ARTICLE In Idaho Register 
McCall Convert finds Masses wherever she goes 
by Marge Prothman 
1993  
  
On Palm Sunday when you were receiving your palms in your parish, I was in a small hotel room in Katmandu, Nepal with twenty two other Catholics of various nationalities and a very understanding Jesuit priest. We also were receiving our palms, a little smaller version, but palms no less. 
 I was honored that day to be selected as one of the readers. The service was beautiful and I truly felt blessed. I will remember that Palm Sunday for many years to come, as I will remember seeking out Catholic churches in Thailand  and Nepal. 

My first encounter was in Bangkok, Thailand, a big Catholic Church with eight Masses on Sunday, four English and four in Thai. The sides of this church were all open to let the air blow through. The temperature was 96 degrees and the humidity was near the same.   

The church was very elaborate, and it was the only church that I did not have to take off my shoes. The American Redemptorist priest was very helpful after Mass, telling me where else in Thailand and Nepal I could find churches. The following week I was in the city of Chaing Mai in Northern Thailand and I took a taxi on a Wednesday evening to the far side of town for a seven-thirty Mass. The taxi went forever and I was let off at a group of buildings far away from any main streets. I arrived at seven p.m. and sat in a very nice church and waited. Seven- thirty p.m. came and went and still no one came in. It was obvious there was not going to be a Mass in this church.

Then a Thai man in his late forties came in, and in very broken English I understood that Mass this night would held at “the corner”. Well, the corner did not make much sense to me, so this man gets his motor scooter and puts me on the back and off we go. I am holding on for dear life. After fifteen  minutes (not just around the corner) of weaving in and out of traffic, going down dark alleys with constant honking of the horn into another dark neighborhood, I am really beginning to wonder if I made a wise decision. I am thousands of miles from home. I am on the back of a motor scooter with a person I do not know and I also do not know where I am headed, so I pray. 

About twenty-five minutes later my prayers are answered and we arrive at a Convent where it is evident this is a Funeral Mass for one of the Sisters. There are chairs set up outside the chapel, with a mosquito coil for every three chairs. The Mass was said in Thai. I was able to receive communion, but only after I  had kicked off my shoes.  

After the Mass we were all served a picnic type supper. As I was eating mine and wondering how I was going to get back to my hotel, I saw two men stand up and they were tall like a European or American. I went over to them, they spoke English and were American Priest serving in Thailand. I explained my dilemma and they handed me over to a Sister who spoke Spanish and Thai. They told her my story. She in turn took me over to some Thai people who did not speak English and they took me back to my hotel in the largest white Mercedes I have ever seen. What a exciting evening.

The next night I went to the five-thirty Mass at a nearby Catholic school some one had pointed out to me. I  walked to the chapel, kicked off my shoes and went in. There were no pews or chairs. The students all picked up a flat cushion and sat cross-legged on the floor, but along the back wall was a wooden bench on which an old nun was seated. I decided I was closer to her age than the students on the floor, so I sat down beside her. 

The Mass was said in Thai, but I had my church Missal so I knew where I was and understood the Mass until it came to the homily. However this young, cross-legged, Thai priest spoke with such fervor and passion that I just knew he was telling me to love God and love my neighbor, and I would be just fine. We went up for communion by age. I followed the old nun. It was a marvelous Mass.

From there I went trekking in the hill tribe villages in Northern Thailand where the Buddha shrines were very evident in all the villages except one. It had three wooden crosses as we entered, so I inquired and was told that this village was “Christianity". They showed me the church, a little bamboo hut with ten wooden benches and a crucifix. This village was Catholic and a Priest walks from village to village saying Mass. He would have a six to eight hour walk to reach this remote village. I think the schedule brought him to each village about once a month. We were not able to wait for him.

 These are just a few of the experiences I had searching out my church. What a tremendous uplifting feeling to know that what Catholics were doing at home, I was doing the same in the mountains of Nepal or in the bamboo jungles in Thailand. God is indeed everywhere when he is in our hearts. 
  
(Editors Note: Marge Prothman is a member of Our Lady of the Lake Parish, McCall. The convert of one year is a 65 -year-old grandmother who is an avid skier, golfer and back packer. In this piece she recounts her experience of finding Masses while she was on a six-week trekking tour in Nepal, India and Thailand)