Readings:
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 2:13-17
Reflection:
Well, I have a confession to make. Now, this is just between me and you. I would like you to keep it to yourself. Here it is.
When I was in Indonesia last year, I visited a brothel. That’s right, I visited a brothel.
Now, I want to make it clear: the sign on the gate didn’t say “Brothel.”
It was a hot day, probably about 4 in the afternoon. I was in the town of Maumare, I thought, I’ll find a place on the beach and have a beer before I head back home. Nothing seemed open; then I rode past a place that said, “Karaoke and Bar.” I pulled into the driveway; a few blokes were working on a construction site. I said, “Buka” (open), and they laughed and said yes.
A couple of women greeted me, and I said, “Buka,” and they said no. I said, all I want is one beer. Ok, they said. I grabbed a table on the beach, and there were a number of young people there. One young lady wanted to make a video with me for TikTok, so I mucked around for a minute or so.
They all came over to talk to me at some stage. Two of the young women stayed with me, and I started chatting to them. They wanted to know where I was from. I said, Australia. They said they had never had an Australian man before. I was starting to get a little puzzled, but kept chatting. I asked what time the karaoke starts, and they said 8 pm. Ok. So I asked them do they like their job. One girl, speaking more than the other, said no. I said why, “I want a job that is Halal.” More chatting, she is from Bandung, in Western Java, which is the other end of Indonesia. She came here for work and was “forced” to work here. I said, who forced you here, she backtracked and didn’t answer. At this time, the other young woman is on WhatsApp to a man, who I presume is the boss. He was obviously checking me out. I asked one of them, what does she do in her work. “I look after the men and entertain them.” She was quite sad. A few similar questions and answers, and I realised that this was a brothel, the karaoke was a front, and these young ladies, I presume all of them, were prostitutes. I had never been in a brothel before, needless to say. I listened to them, and as she had mentioned the word halal for employment, I asked if they were Muslim. They were, of course. I turned the conversation to respect, understanding, and love for those who are different to us. They used the word “respect our differences,” I said, “No, we have to love our differences.” After a while, I said goodbye.
I wasn’t sure what to think and feel as I rode away. I didn’t feel any judgement towards them; I can only presume they were trapped by some person or circumstance that led them to be in that position. And let’s be honest, they wouldn’t be there if men didn’t demand their services. We can’t condemn the women and let the men go free.
I felt a strange warmth. I felt proud, in one way, that they had met at least one man who wasn’t there to use and abuse them for their personal pleasure.
There was honesty and integrity of who they were. This is who I am. I may prefer to be somewhere else, and, God willing, one day I will be there. But here I am, with my sunshine and my shame, my gifts and my guilt, my strength and my vulnerability.
Jesus was not afraid to sit and dine with the tax collectors and the sinners. I felt a better man that I had done the same.
Peter Gardiner is a Passionist Priest.