Remote

Isolated but not abandoned

 
When Rhode Island native Pat Tam first came to Alaska with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps 28 years ago, his village on the Bering Sea had no indoor plumbing, no heating systems save for wood stoves, and hardly any roads to anywhere.
Today, indoor plumbing has replaced the "honey bucket" Tam used in Emmonak (pop. 800), and the Yup'ik Eskimos in the surrounding villages have cable television and internet access. But there still are no roads to link the villages - or the outside world.

In a state spotted with tiny fishing villages and lumber camps, the isolation alone poses huge obstacles to ministry. Tam knows this as director of adult faith formation for two dozen villages in the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, a rugged wedge of land named for the two major rivers that run through it.

The Fairbanks Diocese's 14,500 Catholics are scattered across 409,849 square miles. The mostly Native Yup'ik villages that Tam serves range in size from 200 to 900 people, with Catholics living elbow-to-elbow with an eclectic mix of faiths, from Russian Orthodox to evangelical Christian.

In a curious way, the dichotomy between the region's geographic isolation and its new high-tech links to the rest of the world have made Catholics in "bush country" realize what they're missing compared to the rest of the Church, Tam says.

‘Why can't we practice it?'

At a retreat in the village of Kalskag, Tam asked some of the Yup'ik elders how often they saw a priest when they were growing up. "Once or twice a year," echoed many. It's still not uncommon for some villages to go months between visits, he adds.

Emmonak has been without a priest since a Nigerian missionary left in July. "Being out here was too much of a change for him in terms of food and climate, and he left," explains Tam.

It leaves these Alaskans who watch daily Mass on EWTN more than a little wistful, and even a little jealous, of what Catholics elsewhere have, Tam observes. "The reaction of some of the Yup'iks is, ‘You [missionaries] brought the Faith to us. Why can't we practice it?'"

But with roughly five dozen priests to cover this entire state, laypeople have begun to step forward and be involved in ministry. Many of the villages are served by deacons and Eucharistic ministers who lead Sunday prayer services, teach the children and bury the dead.

And almost 1,200 miles from the pastoral center in Fairbanks, travel to find and train them is a hardship, though. Snowmobiles aren't for joy-riding here: they're an essential but sometimes deadly mode of transportation in winter. "Just a few weeks ago, we lost a guy whose snow machine fell through thin ice," Tam reports.

The diocese converted a former mission school in the village of St. Mary's, about 100 miles upriver from Emmonak, into a regional retreat and workshop center, including a Native Ministry Training program, which Catholic Extension aid helps to support.

The cost of bringing in people from the outlying villages for these programs can be substantial, says Tam. "Whether I'm traveling out to a village, or people are coming into St. Mary's, it's a challenge for us to pay for it."

Tam offers a heartfelt Yup'ik thank-you, "Quyanarpiit-lli!" for the aid that keeps the Church present for Catholics in these remote outposts.

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