Muslims, Catholics and a Mission in Iran

There was a small Catholic church on Shemeron Road in north Teheran when we arrived there in 1967. We called it the Catholic Mission and went there every Friday. The Muslim day of rest began on Thursday evening, when one could no longer distinguish colors because it was too dark. It lasted until Friday evening. When I was away, installing equipment in other parts of Iran, I did my best to get home by Friday morning to attend Mass with Lucretia and the children. There weren’t many places where the Catholic Mass was celebrated in Iran. Most Catholic churches there celebrated Mass on Friday, so you could work or go to school the rest of the week.
Our pastor was Fr. Williams. He’d been a missionary in China, was arrested, tortured and imprisoned there for many years. He was very thin, aesthetic , with a gentle smile that lit up his lined face. We weren’t sure of his age and no one asked. He might have been in his 70s at that point. Fr. Williams offered Mass every Friday morning at the tiny church on Shemeron Road. The Second Vatican Council had concluded two years earlier and Fr. Williams celebrated Mass in the new style, facing the people. He used to say, “The Mass is the meal. The meal is Christ. ”
We knew he was poor; he didn’t seem to have anything to live on, and looked like he really needed a good meal himself. Naturally, Lucretia invited him to our house for dinner many times. Fr. Williams never talked about himself. We didn’t know where he was from, only that his order had sent him to Iran after he was released from prison in China. He was there at the Catholic Mission the whole time we lived in Iran. Most Americans were in the military. They came and went, putting in their 2 year overseas assignments, but Fr. Williams stayed. He was a holy man, a saintly man.
It was different when we first got to Iran, in 1967. Catholics were tolerated. Teheran was being westernized by Reza Shah Pahlavi. The Ayatollah Khomeini had been kicked out of Iran and the religious leaders, the mullahs, seemed to be afraid of the Shah. Nobody could attack a woman for wearing western clothes, under the Shah. The Iranian officers’ wives all wore western clothes; they wanted to look modern and up to date.
The Shah favored Zoroastrians; they had a free visa. Anyone of the Zoroastrian faith could enter the country without restriction. I don’t believe the Shah liked the Muslims at all. He’d have his picture taken kneeling in prayer, covered with a shawl. But he never made himself out to be a religious Muslim.
Poorer women out in the villages wore the traditional chadors. They seemed to be more religious, following Muslim customs. Wealthier people did not adhere to the Muslim faith at all. Some even mocked it, laughing at the poor villagers. The wealthy Iranians never talked about Christians; they ignored the faith. Maybe it was safer not to talk about it. We saw the contrasts between rich and poor, secular and religious Iranians, but in those days, our rights were respected. We were allowed to build up our church and practice our faith without restriction.
The hierarchy in Teheran was a French bishop who traveled around in a big limousine. He demanded money from the Catholic Mission. Fr. Williams encouraged people not to give “You can give what you want; I wouldn’t give anything,” he told us with a twinkle in his eye. He was at our house for dinner and Lucretia was heaping his plate with mashed potatoes. He was so thin. Naturally, as a nurse, Lucretia worried he wasn’t taking care of himself.
One of our American friends was a high-ranking officer. He was a Protestant, but married to a devout Catholic woman. Anyway, this officer got Fr. Williams a job as an auxiliary chaplain attached to the US military in Teheran. That guaranteed him a decent salary; it was a nice thing to do. It was the right thing.
The Americans in Iran were relatively young; there weren’t many old people. Fr. Williams would go around visiting sick people. Then we Americans built a school, a whole complex of buildings so the kids could attend religious education classes. And we took better care of Fr. Williams. He had a wonderful rapport with all the people; he loved them .
After Mass, while the kids went to CCD, we’d walk around the beautiful gardens with paved walks which surrounded the little church. It was a good time to catch up on the news, talking to other parents. That’s how we met our friend, sweet Livvy. She wasn’t a very knowledgeable Catholic, but she sent her kids to CCD. Her husband Ray wasn’t a Catholic. There was a bowling alley down the road, on another block. Sometimes the kids would sneak out of CCD and go bowling. I don’t think they did it very often. They told us about it, years later.
Out in the country, most villages were isolated. People were excited to meet Americans; they smiled and said hello. They were extremely friendly. The women wore their chadors because the mullahs came around to check on that. I think the mullahs had a lot more influence among poorer people and in the villages. But the people went out of their way to do things for you, in spite of what the mullahs ordered. They were told to stay away from Christians, but they liked me.
I worked with so many Iranians, every day. They thought I was special. We were working together on projects to help their country. They looked up to me because I seemed to have all the answers, all the time. I got very close to several people. When people get close to you they trust you and share all kinds of stories about their lives. That was when I really started to learn about the Iranian people, their warmth and generosity. They are an amazing people.