|
When you walk down the street of any bigger city or even any campus town, if you look, you will notice human shadows leaning on the walls of some buildings. You will notice the slow walk of crumpled figures whose identities are covered in beard, long hair, and damp clothes. Their faces are dark and dirty from things only street lamps and signs dim. They smell from lack of hygiene, they seem and might be drunk, but are most likely mentally or physically ill, drugged, beaten, left alone. They are the same people as you and I are, only living under slightly different conditions. This summer I found myself in Washington D.C. Mainly because my wife is a law student, and this summer she interned with the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights in Washington DC. But, it could be that I also had something special waiting for me there. Washington is a wonderful city, full of arts and culture, natural and man-made beauties that cannot be seen in the Midwest, a great number of international diplomats, and a swirl of political organizations and institutions that keep the city rumbling with importance. However, depending on your interest, Washington also offers a different, more spiritual experience. A great number of people visit the National Cathedral, with a neo-gothic architecture that is spectacular for this side of the world. Catholics visit the North America's biggest pilgrimage site, the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, where one can spend weeks admiring the wonderful mosaics of our Lady, and enjoy the spiritual richness of the place. Not too far from the Shrine, there is a magnificent Franciscan monastery whose gardens make you feel as if you were in the south of France, and not in the east part of the city. Not too far from the monastery, there is another, even more beautiful place, the Gift of Peace Hospice. There, I spent 3 or so days per week, serving the poor, and working with Angels. The Missionaries of Charity, better known as the sisters of the order founded by soon-to-be sanctified Mother Theresa, run a fairly large house called the Gift of Peace Hospice, in the North East part of DC. The order was first started in Calcutta by Mother Teresa with a goal to spread love and care for the destitute, abandoned, and dying of all classes, races, and religions. The house in Washington, DC, is a home to some 40 residents, and is a convent to approximately 60 nuns. The nuns, usually called "sisters," with the help of volunteers, reach out to the poorest of the poor, bringing them into their premises and looking after them with great love, providing a home for the homeless and the dying, a place to die with dignity. Residents are men and women, somewhat physically or mentally ill who have been misplaced, abandoned by various institutions, if not by their own families. It is with great privilege that I can write about my experience with the sisters, the volunteers, and the residents, for I consider all of them to be living angels. The little work I have done for the Hospice was something that either a 10- or a 70-year-old person would successfully be able do. I loved starting my days by greeting the residents whom I could find sitting in a large living room or on the terrace that looks over a flower and vegetable garden. Just a little "hello, how are you" was sometimes sufficient, while other times I would have the privilege of listening or sharing a personal story about life, faith, family, hobbies, or any other thoughts we had on our minds at that particular moment. Except for the dazed sound of the radio, the common room area would become a bit more silent after we served lunch to residents. Noon heat would drag everybody inside, and most of the residents took rest while some joined in the silent prayer at the small chapel in the room next door. In addition to finding rest and joy, the chapel was a place where I would meet with other volunteers before having lunch at the kitchen. Eating the delicious food the sisters prepared for all of us, but most of all, sitting and sharing a conversation with the volunteers, was my favorite part of the day. Most of us volunteers had different cultural backgrounds, different careers or lifestyles, and were there for different periods of time. Some of us accidentally collided at the same place and at the same time for no particular reason but to help one another by helping the less fortunate. How rewarding it is, to be accepted by those sisters who are nothing else but living angels covered in their white cloth, living in poverty, chastity, and obedience, to serve the poorest of the poor, treating them like brothers and sisters of their own? Oh, I cannot express how rewarding it is. Words of such divinity do not exist to describe the joy one feels for just breathing the air of goodness, and love. One can take many paths to find happiness in this world. Helping the poor, helping the old and young, helping by even only sitting down by someone who sits alone, is a great way to start. Too often we take things for granted, and too little do we care. They are the same people as you and me are, only living under slightly different conditions. |