Mutter Theresa

           We are in search of an apostolate. Normally in the Heart's Homes, the missionaries have one fixed place where they go once a week to visit/help/etc.; a place like a hospital, an old folks home, an orphanage, a specialized clinic for AIDS or Cancer. So we are in search of where exactly God wants us every week in Vienna. 

          The week before Fr. Jacques arrived, Alina and I went to the Soup Kitchen of the Missionaries of Charity in Vienna (Mother Theresa's order). We arrived a little late because we got lost and thus were swept right into serving food, clearing plates, refilling plates and water glasses, cleaning dishes, and handing out bread. I do not have a lot of experience in soup kitchens and homeless shelters, but enough to know the basics of what to expect and the respect for people you should naturally have as well as the boundaries you should maintain. Yet, I cannot describe to you the feeling I experienced when I walked from the kitchen into the dining room and in an instant my heart was torn in two--half was jumping out to embrace all these people I saw, hungry for soup and bread, salad and tea, but also for dignity and love--the other half was jumping deep down inside of me, digging a hole, looking for protection because the majority of the people in the room were men, and for some reason, as soon as Alina and I walked in, the stares and leers cast our way were handicapping. It definitely has something to do with the fact that we were the only young girls there, that we were not wearing nun habits, and we were showered and taken care of. But as I went around the tables to clear plates, ask if they wanted seconds, take their bread baskets to bring them more bread, I could feel myself being reduced to an object, not by all of the people there, but by a select few that particularly made sure they made my acquaintance. It is handicapping to desire so much to give love to people-to simply sit down, look someone in the eye and ask how they are doing today, what their name is, if they would like something more to eat-and yet to have this fear that arises inside of you and takes great effort to overcome in order to merely look them in the eye, to smile at them and hope that in doing so you will not provoke anything that violates you or makes you feel more vulnerable that you already are. 

Naturally, there were a couple things that didn't catch me off guard was the group of older men in the back corner who kept asking for more bread just so they could keep asking me questions like: "Are you married?" To which I replied, "No." "Are you engaged?" To which I replied, "Yes, I'm engaged to Christ." (not really true but close enough for my time here in Vienna) Then he asked, "Do you have kids?" To which I just started laughing and had to walk away. I don't think he understood who exactly Christ is. 

There was also another man who asked me what I was doing after dinner because he wanted to go somewhere to practice his english with me. I sat down and said, "We don't have to wait, we can practice here. I'll start. How are you?" He just looked at me really confused, and then asked "So we go somewhere together after?" 

When everyone was finished eating I went into the other room to start collecting trash and breaking down all the cardboard boxes...a happy reprieve from the stares. It was there that I got to know Katarina and Sebastian--they are a brother and sister from Kosovo. Katarina is married to an Austrian and has two sons--Michael who is 12 and Alexander who is 8. Her brother, Sebastian, is visiting to look for work in Vienna. We spent about 45 minutes getting to know one another while Sebastian helped me break down the boxes. Katarina told me I am not allowed to come help at the Mutter Theresa house again without calling her and telling her I would be there and then coming to her house for coffee after serving the dinner. :)

My favorite part didn't involve me that afternoon though. When I went to find Alina, the name she was talking to was just leaving. She looked at me holding out a red book with the picture of Padre Pio on the cover. "Look! He gave me a prayer book of Padre Pio! And is smells like vodka!" She smiled, we laughed, and we got our things to leave. 

You know what is cool...she reads that book everyday, and prays for that man. 

...

       Later at the apartment, the three of us were sitting in the kitchen talking about the day and we were unloading all our questions, worries, experiences onto Mutti Monika about our afternoon with the Missionaries of Charity. And she told us this story...

she used to live close to this house of the Missionaries of Charity, so once in a while she would go to their chapel for adoration and mass. The friends from the street would always be invited to mass on Sunday with the sisters, and it happened to be on a Sunday that Monika was there. When everyone got up to go to communion, the homeless man sitting next to her didn't get up to go to communion so Monika asked him, "You aren't going to communion?" And he lifted his open palms to examine them, and then showed them to Monika and simply answered, "No, my hands are dirty."