Today on Facebook someone posted a piece written by Mother Teresa which made me realize that she truly was a saint on earth. The story is how she encounters an old, dirty, sad old man living in squalor conditions, She offered to clean up his home and he said, "Why? No one comes to see me." She convinced him that he would feel better and proceeded to clean up the house. As she cleaned she found a filthy lamp and asked him if she could clean up the lamp and light it. Again, his answer was, "It's been years since that lamp was lit. Why bother, no one comes to visit me." She asked if she could arrange for the nuns to visit him every evening, would he then light his lamp. He agreed and every evening when the nuns would visit him, they found the lamp lit. Years went by and Sister Teresa had forgotten about the man when she got a note from him: Thank you. Every evening, I am still lighting my lamp.
Her story brought an experience to me of when I visited a mission in Hermosillo, Mexico. A priest from Colorado along with four volunteers lived there and some of their duties were to help in teaching catechism, helping around the church, giving cooking classes and visiting the poor. I joined the volunteers and it was a delight teaching the children outdoors since there weren't any classrooms. Helping the priest prepare for mass was also an easy task. While visiting a woman's prison I met interesting women, though some were tough and used rough language. I took a photo and some made gang-like signs with their fingers. Going to homes to pray the rosary with the neighborhood people let me see how religious they were and also to see their generosity. Many lived in hovels, dirt floors, no refrigeration, and out-houses. After the rosary, they brought out cookies and coffee and had a social hour discussing what was happening in their lives. Most had a great sense of humor and I marveled at how carefree and happy they seemed to be because I could see they did not have much.
One day, a volunteer asked if I wanted to go with her to visit a man and his wife. She was going to take some food and give them communion. I went with her and when she knocked on the one room home, I got a huge shock. Out came a filthy man who looked as if had never bathed. It looked as if someone had taken charcoal and outlined every wrinkle in his face. His white hair was matted. His teeth were black. His hands and fingernails looked as if he worked in a coal mine. His clothing was dirty. The smell emitting from him was strong.
Looking in through the door, which was the only source of light, I could see a mattress on the floor with a woman in the dark lying on the mattress. The volunteer said to me, "Come on in." I could see there was no room because the mattress took up most of the space in the room. I said, "I'll wait for you out here." The man had a small fire going in the front yard and a small pot over the fire. He offered me some coffee and I told him I did not drink coffee. I did not want to hurt his feelings and I explained that my father never let us drink coffee when we were children and I had never gotten the habit. He poured himself some coffee in a dirty cup. He told me about a son who lived somewhere in Mexico and how the son never came to visit them. He mentioned that he took care of his wife and since the outhouse was on the hill she sometimes couldn't make it. I asked him why the outhouse was so far away. He smiled and wrinkled his nose as he said, "El olor." (The smell.)
What does this story have to do with Mother Teresa's story? It is my reaction to a similar situation. All I could think of was that the volunteer should hurry up so we could leave. I feel ashamed when I think about my thoughts as I looked at the man squatting on the ground drinking his coffee. Leaning against a wall, I saw a chair and I brought it to him so he could sit down. I went through the motions of helping but my mind did not want to be there. I was polite, but I did not want to be in such a sad and depressing place. My thoughts were that no one should have to live under those conditions and how unfair some people had it. Even the thought, what if it was Jesus in front of me, did not make me want to get any closer or enter the room to be with the volunteer. I kept thinking, what kind of volunteer am I? My heart knew what to do, but my mind rebelled. I knew that until I could get both my mind and my heart on the same page, I would never be a true volunteer!
I believe that Mother Teresa is a saint!
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