Journey to America
Some folks have lived a life so large it’s difficult to encapsulate their story in an article. One such person is Father Igwenwanne Fidelis. He’s a hospital chaplain here in the Phoenix Veterans Affairs Health Care System (PVAHCS). He’s also from Nigeria.
is hometown is Issele-Azagba, in the Delta state of Nigeria. Where he grew up there was no electricity, no continuous supply chain like we enjoy here, where if you want something, you can just go get it. Fidelis recounted a story where often the household would find themselves in need of an onion or some other vegetable, and since the market was days away, they would have to borrow from the neighbors, and sometimes the neighbors would borrow from them.
He described the houses of his village. They were all next to each other, one belonging to his father, the next one would be owned by his uncle, then another by his grandfather, and so on. “Growing up was very different than being here,” reflected Fidelis. “There was a big sense of community living, we were so small. The houses were in a small quarter, and everybody is related.”
So how did he get to America? Well, what took him out of Nigeria was his priesthood. He felt the call to apply to seminary and applied in secret, not wanting to upset his father.
“My father was very, very active in the Catholic Church, he was a Catechist,” said Fidelis. “He himself wanted me to be an accountant, get married, have children, all that. Unknowingly though he was the one who caused my vocation. Because in my family, every morning he would wake us up and we would pray. And as God would have it, I am not a morning person,” he laughs. “I love to sleep in. So, something happened one day, he just woke me up with cold water. I jolted up, and ‘he said you must come out and say prayer,’ and I did prayer and everything, and I was grouchy and sleepy and all that. Eventually when I got my calling to become a priest, I knew who [my father was] and that he was going to object to it. So, I told my mom, and my mom gave me money to do the in-person examination. And I got admitted. When I got admitted, it then means that I have to buy stuff and begin moving to the seminary. And my mom said, ‘you got to tell your dad, he has to pay for all this, I gave you money for the exam.’ And I thought, how am I going to tell him this?”
Fidelis did tell his father, and his father reiterated to him that he wanted him to get a good job and to become a a married man. But, Fidelis insisted and told his father that it was his piety that made him want to become a priest. It was his fault. This made his father see it as a challenge. He told Fidelis that if he goes to seminary, he must complete it, if not, he wouldn’t be able to come back. Fidelis accepted the conditions, and says that they motivated him to complete his seminary training even when he wanted to quit.
And men do quit. According to one survey by Aleteia, roughly one in three go on to complete their seminary studies, most dropping out in the first three years. Another survey from the Office of Vocations of the Archdiocese of Atlanta: 15% complete their studies. Why everyone leaves is different, but usually they see the sacrifices are steep and they realize they don’t want to make those sacrifices, but most fail to complete. After the fourth year, 79% of seminarians stay and complete their studies, which takes a total of six to eight years depending on the program and the education level before entering seminary. So, Fidelis insisting his father’s word is what kept him going on in seminary is no small thing.
After he was ordained, he stayed in Nigeria for a few years, before going to the Vatican for more education. There he completed a thesis and became fluent in Italian, French, and Spanish. After that, he visited a friend in Arizona and fell in love with the valley. As he completed his thesis he applied to the diocese of Phoenix and was accepted. During his first position as clergy at Lake Havasu, he received his calling to be a chaplain. He applied and was accepted into the school Banner Good Samaritan, and there began a new path.
“So, when I was there, I was having another higher calling,” said Fidelis. “I loved the men and women in uniform, and I wanted to serve. I looked at working at the VA, and as God would have it, there was an opening. First, I was only part time, but after a few years I became fulltime in 2021. I love serving our Veterans. You see how grateful they are, that they have a place like the VA. I haven’t seen a single Veteran that doesn’t appreciate the services they get at the VA.”
It’s hard to understate the services that chaplains provide. It’s easy to see them as simply religious service providers for their respective religion, but that’s really reducing the roles and functions they provide within the hospital. Where the doctors and nurses take care of the Veteran’s physical needs, the chaplain handles their spiritual and emotional needs. For a lot of Veterans, seeing the chaplain brings them hope. The chaplain is trained to listen to the Veteran and make them feel heard.
“One of the methods we use is empathic listening,” explained Fidelis. “It’s related to sympathy, but not so much. Empathy comes from Einfühlung, a German word. Means to feel into. It is different from sympathy. When you sympathize, you have a kind of a pity. When you have empathy, you feel with that person. Like that person is weeping, you start weeping with that person.”
Fidelis is often with Veteran’s in their last moments, giving them the catholic sacrament the anointing of the sick. A very solemn act, as it is usually done when death is near.
“I remember one Veteran, he left the catholic church many years ago and married this woman and they were together for about 30 years,” said Fidelis. “As they say in the Army: once a soldier, always a soldier. So it is with Catholicism: Once a catholic, always a catholic. The wife was surprised that during his death bed he had asked to see a priest. So, they called me, and I saw him, and I gave him the anointing of sick and he was so happy. And I gave him holy communion. I didn’t know that that was the way he was coming back to the faith. His wife approached me afterward and said that she had only heard the story that he was catholic, and she was surprised that he insisted to see a priest. And I told her that it was the work of God. That same day that man passed away. So, he was waiting to be anointed. So that was one of the turning points in the work that I do here. I see how I help these people.”
Always listening to the patient, and always advocating for the patient are two of the core functions of the military chaplain, beyond their religious service. In ways of advocating, Fidelis gives the example of a non-catholic Veteran needing counseling. Fidelis could absolutely serve in that function, but when it comes to religious rituals, Fidelis then switches to an advocate role, where he must search and find a religious member of that Veteran’s religion to provide service.
Another key moment, and a good place to close, is that Fidelis became a citizen of America in 2011. A lifelong dream of his, and one he never expected to have happen to him.
“It was the best day of my life,” he said. “My mother, who had passed away shortly before, would’ve been so proud. She was all I was thinking about. How she would’ve felt. I cried. It was the best day of my life. I never would’ve thought that I would ever be an American! The land of opportunity! It is a true dream come true.”