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Susan and Mama Teresa |
PALM SUNDAY 2015
The moment I opened the door at 9am to leave for the Palm Sunday procession I knew I would need my umbrella. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was like opening the door to an oven. A large group of mostly young people had gathered at the school about a half a mile from the Cathedral and we followed our new Archbishop down the main street. I had my umbrella in one hand and palms in the other. The youngsters moved ahead and I looked back to find Mama Teresa all by herself, the last one behind all the rest of us. Behind the both of us was a police officer whose job it was to see that we arrived safely.
She had an umbrella but was using it as a walking stick. So I lagged back and shielded her with my umbrella. We have met at Mass, which she attends daily, but this was my first chance to 'visit' with her. She didn't seem to mind my array of questions. She was born 81 years ago in Nairobi but moved to Mombasa when she got sick and couldn't take the cold weather of the highlands during the rainy season. She was shot in the foot during some of the demonstrations during independence in the early 1960s. Now she lives in a building for 'old people' which is owned by one of the priests. When I told her I was a lay missioner she perked up and said, "Just like me. All I need is a place to live and food to eat. Otherwise I live my life for Christ." She has a reputation for being cantankerous but, that day, I was inspired by her faith and commitment. Imagine walking half a mile in the blazing sun on a damaged foot at the age of 81...to follow Jesus!
Last month we sent a three year old boy, Clinton, to Nairobi for a mass on his nose. He was born with a small pimple over the bridge of his nose and lived on the other side of Kenya, about 900 miles away. Someone referred him to the big medical center on that side but he didn't go due to lack of money. Last year his father died and his mother disappeared. The grandparents were caring for him and they had moved to a slum in Mombasa looking for a way to survive. Clinton would not say one word to me because he was in pain with pus dripping out of two sinuses, one on each cheek at the edge of the mass. Surly he had heard many insults from others and was afraid of what I was going to do. He was one of the saddest little boys I had seen in the clinic.
I sent pictures of his nose to a friend who is an Ear, Nose and Throat doctor. He gave me a good idea of the possible causes. I had done a CT scan and included all these details in my phone call and referral note. When Clinton was examined at the mission hospital in Nairobi they said they couldn't help him and suggested he go to the big national hospital. My experience with that institution is replete with long delays and repeated requests for more money. Since I was paying the costs from my ministry account I wasn't prepared to entertain an unknown number of demands for bribes.
So I sent him along to another mission hospital three hours down the road. They welcomed him warmly and did the surgery promptly. Afterwards he was happy and playing with other children while recovering from the surgery. The wound kept leaking fluid and after a couple of days the surgeon took him back to the operating room to try to stop the leaking fluid. During the procedure his heart stopped and although they revived him he died two days later.
This is a Holy Week to reflect on life and death. Clinton's death shocked us all and devastated his grandparents. The cost of taking his little body back to the other side of the country was almost as much as the medical costs. In total over $900 went out of my ministry account. I know the grandparents were grateful for this assistance but nothing can help their grief in losing a little boy who had finally gotten the treatment he should have had long before. He suffered because of their poverty. He died most likely because of a problem with the anesthesia. I take some comfort in knowing that, for a few days, he was free of pain, happy and enjoying playing with other children.
Tomorrow we will begin the Triduum, the three most important days of the Christian year. I will be remembering how much Clinton suffered during his short life, because of poverty and our inability to insure that those in need get the basic rights they deserve. I'll also be thinking about Mama Teresa and her commitment to follow Jesus who died such a horrible death. What does it mean to follow such a man? Am I ready to face the challenges and pay the price?
Let's keep our eye on the hope of the resurrection. Let us follow Jesus, and Mama Teresa and Clinton, with all our hearts. Let us be people of faith, hope and...most importantly love.
She had an umbrella but was using it as a walking stick. So I lagged back and shielded her with my umbrella. We have met at Mass, which she attends daily, but this was my first chance to 'visit' with her. She didn't seem to mind my array of questions. She was born 81 years ago in Nairobi but moved to Mombasa when she got sick and couldn't take the cold weather of the highlands during the rainy season. She was shot in the foot during some of the demonstrations during independence in the early 1960s. Now she lives in a building for 'old people' which is owned by one of the priests. When I told her I was a lay missioner she perked up and said, "Just like me. All I need is a place to live and food to eat. Otherwise I live my life for Christ." She has a reputation for being cantankerous but, that day, I was inspired by her faith and commitment. Imagine walking half a mile in the blazing sun on a damaged foot at the age of 81...to follow Jesus!
Last month we sent a three year old boy, Clinton, to Nairobi for a mass on his nose. He was born with a small pimple over the bridge of his nose and lived on the other side of Kenya, about 900 miles away. Someone referred him to the big medical center on that side but he didn't go due to lack of money. Last year his father died and his mother disappeared. The grandparents were caring for him and they had moved to a slum in Mombasa looking for a way to survive. Clinton would not say one word to me because he was in pain with pus dripping out of two sinuses, one on each cheek at the edge of the mass. Surly he had heard many insults from others and was afraid of what I was going to do. He was one of the saddest little boys I had seen in the clinic.
I sent pictures of his nose to a friend who is an Ear, Nose and Throat doctor. He gave me a good idea of the possible causes. I had done a CT scan and included all these details in my phone call and referral note. When Clinton was examined at the mission hospital in Nairobi they said they couldn't help him and suggested he go to the big national hospital. My experience with that institution is replete with long delays and repeated requests for more money. Since I was paying the costs from my ministry account I wasn't prepared to entertain an unknown number of demands for bribes.
So I sent him along to another mission hospital three hours down the road. They welcomed him warmly and did the surgery promptly. Afterwards he was happy and playing with other children while recovering from the surgery. The wound kept leaking fluid and after a couple of days the surgeon took him back to the operating room to try to stop the leaking fluid. During the procedure his heart stopped and although they revived him he died two days later.
This is a Holy Week to reflect on life and death. Clinton's death shocked us all and devastated his grandparents. The cost of taking his little body back to the other side of the country was almost as much as the medical costs. In total over $900 went out of my ministry account. I know the grandparents were grateful for this assistance but nothing can help their grief in losing a little boy who had finally gotten the treatment he should have had long before. He suffered because of their poverty. He died most likely because of a problem with the anesthesia. I take some comfort in knowing that, for a few days, he was free of pain, happy and enjoying playing with other children.
Tomorrow we will begin the Triduum, the three most important days of the Christian year. I will be remembering how much Clinton suffered during his short life, because of poverty and our inability to insure that those in need get the basic rights they deserve. I'll also be thinking about Mama Teresa and her commitment to follow Jesus who died such a horrible death. What does it mean to follow such a man? Am I ready to face the challenges and pay the price?
