waiting room that could hardly contain them all. It was the waiting hall before entering heaven.

Here Bro. Valentino became aware that in that crowd there were all the lepers he had cured in Rumbek: now they were all healthy and strong. He recognised also his workers: they were no more dressed up in rags. They were all wearing good clothes, like real gentlemen. There were also the beggars he had known, but now it was them who were offering things. Bro. Valentino was observing everything and listening to everybody. And at last he understood what was happening.

He and all the people he had known during his life were at last waiting to enter the promised land of Heaven. They were now waiting for the angel that would read the proper passage from the Holy Book, and so open the golden door that would take them all at last in the presence of God for ever.

When the angel arrived they all stood up, and the angel started reading a parable from the Gospel that is always read in heaven, before opening the golden door: "Some time ago there were many schools to be built in South Sudan. And God sent there a godly man, very expert in building. He built them all with a special attention, because they were to be the schools for the sons of the poor. And those sons of the poor he felt them as if they were also his own sons”.

And went on: "Some time ago there were also many lepers in South Sudan. And they wanted to live with dignity. So God sent them a godly man, with a big heart that would make him feel as if those stinking wounds and sores were also on his own skin. So the medicines, plus his kindness, made all those lepers clean again: It healed the wounds and brought back new smiles on their faces”.

And read some more: "Some time ago there were many people looking for a job in South Sudan. And God sent them a godly man who was a mechanic, a carpenter, a builder and an electrician. Many people learnt many things from him. He taught them all that he knew. And they always felt great to work with this man that taught them patiently the skills that were to improve their own life”.

And concluded: "In fact this godly man loved the people so much, that now God was sending them all to him, to enter together God's house for all eternity. And this is because, when someone loves so much the people, they all become like one person with him, in front of God."

While now the Angel was ending the reading and closing the holy book, Bro. Valentino observed that this parable seemed completely new to him. He had never heard it before. But the people immediately proclaimed: "This is your parable, Valentino! The parable that you wrote with your own life! A page of the Gospel which you wrote in our lives!"

Then they all at once entered there, where there is only Life, our life transfigured by the faith which enlightens us, the hope which strengthens us, and by that charity, which transforms everything. They entered together there, where all human toils and suffering, transformed by love and joined to the mystery of Christ, becomes our new life of Easter.

It shouldn't appear strange that, in order to speak of a life which indeed was very much down to earth and concrete, one should resort to figures of speech that pretends to see beyond our human experience. Bro. Valentino was a very holistic person. And for him our two worlds were often simply one, like a poem that smoothly moves from one world to the other. It seems to me that his life can be compared to a piece of poetry, written by a poet who, inspired by life, cannot be confused by the wisdom of the learned ones, a poet who can discover hints of heaven even in the middle of human tragedies, and even beyond the clumsiness of our sometimes obsolete religious stereotypes.

The poetry of a glass of water

In 2012, soon after the independence of South Sudan, we were developing the mission of Agangrial. And Bro. Valentino had been asked to keep an eye on the construction of the new chapel in that mission. While we were still in Rumbek town, waiting for a car to take us to Agangrial, one day we went to visit the Sisters of Mother Teresa. I had already been in their compound several times, whereas Brother did not know their compound at all.

As soon as we entered the sisters' compound, Brother Valentino stopped to observe the house in which the poor were now staying. He was keenly observing something that was obviously attracting his attention. After a while I called him, reminding him that the sisters were waiting for us. He seemed all taken up by his 'vision' and said, "You should know, Father, that in 1950, right here in Rumbek, I built a house for the Comboni Sisters. And I remember that in the upper part of the house I built some decorating ledges exactly like those you can see over there."

I then explained to him that was the very house which once used to belong to the Comboni Sisters, and was now used by the sisters of Mother Teresa. So those decorating ledges he was admiring were the very ones he had built there when he was much younger.

But while I was still explaining to him these things, a woman approached us. She had been looking very carefully at Brother Valentino, and now she was telling herself: "It is really him! This is indeed our Valentino who was giving us water!" Then she started dancing around him, and other women soon joined her. They surrounded the Brother, dancing and singing: "God bless you, Valentino, the man who was giving us water." They kept on singing and dancing until I had to ask them to let us go, since the sisters were waiting for us.

Then, when we reached the house of the sisters of Mother Teresa, I asked Brother Valentino to tell me what was the story that he had been giving water to those ladies. And he started telling me: “Oh yes, Father! Before starting the building of the house, I had to drill a well for the water, which at that time was very scarce everywhere. I remember that the ladies had to walk for hours every day, in order to provide for the needs of their families. So, some women started coming to us, asking us whether they could be allowed to fetch water in our new compound. But this would obviously bring some confusion in our work. So we reached an agreement that every day we would give water to the ladies, when our work was over. At 2:00 pm our work was over. So after this I would let the generator continue to operate the water pump, and the ladies of the place could get all the water they needed. And this, every single day. Even on Sundays, because people drink also on Sundays. And women must cook and wash even when men don't work”.

The poetry of common sense

We know that in the past many missionaries used to worry much about what was then called the Salvation of Souls. And we know that Baptism was considered essential in order to reach this salvation. But what to do when someone, like a polygamous person, could not be baptised? The most common proposal for similar cases was that the man in question would have to send away all his wives except one, with whom eventually he could receive the sacrament of marriage, and so ensure his own salvation.

I am not sure whether similar theories have ever been printed, or whether in some of the missions, where the question was a concern, this matter might simply have been mimeographed when needed. But it certainly has been a matter of discussion among missionaries, at least up to the time of the Second Vatican Council.

Bro. Valentino told me that it was a common matter of discussion also in the Diocese of Wau, where he had been working for several years. He particularly remembered one occasion when this delicate question was discussed in front of the Bishop. All missionaries would agree that the proposal mentioned above was the best solution to this thorny problem. But Bro. Valentino objected. To him, this proposal seemed something rather cruel and unchristian. But his objection was promptly disqualified: "Keep quiet! You are only a Brother, and did not study these things!"

It pained him a lot to remember the humiliation received, and would always express his utter disapproval for what he used to call an example of Christian barbarism, and an act of cruelty against poor women:

“How can one be told to send away his wife, after she has given him many years of her life? How can one be allowed to dispose of other people's life in a similar way? In the name of which salvation? I never understood how those people who had studied more than me could not see any better! What was it that they had studied? And what did they understand? The poor ladies! Why would they have to be sent away? And where could they go? I had understood these things even if I did not study much! But they, with all their studies, how could they not understand?”

The poetry of simplicity

One day, when he was still with us in Juba, he asked me to go to his room and help him move a shelf. On his bedside little table I noticed a book, whose title I thought rather startling: Sorella Morte (Sister Death). I thought that even an elderly confrere, before going to sleep, could have chosen a less challenging reading. And so I asked him: "But, Valentino, why don't you read something a little bit more cheerful, before you go to sleep?" To which this was his answer:

“Do you say this because of this book about death? Oh! Don't worry, I don't read from it every day. But, every now and again, I don't mind reading something from it. For quite a while now, I have realised that most of the confreres who die, are all younger than me. So, one give it a thought, you know. For example, in the evening I don't lock the door of my room any more... So, when it will happen, you will not have to force the door. I don't forget that I am over 90... When I look back a bit, I must say that everything has been just fantastic... For the rest, everything is in God's hands. And I can assure you that when I read this book, it always give me an unfathomable peace. He loves us when we live, and He loves us also when we die”.

Oh yes! It seems to me that all his life has been lived in a blessed simplicity, and with a childlike and filial trust in the nearness of God, and in the goodness of men. A masterpiece interwoven with gifts, given and received: many classrooms for the sons of the poor; decorated shelves for the house of the sisters; water in abundance for the thirsty crowds; and the beauty and joy of Sudanese women dancing and singing for him, even after half a century since they had met him first.

And to this one should add the gratitude of the many confreres who have known and appreciated him so much. And, now that he has left us behind, gratefully remember him as a humble teacher who taught us many things, without ever saying a word that wasn't needed.
Fr. Luciano Perina
Talì, March 2016