M AG A Z I N E O F C AT H O L I C M I S S I O N A RY WO R K I N A M E R I C A S E P T E M B E R M AG A Z I N E O F C AT H O L I C M I S S I O N A RY WO R K I N A M E R I C A S E P T E M B E R

Louisiana prison ministry stretches far beyond the prison wallsInside: Special youth supplement takes a look at the making of saints

Five years after her death, Mother Teresa’s sisters are still f lourishing

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his is my first visit to PuertoRico. I’ve been awake for

hours thinking about the day ahead. Ican hardly wait to meet the Missionaries

of Charity. This group of sisters — partof the religious congregation that Mother

Teresa of Calcutta founded — lives in the southernport city of Ponce on a hillside facing the CaribbeanSea. I’m anxious to see their work and how the sis-ters are doing five years after their founder’s death.

I arrive a little early for my appointment, and Idon’t know how well that will go over. I had set up myvisit by phone with Sister Selma Thomas, MC, thehouse’s current superior, who was preparing to move toa new assignment right after my visit. She had outlinedthe conditions for my visit: I’d have just two hoursallotted for my visit and I could not take any photos ofthe sisters or the residents.

The sisters’ policies may sound strict, but every-thing emanates from their foundress’ deep belief inDivine Providence. The Missionaries of Charitybelieve that God will provide everything they need(and, as I found out, they “need” very little). So theyshun publicity, even in Catholic publications.

I walk up to the cast iron gate in front of the HogarInmaculada Concepcion (“Immaculate ConceptionHome”) and stretch my arm through the iron bars toring the buzzer. As I wait there in the hot morningsun, I look at the eggshell-colored building in front ofme. The doors are cast wide open, and some of theresidents sit patiently passive on metal chairs on thefront porch.

All around the grounds are colorful flowers andplants that give the home the look of a tropical par-

adise. The sidewalk is lined with delicate plumeria oneither side. Bright pink rose bushes and other greenscover the modest grounds. Off to the side are the tow-ering banana, palm and coconut trees that are typicalof the Caribbean region.

After a few minutes, a petite, dark-skinned womanwrapped in the traditional habit of the Missionaries ofCharity — a white sari with a triple blue-striped trim— descends the cement steps, fumbling with her largering of keys. It is Sister Selma, and as she unlocks thegate, she reminds me, “Oh, you’re early.”

As we walk up the steps, I pull off my straw hat,my only defense against the scorching semi-tropicalsun. When we reach the front entrance to the home, Igreet the elderly people sitting on the front steps. Inreturn, I get mainly blank stares and a few half-smiles.Immediately inside the doorway is a large square por-trait of the home’s patron, Mother Teresa. I stop for amoment just to take in the fact that I am indeed in aplace inspired by this giant of our Church half a worldaway in India.

In the house that ‘Mother’ builtI had only seen Mother Teresa in the news, which

was often since she is admired worldwide for her dedi-cated service to “the poorest of the poor.” In somedeeper way, though, I felt like I really knew her. Andtoday I feel the grace of her life’s mission almostimmediately upon stepping through the doors of thishome for the aged homeless.

In the front room, several men sit contently. Someare in wheelchairs, while others play a game of domi-noes at a small square table. They all look up to see myforeign face in their home.

Story by Jessica Medinger Nelson

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Sister Selma announces my presence, and I greet afew of the men as we walk through the room. Mostspeak only Spanish, so I mutter “Buenos dias” as Iwalk by shaking hands and waving to the humbleresidents.

Sister leads me through a dimly lit hallway. A metalhandrail running along the walls aids the residents —most well over the age of 70 — who walk through thehalls. As my shoes click on the linoleum floors, I lookin each room to see the multiple, neatly made beds.Most are not occupied at this late morning hour, butthere are a few people who appeared to be bedridden.

Forty-four elderly men and women are spendingtheir last days in this home. None suffer from any ofthe serious contagious illnesses that the Missionaries ofCharity are known to care for. Rather, the residentshere suffer from the disease of the spirit that MotherTeresa diagnosed — the lack of someone to love them.They are abandoned by family members who areunable to care for them for one reason or another. Ifthis home did not exist, the sisters explain, these peo-ple would be on the street and alone.

The pungent Pine-Sol smell of the recently cleanedfloors circulates through the home with the help of theendlessly slow spinning ceiling fans. The lights are offthroughout the building, but the slatted windows letin a gentle sea breeze. It’s quite pleasant in the home,especially considering the near-90-degree temperatureoutside.

Around the corner we stop at two dining rooms.Since the men and women are separated at all times,the dining areas are separated by a wall three-fourths ofthe way to the ceiling. On one side, almost all of thewomen in the home are seated around a long rectan-

gular table. A few of the ladies have rosaries in theirhands and are entranced by their prayers. Others juststare, immersed in their own world.

I stop with Sister Selma to greet some of thewomen. I grab the hand of one woman who appa-rently had come to Puerto Rico several years ago fromIreland. Now suffering from cancer and dementia, it’san effort for her to speak to me. I hear nothing butmumbles that I cannot clearly make out, but I stareinto her brilliant, shiny eyes as if to understand whatshe wants to tell me. She squeezes my hand as I strug-gle to communicate with her.

As Sister Selma shows me the rest of the home, shetells me a little about the ailments that the people heredeal with. For many, it’s Alzheimer’s. For others, it mayjust be old age.

Doing God’s workFinally I have a moment to sit down and talk with

one of the six sisters who live and work in the facility.Sister M. Eulalia, a Missionary of Charity for 21 years,is taking over as the new superior of this house. TheIndia-born sister has worked with adults, children andbabies, many of whom had AIDS, tuberculosis, mal-nutrition or paralysis. Sister has just come from athree-year assignment in the Dominican Republic andwill now be in charge of the 46-bed home in Ponce.

“We are doing God’s work,” the short, meekwoman starts to explain in words that sound likeMother Teresa herself. “He led me here, so He willtake care of me.”

Sister Eulalia’s vocation was clear even when she wasa child. One of six children in her family, she initiallythought of joining the Carmelite Sisters. However,

‘The less we have, themore we give. It seemsabsurd, but this is thelogic of love.’

—Mother Teresa of Calcutta

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after she heard of Mother Teresa’swork with the poorest of the poor,Sister Eulalia says God called her tothe Missionaries of Charity.

Sister thought one of the hardestparts of joining the congregationwould be being apart from her fam-ily. “To join the convent, they toldme, 10 years you will not be able togo to visit [your family],” she recallsone of the many strict rules thatgovern the sisters’ life. “That’s whenI said it’s God’s wish. If He calledus, He will take care of us.”

Sister Eulalia lived with MotherTeresa for two years. She says thefire inside her congregation’s found-er can only be explained one way.“That’s a work of God,” says SisterEulalia in a heavy Indian accent.“Her willingness to cooperate withGod’s peace. We all can do that.God has called us to be holy. Hewill do His part and each one of ushas to do our part — each one in adifferent way. Everyone cannot dothe same work. Whatever He wants,He will give us a grace.”

Sister Eulalia says she learned agreat deal from her community’sfoundress. “In the beginning, no-body was doing much about thepoorest of the poor,” she says of thetime before Mother Teresa beganher work. “She saw people dying in

the street — sick and dying — soshe thought to take care of them.She was sure that God would helpher. She had nothing in the begin-ning. God helped her.”

Wholehearted commitmentIn a way, the missionary sisters’

work in Ponce is an extension of thefirst house that Mother Teresa start-ed in Calcutta after she found peo-ple dying alone in the streets.

“We’ve been here for many years,so people know about us,” says Sis-ter Eulalia. “They have to work fortheir living, so they aren’t going tosit down and take care of the older

people. They have their own chil-dren to take care of, so they have towork.”

I ask a question that the Mission-aries of Charity must hear all thetime. Since they often work withpeople who have highly-contagiousdiseases, are they afraid they alsowill become sick? Sister Eulaliaadmits that she used to be fearful ofcatching the diseases but no longeris. “God is with you every moment,”she explains so poetically that I getgoosebumps on my arm, “and He isasking you to do the work.”

The sisters receive some medicaltraining for emergencies in theirnovitiate, says Sister Eulalia, butmost of the time the sisters learn bydoing. Nurses and doctors come tothe home each week for regularcheckups, and the critically-ill aresent to the hospital.

Although this home in PuertoRico serves the elderly in a veryCatholic neighborhood, MotherTeresa’s sisters usually draw thetoughest assignments everywherethey go. “Usually the neighborhoodwhere we live is in the midst of therobbers and derelicts,” says SisterEulalia. “We choose to live in those places. Where there is no God, we

The Missionaries of Charity operate in this semitropical but poor neighborhood in Ponce, Puerto Rico.

‘I am convinced that aslong as the sisters arefaithful to poverty and

the Eucharist, and also to the poor, thecongregation will not run into any danger.’

—Mother Teresa

(Continued after the Youth Magazine)

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JAMES A. BOWEY

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try to bring God into the midst ofall this.”

Down a dark hallway, beyondthe dining area, is where I am toldthe sisters have their “convent.”Though they have this modest soli-tude, which is kept apart from therest of the home, they are just stepsaway from the residents if someonecries for them in the middle of thenight. The residents are never alone.At night, while the sisters sleep, a layworker or nurse is present. If anyemergency arises, a bell summonsthe help of the sisters.

A long day of workThe Missionaries of Charity

serve in 30 U.S. cities and in hun-dreds of other cities all over theworld. “Mother Teresa once said, ‘If there are people on the moon,we will go there also,’” says SisterEulalia.

The Missionaries of Charity fol-low a very simple lifestyle. No mat-ter what country they live in, theyeat whatever local food that thepoor eat. In the Ponce home, thereare refrigerators, cold water, fansand other things that the law re-

quires for the residents. But the sisters’ convent is much humbler.They have no refrigerator, television,newspapers or radio. This is part oftheir vow of poverty, which MotherTeresa always said was an essentialsign of respect for the poor: to belike the poor in all respects exceptmisery. “It is better to have less soyou can give it all to Jesus,” MotherTeresa once explained.

The sisters wake at 4:40 a.m. andpray for an hour. Then they do theirhousecleaning and wash clothes.They attend Mass at 7 a.m. and eatbreakfast before proceeding into themain part of the home to begintheir day’s work around 8:00.

Lay workers come in four shiftsfrom the surrounding communityto help the sisters with the residents.

All the supplies, including every-thing from food to sheets and towels, come out of a small budget.Very few donations come from thefinancially struggling community.“When we take people, we takepeople who have no means of help,”Sister Eulalia explains. So, since1996, Catholic Extension has sentan annual gift of $15,000 to helpbuy medical supplies, medicine andfood for the residents.

“We do the humble work,” saysSister Eulalia. “We don’t own hospi-

tals or big schools, things like that.Minimum things — that’s veryimportant — cleanliness, tenderloving care, someone to speak tothem, care for their little needs.”

It’s quite clear the sisters providea basic but clean and happy homefor the residents. Just looking in theneatly kept rooms, I can see MotherTeresa’s philosophy of “Cleanlinessis next to Godliness” has beenadopted in this home.

Sister Eulalia tells me as many aseight people would die in a singleday at the sisters’ home in Haiti. InPonce, the number is less — maybeone every week or two. Nonetheless,each death is a major event.

As a person is dying, the sistersgather around the bedside in prayer.“Before a patient dies, we cannot domuch of anything, so we pray,” Sis-ter Eulalia explains. “We strengthenthem while they are getting intoGod’s presence. That is our belief.”

One man had died the daybefore my visit. The sisters had beenvery worried about him because hehad liver damage and his stomachwas very swollen. The doctor toldthe sisters to feed him small mealsto prevent further swelling whichcould have led to suffocation.

On his last night, Sister Eulaliatold me, the man finished his bowl

U.S. Dioceses with Missionaries of Charity

AtlantaBaltimoreBaton RougeBostonBrooklynCharlotteChicagoDallasDenverDetroitFall RiverGallupGaryLafayetteLexington

Little RockLos AngelesMemphisMiamiNew YorkNewarkPeoriaPonce (P.R.)PhiladelphiaPhoenixSan FranciscoSt. LouisSt. Thomas (V.I.)TrentonWashington (D.C.)

WEY

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of soup and asked for more. Know-ing that this could be his last meal,he said that he wanted to die withhis stomach full. The lay helper whowas attending him gave him a sec-ond bowl of soup and then told thesisters that the man seemed to bedrifting away. The sisters gatheredaround him and began praying forhis soul.

The priest from San Jose ObreroChurch down the street arrived intime to give him Anointing of theSick. “We try to [get] everybody toreceive the last sacraments beforethey die,” says Sister Eulalia. “OurMother [Teresa] says that’s the ticketfor them to go to Heaven — thelast rites.”

The Catholic Faith, since it is anintegral part of the sisters’ life, isalways present. However, patientsare not required to be Catholic. TheFaith is not forced on anyone, butthere’s an expectation that every resi-dent respect it.

Twice a month, Mass is offeredfor the patients in the home’s small,simple chapel. Everyone praysbefore each meal, and the sistersoccasionally pray the rosary withpatients.

Serving with the sistersAfter my brief talk with Sister

Eulalia, it’s time for lunch (and verynear the time when I must leave).As I approach the dining rooms,Sister Eulalia disappears into thework of preparing for mealtime.With all the residents seated at thetables, the sisters lead both rooms ingrace. Most of the residents bowtheir heads or fold their hands, butmany maintain their blank stares.

After prayer, the busy layworkersand the sisters combine efforts to getmeals and drinks to each person.

“Do you want to help servelunch?” asks Sister Cecilia, one ofthe Missionaries of Charity I hadnot yet met. I feel really honored

Our newest saint in theAmericas would be proud

The little mission in Robbins, N.C., wants to be one of the first tobuild a church dedicated to St. Juan Diego, the newly canonizedpeasant who helped evangelize the New World with the miraculousimage of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

However, Catholic Extension needs more friends to make a$100,000 grant possible for the mission parish, which started fromscratch 10 years ago and has been celebrating Mass in a schoolgymnasium.

We need 44 more gifts of $1,000 or more in order to fill therequest. Each gift of that amount — or more — will be honored witha place for your special intention on the memorial plaque that willbe installed in the new church.

Please help continue St. Juan Diego’s miracle with a gift today!

Enclosed is my gift of:$______________ to help build the church in Robbins, N.C., or another mission if that one already is filled.$______________ to help a religious education center at a needy mission.

In Loving Memory of In Honor of

NAME OF PERSON(S) YOU ARE REMEMBERING

GIVEN BY

FOR QUALIFIED GIFTS, PRINT NAMES EXACTLY AS YOU WANT THEM ON THE PLAQUE

REV./SR./BR.MR./MRS./MISS/MS.

ADDRESS

CITY/STATE/ZIP

150 South Wacker Drive, 20th Floor, Chicago, IL 60606

phone (312)236-7240 fax (312)236-5276 www.catholic-extension.org

0-14-0902-2225

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and immediately try to be the besthelp that I can be.

I first walk over to the womanwho is serving the meals. She scoopsa rounded amount of rice on a plateof meat and vegetables. I take aplate from her and place it in frontof a waiting resident. Each personhas a tall, colored plastic cup filledpartially with bubbly soda.

After all of the residents have aplate, Sister Cecilia pulls me asideand gently says, “Come with me.You can feed Juan.”

I follow her outside the diningroom to a large room with five beds,two of which are occupied at themoment. The slender, Granada-born sister leads me to the man lay-ing in the first bed. She raises his

bed slightly and fluffs his pillow.After stirring his lunch, whichresembles Cream of Wheat, shehands me the warm, hot pink plas-

tic bowl. She places the half-fullorange plastic cup with a straw onthe nightstand next to his bed andleaves the room.

I pause for a moment and speaksoftly to Juan in my elementary

Spanish, praying that I am not mix-ing the wrong words or tenses. Hesmiles weakly as I raise the spoon tohis lips. As I begin feeding spoonfulsof the creamy lunch to Juan, I beginto wonder about his life.

The more Juan eats (which endsup being the whole bowl), the morehe perks up. I can see in his eyesthat we’re engaged in a conversationof sorts, even though only one of usis actually speaking. I can’t help butthink how Mother Teresa saw Jesusin every face she served. Am I, too,looking into the face of God?

Sister Cecilia returns after Juanhas finished his meal. She wipes hisface. I say, “Adios, mucho gusto”(“Goodbye, it was nice to meetyou”), and leave him to rest.

hat you do for the least of theseMy brothers, you do for Me.” These

words of Christ in the Gospel ofMatthew gave Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu a perspectivethat changed the world.

Born August 27, 1910 to Albanian parents inSkopje, then part of the Ottoman Empire, Agnes lefthome in 1928 to join the Sisters of Loretto, a com-munity of Irish nuns.

She began her novitiate in India and took thename of Teresa, taking her final vows in 1939. In1946 as she rode a train to Darjeeling to recuperatefrom a case of suspected tuberculosis, however, sheheard a calling from God to work among “the poorestof the poor.” The next year she left her congregationand moved to the slums of Calcutta to open her firstschool. It was here, where she taught children toopoor to attend classes anywhere else, that peoplebegan to call her Mother Teresa.

One day on her way home from school she saw adying woman lying alone in the street, half-eaten byrats. She comforted the woman in her last momentsand felt the call to minister to others who were just as“unwanted, unloved and uncared for” throughout

Calcutta. She wanted to help thepoor “not to serve Christ,” she onceexplained, but “because they are Christ.”

She started the Missionaries of Charity in 1950and two years later opened her first home for thedying. In the next year she opened her first orphanageand four years later began working with lepers. In1979 she humbly accepted the Nobel Peace Prize. Shecontinued to work ardently for the poor while hercongregation was growing in sisters and homes to carefor the outcast, sick and dying around the world.

In the 1980s, Mother Teresa’s work inspired thestart of the Missionaries of Charity Fathers and Bro-thers. In 1969, lay people joined the ministry as “co-workers” and in 1988 as lay missionaries.

On September 4, 1997, just days after her 87thbirthday, the ailing Mother Teresa died of a massiveheart attack. Her replacement, Sister Nirmala, nowoversees the continually blossoming order of morethan 4,700 sisters in 672 facilities worldwide.

In the United States and its territories alone thereare 30 homes serving the elderly, the hungry andhomeless, AIDS patients, children, the imprisonedand unwed mothers.

‘Unless a life is lived for others, it is not really worthwhile.’

—Mother Teresa

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The Franciscan Learning Center offers Navajo Indian children a solid education — if they can get to the school in St. Michael, Ariz.

Since 1995, drivers from St. Mary Mission in remote Tohatchi,N.M., have been driving vanloads of children over the 49-mile trekto St. Michael’s Indian School, a mission outpost founded by St.Katharine Drexel in 1902.

Today it takes two large vans to transport the 28 students across thedesert. However, nearly $3,000 in maintenance bills for the 1996 vanhave drained the poor mission’s budget, reports Franciscan Sister Mil-dred Speed. And now an ailing transmission has convinced Sister thatit’s wiser to replace the van than to sink any more money into it.

Can you help these children of Tohatchi Mission get safely back toschool this fall? We need $25,000 in donations to help Sister Speedbuy the new van. Whatever you send for this project in your magazineenvelope will be sent directly to help the students of Tohatchi, N.M.

Can you give usa lift?

Dear Bishop Houck:Enclosed is my gift of $__________________ to help the children ofTohatchi, Ariz., get back to school this fall.

REV./SR./BR.MR./MRS./MISS/MS.

ADDRESS

CITY/STATE/ZIP

150 South Wacker Drive, 20th Floor, Chicago, IL 60606

phone (312)236-7240 fax (312)236-5276 www.catholic-extension.org

0-16-0902-2225

As time runs outNow my time is really ticking

away, I know. But I don’t want toleave. Just being here, I can feel theradiance of God’s grace on thishome, its founder, its workers andits residents. I know now why morethan 4,700 women have taken thevow to follow in Mother Teresa’sfootsteps. It’s also clear to me whythousands more around the worldare living among the poor as Mis-sionaries of Charity Brothers,Fathers and lay workers.

This apostolate — serving theabandoned “least of our brothersand sisters” — truly responds towhat Jesus calls us to do. The Mis-sionaries of Charity don’t stop atmeeting the physical needs of thosethey care for, however. Throughtalking to each individual, providinga hug, or saying a prayer, the sistersalso meet spiritual and emotionalneeds. As my time comes to an endhere, I feel blessed to witness thiswork, even if it was only for a cou-ple of hours.

As I visit with one more woman,Sister Eulalia finds me. It’s time forthe sisters’ mid-day prayer, and mytime is up. She escorts me down thedim hall.

I pass the doctor who is finishinghis day’s work. I pass the rooms ofthe residents that now have morepeople lying down for an afternoonnap. I pass the men playing domi-noes and finally I am at the opendoors. I look out from the doors —over the houses and green of trees— and see the wavy blue waters ofthe Caribbean in the distance.

I descend the concrete steps andturn to wave to Sister Eulalia andthe residents who are sitting on thebright, sunny porch.

Though my visit at the Mission-aries of Charity home was brief, Ileave with an unshakable feelingthat I have just left a home whereJesus truly walks the hallways. ❖

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