Father Antonio La Braca is an Italian Comboni missionary. He first left for Africa in 1972 and has been carrying out his missionary ministry there ever since. He has worked primarily in Uganda and South Sudan, where he still lives. This year, he celebrates the 60th anniversary of his priestly ordination. We had the pleasure of meeting him.
Father Antonio was born in a small village in Southern Italy, surrounded by cornfields. It was a day in May when Antonio, then 10 years old, and a friend were running along the flower-lined paths. At one point, Antonio said to his friend, “Let’s pick some flowers and bring them to the Madonna.” At the edge of the village, the Comboni missionaries had built a small shrine dedicated to Our Lady of All Graces.
They picked some red tulips and entered an empty church together. They approached the statue of the Virgin Mary, placed the flowers, and, for no particular reason, turned and ran towards the door, fearing they might be mistaken for thieves. Antonio recounts: “That’s when I heard a mysterious voice say to me, ‘Hey, Antonio, you brought flowers to the Madonna, and you’re running away from the church like a thief?'” I stopped, even though my friend was already outside. I turned and looked at the statue of the Madonna, which seemed to be telling me, “Stop for a moment, pray, say something.” So, I returned to the front pew, knelt down, rested my face on my hands, and looked at Our Lady, wondering what I should say to her.”
Antonio continues: “Then I thought, ‘Mother, being a priest is a gift, but I’m scared, I’ve never thought about it, give me a sign,’ and I ran outside. I attended a school run by nuns. One day, after Mass, the rector, a Comboni missionary, wanted to speak to me. I went to him, and he asked me if I wanted to become a missionary. I was struck by his kindness, calm, and gentleness. He was a happy man; he talked to me about Africa and the missionaries, and he gave me missionary magazines that I enjoyed reading.
“At a certain point, I felt the urge to join the meetings of young people considering the seminary. My mother, although she wasn’t religious, agreed. My father, however, didn’t want to hear of it. Only with time did he agree. These episodes with the tulips and the testimony of the first Comboni missionary contributed to my choice. If it hadn’t been for these elements, perhaps I would have taken another path.” Thinking back to those moments, Father Antonio smiles. A sense of serenity shines on his face.”
He arrived in Kampala in 1972 and, after a few days, travelled north to the Karamoja region. Father Antonio recounts: “We arrived at the mission, where I met two priests that I had heard of: Father Tupone, a great and holy man, and Father Crazzolara, who was preparing grammar books for the Karimojong language, which I would later study. The missionaries impressed me.
They were elderly, but full of enthusiasm. Brother Zanetti, also elderly, was there, enthusiastically talking about his banana, mango, and pineapple plantations. I felt at home among them. I respected and admired them greatly.”
As the days passed, Father Antonio felt it was time to take a step forward in his missionary witness. He was assigned to the Naoi mission on the outskirts of Moroto. And there he began to sense the Africa he had dreamed of. For the young missionary, evangelising means going to places where Jesus is not well known; it means awakening a need to know the true God. Being a missionary means helping people understand the beauty of the Gospel and love Christ.
He comments: “I have always appreciated personal contact and frequent visits to the villages. My main method was precisely that of “village to village” visits organised together with the catechists. But back then, we didn’t teach catechism. We simply preached the Gospel. I started walking with a backpack on my back. I would put some food in it and set out on the visits. I even counted the pieces of bread, so that there would be enough for each day of those visits. No, the calculation was always correct. I didn’t cook anything. Bread and water were enough for me. I tried to inspire in them a spirit of hospitality toward the pastor who visited and served them.”
There were difficult and dramatic moments. Father Antonio recounts an incident that occurred during a visit: “We were travelling in a car, driven by one of my confreres, when we entered a forest, and there were gunshots in our direction. I saw large stains of blood on my white cassock. My companion was spattered with blood. I felt my arm going cold. I realised I had been shot and tried to stop the bleeding: the bullet had pierced my shoulder and chest. We went to the Comboni missionaries’ house, then to the hospital. My confrere, Father Giuseppe Ambrosoli, who is now blessed, arrived. He helped me and perhaps saved my life.”
Father Antonio recounts another episode: “The guerrillas had killed a soldier near a village. The next day, the soldiers arrived, set fire to the village, and shot people. The catechist warned me, and I ran to the village. I heard some shots, but I knew they weren’t aimed at me. I went to the chief and begged him to stop the massacre. He said to me, ‘Toni, you shouldn’t be here, this isn’t your war, go!'” After a while, he calmed down and announced the operation was over. “Thank God. Since then, I’ve been in danger of being shot a couple of times, but I’ve never been injured again.”
We asked him how he sees the future of the Church in Africa. “I believe the Catholic Church will always be missionary. I also believe there are still places where missionaries are needed to proclaim Jesus. Once upon a time, when we spoke of the missions, we thought of Africa or Latin America, but now they are everywhere.” There will always be places and situations that Pope John Paul II called “new Areopagi,” where missionaries and the missionary spirit are needed.
In conclusion, Father Antonio adds, “I am currently in South Sudan, among the Nuer tribe. What always amazes me here is their complete devotion to God. They have a strong faith that, whatever happens, God will take care of it. They often repeat: ‘God exists, God knows, God sees, God will help.’ The second thing is hospitality. People go out of their way to welcome all new arrivals. When I visit the villages, the inhabitants welcome me into their huts, feed me, and even carry my backpack. They never give the impression that I am a burden to them. This is hospitality. This is the essence and meaning of community life. People take pleasure in the little things.” (Jacek Pomykacz)