Reading Mother Teresa--To be near

But as for me, it is good to be near God.

I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge;

I will tell of all your deeds. Psalm 73:28 

I’ve often wondered why God almighty points out King David as the human being closest to his heart. I’m sure theologians and academics have answers, but I’ve always speculated that the answer lies in his poems, the psalms, because even when he wasn’t connected to God (see Psalm 13), he was.

King David constantly went to God, constantly. Angry, thrilled, celebrative, envious, depressed, jubilant, unsure of himself, quizzical, thankful, joyous, or incensed – he carried all of that up to God as if Jehovah was more than a confessor or best friend or marriage partner, as if he were, in fact, God.

Here’s my speculation, take it or leave it: God loved King David – an adulterer, a murderer, a man with more moods than the moon – because David simply wouldn’t not talk to him. No man was ever closer to God’s heart because no man so consistently lugged his life’s baggage – its glories and his humiliations – to the Lord.

One more little story about Mother Teresa’s year of waiting. You may remember that, once she heard Jesus’s voice on the way to and during the retreat at Darjeeling, once she was sure herself that the voice could not be anyone but Christ, she returned to the school where she was principal and told Father van Exem what she heard, who then brought the matter to the Archbishop, who, like Van Exem initially, couldn’t help doubt the whole spiritual thing.

The idea was unimaginable – that this tiny lady hanging out on the dreadful streets of Calcutta, a place where suffering and poverty and blood came in torrents? – it was nigh unto insane. What’s more, she was, after all, reneging, after a fashion, on her own vows to the Sisters of Laredo. The request was as wrong as it was simply lunatic.

Yet, they all conceded to the proposition so that – even if it had taken a long, long time – she was finally granted permission. And here’s what happened.

August, 1948. Father van Exem is given the esteemed privilege of breaking the news to his spiritual mentee. He celebrates mass that day, then catches Mother Teresa quickly and asks her to stay behind when the rest of the Sisters departed.

She does, sensing – those who knew her say –, that finally, at long last, an answer is forthcoming. It had been Christ’s own voice after all, Jesus speaking directly to her.

Father van Exem had mentioned that he had something to tell her, and when the two of them stand stood there together, she’s the one who speaks, not him, even though he’s the one with the news.

“Excuse me, Father,” she tells him. “I will pray first."

There. That’s David, bringing absolutely everything – his fears, his joys, his excitement. She brought it all to the Lord.

One more thing, as much a delight.

Father van Exem tells her that a reply from Rome had been received and her wish and her prayer was granted.

Immediately, she said, “Father, can I go to the slums now?”

Immediately. First crack out of the box.

She was ready.

Praise the Lord.