Reading Mother Teresa--Patience

I remain confident of this: 

I will see the goodness of the Lord 

in the land of the living. 

Wait for the Lord; be strong 

and take heart and wait for the Lord. 

Psalm 27:13–14 

When it comes right down to it, only Peter left the skiff that night Christ invited all of his disciples to walk on water. Only Peter.

If Peter is the model of Christian obedience – okay, he sank, but at least he got up and out of that little fishing boat – then count me among the other 11, who likely took one look at the deep water and wondered if the supplicant voice they were hearing belonged to the Master or some guy in a mask. I admit it – I wouldn’t have left the boat.

And that may well by why I feel such sympathy for Archbishop Ferdinand Périer, the Archbishop of Calcutta and head of the Archdiocese. Here’s the story he heard from Father van Exem, MT’s spiritual advisor: a slight and thin member of the Sisters of Laredo, a woman only recently, in 1944, made principal of St. Mary’s, a high school in Calcutta, has seen a vision, a series of them, in fact.

Fine. And what did that vision – those visions – ask of Mother Teresa?

Van Exem likely cleared his throat. That she quit the school and minister to the poor on the streets of the city.

Abandon her vows?

Well, alter them significantly so that she can go to the poorest of the poor and bring them, ah, love.

Now if I were Archbishop Périer, I might reach for coffee just then, or do something to bless the room with the kind of silence such a request created.

According to her biographer, Navin Chawla, Father van Exem, who entertained no pittance of cynicism about Mother’s request himself, insisted that this woman’s interlocution was definitely to be believed. “Your grace,” he said, “it is the will of God. You cannot change the will of God” {23}.

That’s what’s called “playing the God card.” I can only imagine the look on the Archbishop’s face. He was not particularly interested, I’m sure, in being spiritually blackmailed by an underling or an overly pious nun, and now Van Exem had upped the ante.

Now what must remembered at this dramatic moment in the story of Mother Teresa’s life is that the ministry at which she became famous had not yet begun, wasn’t in planning, was nothing but a vision, a command, as she adamantly maintained, from none other than Jesus Christ. It was, after all, his voice she’d heard. Of that fact, she harbored absolutely no doubt, even if others had and would.

Archbishop Périer must have worn a slightly twisted sneer. “I am the Archbishop,” he said, “and I do not know the will of God, and you, a young priest in Calcutta, you know the will of God the whole time” {23}.

I swear, I could have said that, would have, in fact – “be reasonable!” Father van Exem was asking permission to allow a tiny little bird-like woman to go scavenging on the cut-throat streets of Calcutta, by herself, charged with the outrageous mission of befriending the poor, gazillions of them, being nice, bringing Christ’s love.

The Archbishop knew it was just a matter of time before England gave India its independence, and no one – no one on earth – knew what that action would trigger between Bengal’s warring religious factions. No one could have predicted the mass migration of people across what became national borders or that the starvation would only grow worse.

The Archbishop instructed Mother Teresa not to speak about her visions or plans with anyone, then waited a year to rule, the very year of Indian independence.

And then, finally, he said yes. I understand what was going on in his mind. I’ve got more than a touch of Doubting Thomas.

Our preacher liked to say – and often too – God seems to like to work very, very slowly. What Mother Teresa knew, even though she was absolutely sure she was, at that moment, disobeying the very voice of Jesus when not going to “the holes of the poor,” was that patience was required – painful, never-ending, turtle-like patience.