Sandakan’s silent witness: St Mary’s through 140 years

I arrived in Sandakan in late 1991, young, newly posted for work, and still naïve enough to believe that life unfolds according to tidy plans sketched in advance. Like many newcomers to a new town, I found my faith bearings through two familiar anchor points of routine and reassurance – St Mary’s Church and the nearby St Joseph’s Church.
Weekends became predictable in the most comforting way. Mass. Faces. Handshakes. Post-Mass chatter. Over time, strangers became acquaintances. Acquaintances became friends. And somewhere between pews, parish halls and those unhurried conversations after worship, I met my wife. Her name is Mary.
That is when my favourite lifelong joke was born: Mary and Joseph met in Sandakan – at St Mary and St Joseph. It always draws a smile. But beneath the humour lies a serious truth: two lives crossed not randomly, but within spaces patiently shaped by faith long before we ever arrived. We did not build the setting. The setting quietly built us. And only later did I realise that this same church, now a cathedral had been choreographing destinies for more than a century before it ever shaped mine.
Recently, I returned to Sandakan and, after attending Mass at St Mary’s, felt a quiet nudge to revisit the story of this sacred hill. My family spent nearly two decades here – long enough for its history to become part of ours. With guidance from current parish priest, Rev. Fr. David Garaman and the warm help of Airene and others, we uncovered a small trove of parish memory: old reports, booklets and pamphlets – treasures that deserve careful keeping.
A kopitiam chat with young-at-heart Alban Lagan, now 91, added colour and life to those archives. His recollections alone could fill a book. Perhaps one day I will write it. For now, this is the fruit of that rediscovery – a humble piece of desktop research shaped into a story, offered with gratitude.

St Mary’s Church, Now Cathedral of Sandakan

Perched quietly on its familiar hill, St Mary’s Church – now the Cathedral of Sandakan – does not announce itself with noise or novelty. It welcomes with memory, mercy and a stillness cultivated since 1883. Long before it became a landmark, it was a refuge where settlers, migrants, students and families found belonging.
Architecturally graceful yet spiritually grounded, St Mary’s is neither flamboyant nor austere. Its interior holds not just bodies, but stories, prayers and hopes. Mass in Chinese, Malay and English forms a quiet liturgy of Malaysia itself – many tongues, one faith.
Framed by greenery and open skies, the cathedral invites both gaze and gratitude. Inside, its calm lets grief breathe and gratitude settle. Once a pioneer in education – having founded the first school in Borneo – St Mary’s remains more than a church: it is a sanctuary, a witness to war and rebuilding, and for many, including myself, a place where life quietly changed direction.

Where It All Began in 1883: A Kajang Hut on a Hill

St Mary’s story began in 1883, not with bells and spires, but with a humble kajang (bamboo) hut – thatched roof, woven walls, more kampung than cathedral. Five acres of hill land were purchased by Monsignor Thomas Jackson, and the mission was dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary.
A school opened by Rev. Fr Alexander Prenger almost immediately – making St Mary’s School the oldest formal school in Sabah (then called North Borneo). Faith and education arrived together, barefoot and unassuming.
But Sandakan in the 1880s was no gentle frontier. It was vulnerable to pirate raids, plagued by illness, and short of clean water. By 1885, fear pushed many residents into the interior. The mission and the school were temporarily closed. Even priests fell ill. One left. Another struggled on. For a while, St Mary’s existed more in hope than in infrastructure.
And yet, in 1887, it reopened when Rev Fr Byron arrived in 1886. He encountered 26 Catholics who had persevered and started to reestablish the mission. The school reopened. The mission resumed. St Mary learned its first spiritual lesson early: survival itself can be an act of faith.

Refugees, Growth and a Church Completed

Between 1903 and 1907, history arrived by boat. Waves of Filipino refugees, fleeing war in the Philippines, landed in Sandakan. Almost all were Catholics. Almost all arrived with little more than exhaustion and rosaries.
Their arrival transformed the parish overnight. A permanent church was completed in 1904 to accommodate the surge. Sandakan’s Catholic community suddenly pulsed with new languages, anxieties and shared hunger for stability.
But when peace gradually returned to the Philippines after 1907, many went home. The congregation shrank again. St Mary learned another lesson: growth and loss travel together in the life of the Church.

Girls, Convents and a Quiet Revolution

Earlier in 1891, another quiet revolution took root. The first convent for girls in Sabah opened at St Mary’s, run by the Franciscan Missionaries of St Joseph specifically served as education for girls. Four Sisters arrived not with banners and slogans, but with chalk, faith and discipline.
Long before the world spoke loudly about women’s empowerment, St Mary practised it quietly. Girls learnt to read. To think. To believe. To serve. In many Sandakan families today, the roots of literacy, leadership and quiet confidence trace back to those humble convent classrooms.

Mill Hill Fathers and a School that Refused to Die

Through the early 1900s to the 1920s, the Mill Hill Fathers laboured to keep both Church and School alive. Priests rotated in and out with unsettling frequency – some stayed a year, some two. Continuity was fragile.
In 1923, there was even an attempt to invite the La Salle Brothers to take over the school. Negotiations failed. Plans dissolved. The Fathers simply continued. It was not organisational elegance that sustained St Mary’s School. It was persistence. And sometimes, persistence is the holiest strategy of all.

St Mary’s in the Shadow of War (1941–1945)

From 1930 to 1941, under Rev. Fr. L. M. Parson, St Mary’s flourished quietly in faith, education and community life. Then war came. In January 1942, Japanese forces landed in Sandakan. Priests and nuns were imprisoned or exiled, students sent home, and the mission fell into silence. By December 1942, the Japanese ordered the complete evacuation of the mission.
During the occupation, St Mary’s Hill was transformed into a fortified military site. The mission complex became a barracks, surrounded by defensive bunkers carved into the earth. What was once sacred shelter became strategic ground.
In 1944, Allied bombing devastated Sandakan. The town was razed – and St Mary’s church was severely damaged. Once a sanctuary of worship and learning, it was reduced to ruins. When Japan surrendered in September 1945 and Sandakan was liberated the following month, the faithful returned not to pews, but to rubble.
Yet faith survived what walls could not. From the wreckage, St Mary’s was rebuilt – not merely as a structure, but as a testimony of resilience. Scarred, but not silenced. Broken, but never defeated.

The Shepherds Who Built with Their Hands and Vision

No telling of St Mary’s story is complete without honouring the long line of priests who shepherded the parish across generations. After the war’s dust settled, two longest-serving figures steadily, steadfastly and quietly shaped St Mary’s from survival into spiritual maturity.

Rev Fr. Anthony Mulders (s:1952–1970) rebuilt St Mary from the ashes of war with literal sweat and unwavering vision. When he arrived in 1952, the hill still bore deep scars of devastation. With no proper access roads, timber planks became makeshift tractor tracks; salvaged boards were reused, and building materials were hauled uphill by sheer human muscle and stubborn resolve. By 1961, St Mary’s stood again – consecrated not only by rite, but by resilience. He restored not only walls and roofs, but confidence and order, and laid the physical and spiritual foundations for generations to come. In 1970, he also initiated the first Parish Council, appointing M. P. Fabia as its first lay Chairman – a quiet but decisive step toward shared leadership.

Rev Fr. Tobias Chi (s:1984–1999) with his origin from China, then shepherded the parish through growth and consolidation. Quiet in manner yet steady in vision, he strengthened lay participation, deepened youth formation and stabilised parish structures, guiding St Mary into maturity. Under his leadership, RCIA began in 1985; evangelisation was renewed through the Glad Tidings movement; the first Annual Delegates Assembly was launched in 1986; and the Chinese Mass introduced in 1985 nurtured the growth of the Chinese Catholic community. Sunday School began in 1986, later leading to the Children’s Liturgy of the Word in 1992. Physical landmarks also marked his years of service – the Marian Grotto (1987) and the new Sibuga cemetery (1995) – quiet testaments to a priest who built both faith and foundations.
(Personal note: I had the good fortune of engaging with Fr. Tobias in the early 1990s. He was the kind of visionary who planted trees the parish only realised it needed years later.)

Together, they symbolise the twin pillars of St Mary’s legacy: hard work and holy imagination. And behind them stood many other priests, religious Sisters and lay leaders – some briefly, some for decades – all part of an unbroken chain of pastoral care.

From Missionary Hands to Local Shepherds

A significant transition began in 1971–1972, as leadership shifted steadily to local clergy, marking the emergence of a more indigenous and participatory Church. Parish life expanded beyond the sacraments into formation, governance and social outreach. The people no longer merely received the Church – they began to share in its mission.
The local priests who served after the departure of Rev. Fr. Schoor in 1972 include:
Rev. Fr. Thomas Sham (1972–1978) → Bishop John Lee (1978–1980) → Rev. Fr. Aloysius Tung (1980–1984) → Rev. Fr. Tobias Chi (1984–1999) → Rev. Fr. Francis Tsen (1999–2004) → Rev. Fr. Simon Kontou (2004–2008, 2024) and Fr Paul Lo (2005) → Rev. Fr. Thomas Makajil (2008–2016) → Rt. Rev. Bishop Datuk Julius Dusin Gitom (2016–2019) → Rev. Fr. David Garaman (2019–2023, present).
Across more than 140 years, parish priests have walked with their people from cradle to grave – through the full rhythm of ‘hatch, match and despatch’ – carrying both the sacraments and the quiet holiness of daily shepherding.
In 2007, Sandakan was formally erected as a Diocese, and St Mary assumed her place as Cathedral – not by title alone, but by the quiet authority of survival etched into her walls. With the episcopal ordination of Bishop Datuk Julius Dusin Gitom, St Mary became the seat of the new diocese, her long endurance now joined to a new chapter of pastoral leadership and mission.

Sacred Paths of Quiet Devotion and Faith

Nestled within the serene grounds of St Mary’s Cathedral are three quiet yet powerful landmarks where faith is not merely taught but lived – the Marian Grotto, the Baptismal Font and the Rosary Corridor.
The Grotto, inspired by the famed apparition site of Lourdes where the Blessed Virgin appeared to St Bernadette in 1858, is no grand monument, yet it carries a majesty shaped by countless whispered prayers, trembling candles and burdens laid gently at Mary’s feet. Built with loving devotion by parishioners and benefactors, it remains a place where rain, sorrow, hope and thanksgiving all kneel side by side.
Just steps away in the church, the Baptismal Font stands as one of the cathedral’s most theologically eloquent treasures – a cross-shaped descent into living water where architecture itself becomes catechism. Its descending steps speak of dying with Christ; its immersion basin of resurrection and new life, quietly proclaiming the Gospel through form rather than words. It reminds the faithful that every Christian journey in this cathedral begins not with status or age, but with baptismal water and grace.
And winding through the cathedral grounds, the Rosary Corridor completes this sacred geography of devotion – what was once whispered in wooden homes, hospital wards and jungle boats now walks openly under the sky. Thousands trace today what earlier generations fingered in secret. Like the Way of the Cross that climbs the slope beside it, theology here is learned by footstep, prayer made visible on the earth.
Together, these landmarks tell the same quiet truth: while buildings rise and change, devotion and faith – when rooted in the heart – endures, walks and begins again.

Paitan Mission

What many urban worshippers scarcely realise is that St Mary’s did not grow only upward into a cathedral – it also grew outward into the deep rural interior of Sabah. One of its most heroic extensions was the Paitan Mission.
Paitan was reached not by highways but by rivers, tides and long patience. In dry seasons travel was difficult; in the rains, perilous. There was no electricity, no piped water, no proper schools. Kampungs lay scattered like prayer beads along forgotten rivers.
Yet in 1985, parish renewal groups from Sandakan and Kota Kinabalu went anyway. Records show that Fr. Bede Anthonius and Fr. Joseph Liansim were the first two priests to set foot in Paitan. Members of the Jesus Christ Covenant Community remained behind to teach, serve and evangelise – often in isolation, with poor communication and without modern comforts.
From St Mary’s, priests, catechists and volunteers travelled for days to celebrate Mass, baptise, teach, train, and provide basic medical and dental care – above all, to remain present. From the early 1990s, Fr. Thomas Yip, Fr. John Mansul and Fr. Bruno carried the mission under their care, nurturing it toward stability and growth. Fr. Thomas later reflected that Paitan embodied the Church’s own transition – from the pre–Vatican II mission era of the Mill Hill Fathers to a post–Vatican II Church led by local priests and an awakened laity.
By 1994, the mission reached a milestone as trained catechists returned as commissioned local leaders. Christianity there was not broadcast by loudspeakers; it was whispered into daily survival – through shared meals, muddy classrooms and long nights of listening.
The cathedral prayed on the hill. The mission walked in the jungle. Both belonged to the same Church. The Paitan Mission remains one of St Mary’s most tender and courageous legacies – proof that the Church is built not only of timber and stone, but of rivers crossed, nights endured and people who chose to remain where the world rarely looks.

Lest We Forget

Some came by missionary appointment, others by refugee boats, still others through quiet parish volunteering but together they built not just a cathedral, but a parish culture that survived pirates, war, illness, poverty and forgetfulness.
From timber to concrete, oil lamp to LED screen, bulletin to WhatsApp, St Mary never froze into heritage; it grew with its people – migrants, traders, plantation workers, students and now the digital generation. Communities expanded, ministries deepened, processions became tradition. Yet its purpose remained unchanged: a gathering place for broken journeys and quiet hope.
When I later stood beside my wife Mary and our children, I realised our story was only one thread in a tapestry of 140 years of faith and stubborn hope. Cathedrals do not only shape skylines; they shape destinies.
To today’s parishioners, St Mary’s may feel permanent. It is not. It stands because faith once survived pirates and pestilence, because hands hauled timber uphill, because refugees rebuilt a broken congregation, because girls learnt in convent classrooms, because catechists walked for days, and priests served without applause. If we pray today under a solid roof, it is because someone once prayed under a leaking one.
If this cathedral could whisper one plea, it would be: remember those who carried the faith before us. Behind every brick stand priests, Sisters and countless lay men and women whose quiet labour shaped thousands of lives.
And so, a simple proposal: if history matters – and it does – let us make it visible and accessible. A harmonised diocesan archive of old photos, documents, memories and milestones, beginning with a simple digital file, later placed online and shared widely. Not for nostalgia, but for continuity.
For a Church that forgets its past may slowly forget its roots and purpose. With gratitude for those who walked before us, it is now our turn to ensure the next generation remembers and carries the story forward.