Christof

I gasped and stopped in my tracks just having stepped off of the escalator descending into the Schottentor U-Bahn Station. I was busy telling Ulli * how cold I was and how much I couldn't wait to get home after spending 4.5 hours in an unheated Church (like all Church's in Vienna) as well as outside greeting people in the street and inviting them inside to hear music, light a candle, and take time on a Saturday night to say a little prayer. Here, they call it Nightfever**.

I saw him fall backwards and seem to slam his head on the bench behind him, eyes no more than slits, beer can crushing under the pressure of his hand muscles bracing against the impact. I saw it out of the corner of my eye and gasped, every muscle in my mind oriented in his direction, wanting to reach out an catch him.

I looked at Ulli stopped next to me. I saw in her eyes that her heart was already at his feet, so my quick question, "Sollen wir gehen?" (Should we go?) oriented in his direction and asked more out of habit as a young woman, usually alone, late at night in a city metro station, was barely regarded and instead found its answer in Ulli's non-hesistent stride in his direction. There was no question to be asked.

The splash of beer left dark traces on his jacket, becoming neighbors to those stains long calling his worn, leather jacket home. He only wore one glove; his hands were red and swollen as he grasped the beer and continued swaying, seated on a bench. Ulli asked him in dialect*** if he was ok, if he was hurt or anything. I knelt in closer to better decipher his mumbled words.

I saw the drops forming on the stringy long hair that hung over his face outside of his pulled up hood and which had been victims of the splash of beer arising from his can as he fell backwards. He also had a few droplets on his cheek. The urge was so hard to resist--to want to not just squat a respectable distance away from him and try to listen, but rather, to kneel at his feet, to hold his gloveless hand in mine, taking the place of the crushed beer can and offering some real warmth. To wipe his hair dry and out of his face, in order to see his whole face. To look into his eyes, to entice them to open, to come alive--the ones that he could at this time barely open. He was so tired. so cold. is throat so sore that we could hardly make out his words. All we really understood were: "Schlafen" (sleeping), "scheiße" (shit), "kalt" (cold), and "Christof" -- his name.

He did have a sleeping bag, our of which was peeking a box of white wine. The two together would serve to keep him warm most of this bitter, January night.

I couldn't understand him. Ulli spoke a little but mostly we just sat there, squatting before him, and let him mumble or simply sit there in silence. I tell you, its not as easy as you would think. I think silence and stillness is the hardest thing to live before a soul that suffers. Here, only prayer makes sense.

I couldn't hold his hand or wipe his face--I could only sit there and desire to be Veronica wiping the face of God before me as he lives his agony, as he carries his cross.

We said we hoped he felt better soon, that he would be able to sleep, and finally, goodbye.

Speechless, Ulli and I waited for our U-bahn home. Thankful, I realized how much of a blessing it was to have Ulli by my side at that moment--as a companion but more so a teacher. teaching me to be WITH--in the silence and unknowing. to be mercy in His Eternal River of Mercy.

and also for this little memo from God to myself who had been only seconds before complaining about being cold.

Please say a prayer for Christof, wherever he ended up and wherever he is on this below-freezing January night.

-Sometimes footnotes are helpful-

*Ulli: Ulli is Monika's new roommate as of October. She is the first volunteer with Heart's Home from Italy (South Tyrol-so a former part of Austria-she speaks perfect German) and did a mission with Heart's Home back in 2005 or so in the Philippines. After spending some years in Stuttgart, Germany she has moved to Vienna and become a 'regular groupie'--which means she has become a dear friend, a prayer warrior, a loving teacher, a beautiful example, and a much referred to translator and helper in all things german--including when it comes to speaking dialect to Christof!
**Nightfever: a monthly mass and adoration night, sponsored and run by young people in various cities throughout Germany and Austria, starting after the World Youth Day in Cologne.
***Dialect: think thick, southern American accent compared to a Brooklyn accent....thats sometimes how different accents sound to one another and thats how difficult it is for me sometimes to understand Ulli when she speaks in dialect

consistency

Her little body law sprawled out on the tile floor, but she can't feel the chill coming through the stone because her puffy jacket is keeping her nice and snuggled. Backpack the size of her whole torso and creeping up the back of her head--it is slid right up under the nape of her neck. Her arms still strung in the straps but stretched out on either side of her, her legs sprawled out in the same way. Her boots look two sizes too big and I notice that her pink striped hat is falling down over her closed eyelids as I lay down next to her. A whole day at school and the walk home in the brisk, January, Viennese air is the last straw for Ramana. She is exhausted. But living in the upstairs, sprawling apartment of the Missionaries of Charity house on the Gürtel with 5 or 6 other families (only women and children), she has to play dead to get any peace. And she doesn't know yet that I am there.
I mean, we're there every Tuesday. Nothing new. But its so easy to forget what day it is when you're six and too busy living in the present. Its so easy to think that a week is a month and three minutes, three hours. So I lay next to her on the cold, tan, tile floor of the entryway, until she realizes the still presence laying next to her, and opens her eyes. Her eyes look more like they are squinting as a smile broadens across her face, immediately occupying every muscle in her round, blushed face, framed by untamed dark locks and emanating a bounding spirit full of energy and love. It only takes her a moment to leave her exhaustion behind in the place where she formerly laid and jump on my back, resting her head on my neck as she wraps her arms around me.

"DU!!! Du bist da!!!!! JUHU!!"   (you! you're here! yay!)

It hasn't always been like this. walking back that evening with Alina I count back the months that we have been visiting the third floor of the sisters' house. wow. Its been five months since our first visit, full of formality, homework help, and shyness, later giving way to quick-paced Russian conversations and shoulder rides. Its been five months of new and old faces, of Tuesday afternoons, of UNO games, playing hairdresser, doing homework, drawing pictures, fighting, tickling, crying, reprimanding, pretending to be human jungle gyms, playing tag, drinking tea, cracking walnuts, peeling potatoes, smiling, hugging, loving, growing....

CONSISTENCY

the most important ingredient. One that has a sneaky way of being easy to forget in leu of our tendency to give into tiredness, timidness, annoyance, SELF. But it is the ingredient that makes all the difference. it is the leaven in the dough. it is the foundation of friendship. 

Not just in our visits to Luba, Louisa, Jeanette, Ramana, Ela, Ichmael, and everyone....

its in every aspect of life, every visit, every relationship. Being "there" requires consistency, a necessary dying to yourself and any momentary anti-inclination--not out of duty or obligation, but out of LOVE. 

Like after being away for two weeks with my parents, I hadn't been to the nursing home in two weeks, where we are normally visiting the residents of "Station 7" every Friday afternoon. But I didn't really feel bad. I figured--they barely remember me when I come every Friday anyway. So it is not a big deal. No one will probably even ask where I had been. 

I couldn't have been more wrong. 

"Where have you been!! Why haven't you been to visit? I wasn't sure if you hadn't gone back home to the USA or not!"

They didn't know exactly how long it has been since the last time, but they knew. They knew that the two girls that usually visit every Friday hadn't been there in 2 weeks and while we were being occupied with other things, they lived our absence. 

CONSISTENCY

In the nursing home I have learned its importance through an event of inconsistency. and with Ramana and the women and children Chechenian refugees, I learned it through the fruit of consistency. Now, after ringing the bell an obnoxiously super-fluent number of times, and walking in the door now, calling to our little friends to come out of their rooms and hiding places, I am greeted with faces shining with joy and excitement. I have truly never before seen such a sweetly twinkling look in the eyes as they gaze up at me upon our arrival. The arms that cling to my legs. The little boy voices and little girl voices filled with excitement yelling "Du bist da! Sie sind da! Schau!! JUHU!!" (You are here! They are here! Look! Yay!) The momentum of the little legs running down the halls, arms held out to you waiting for a welcoming embrace and the fulfillment of what they had anxiously been waiting for since we left the Tuesday before. 

It comes slowly and all of the sudden. This love. This ease. This comfortable excitement. The security and trust that leads to such moments of pure delight. That is the fruit of consistency. Of never giving up on love. 

Its slow, and all of the sudden. And slowly, those Tuesday afternoons and Friday afternoons become not something to live through but to live for. Because the consistency is the fertilizer of friendship and your delight is as much a part of the afternoon as theirs! 

Sitting around the table one evening while Alina helped Ahkmed with his math homework, and I held Ishmael and fed him a bottle, both of us surrounded by several others practicing their superman tricks, flying from the tabletop to the floor, we were joined by a sister coming upstairs to check on things. She is the mother superior of the house. Romana sat next to me and hung out as I fed Ishmael. Then Ramana, all of the sudden, catches Sr. Gabriela's attention and very matter of fact-ly states: "Schwester! Die Zwei--Ich liebe sie so sehr!! SO SEHR!!!!"  (Sister! These two--I love them so much! So much!!) Giving each of us a big hug and smiling her largest, sweetest, smile. 

my heart jumps and responds in a breathless whisper! 

o Ramana! I love you too! 

the way people look

its Friday night. School of Community night. Nine of us were gathered around the table, some veterans of the friday night readings and discussions, some new-comers bringing fresh, sometimes innocently-off-base additions to the conversation, and of course Alina, Mathilde and I (Fr. Clemens is on a trip in Poland, and Fr. Jacques in India). This week's text was one written by the founder of Heart's Home, Fr. Thierry de Roucy, entitled "No Friendship without the 'I'". In essence it was an argument for the necessity of embracing the being of oneself, one's wishes, desires, preferences, weaknesses, struggles, strengths, every minute detail encompassing one's I, and BEING this I, completely living as this "I" in order to live deep, genuine relationships and friendships. One must continually see himself as united to the Holy Spirit, as standing as Himself before the loving eyes of God in order to first accept himself in all he is, and to act of himself and present himself to others in freedom and love. Viewing oneself, the "I", as united to the Holy Spirit and every standing before the feet of God the Father ensures humility and love which grant freedom to the person to live fully his being in relation to himself and others and thus give himself authentically in friendship. 

Yes, it was a very interesting reading and even more interesting discussion, but it didn't all really sink in until after the reading, discussion, and dinner together when I found myself in my room talking with a friend of ours on the little couch stuffed oddly in our room between the collapsing armoire and the foot of my bed. Its been a really difficult couple of months for her, and we spent an hour or so discussing some of the difficulties she is facing right now particularly in a relationship with someone she loves very dearly. We talked and talked in circles--the heart being something difficult to convey to another, feelings always needing to be further elaborated and explained as only women know how to do for hours. I don't need to expand on the details. 

Then there came that moment, her lip quivered a little as her chin tried to find the right resting place in order to secure her jaw and hold her strength against the rising emotion in her throat. Her eyes got a little red and dewy at the corners and she kept looking away. She tried to keep explaining her thought, while continuously interrupting herself with the pursing of her lips. This is what she looks like when she tries to hold back tears. I had never seen her before. The her that tried to be strong in the middle of immense pain. A very authentic "her". 

She looked at me and I looked at her and I knew that I felt both sincere compassion for her, as well as sincere gratitude. And so are most of the moments I have come to live in the past 13 months--bittersweet. The bitterness arising out of the pain which the other allows you to share with them, the stinging of the eyes that just want to cry and release the pressure, the temptation to despair in sight of the lack of clarity, lack of love, lack of strength. The sweetness from the immense gratitude arising in my heart as I let myself be allowed in these moments with our friends. When they let me be in the presence of their "I". When they are free, because they know that they are loved. When it is a friendship that was completely given, not won over or earned. 

That is what I learned in school tonight. Children are perfect examples of our innocence, or simple "I"-ness. As children we are who we are, we say what we think, we do what we want to, what we reason is right. And then we begin to grow up, fill in molds, listen to the do's and don'ts and somehow along the way layer on the masks and masks over our genuine selves that we need in order to make sure we are pleasing the most people we can at one given time. We make ourselves fit into the nice little boxes other people set out for us, and in the mean time forget what it means to be ourselves. We are so busy looking at others that we forget to be us. Why? I believe it all goes back to love. Our purest, most characteristic yearning as human beings--our desire to be loved--love, an inner necessity to freedom. When are we most free (and not the freedom that plays itself out in angst-y rebellion and selfishness)? I think about the times  when I have been most free to share what exactly I am thinking and feeling without thinking twice about whether the other person will judge me or think differently of me. I know those people who, no matter what I say, do, or reveal in the confidence of a conversation over coffee or whatever the occasion may be, will never stop loving me or think worse of me. My soul flies at those moments in sharing my thoughts or struggles--I can stand open and share my truest self without thinking twice or hesitating because there is some inner certainty that no matter what I say, they will never stop truly loving me. That to me is the moment in which the Holy Spirit is fully present,  those moments and relationships in which God is freely allowed to be present and work His Will. The way in which we can stand before God fully ourselves is because He is our eternal, merciful Lover. When someone on Earth represents and lives out that unending love of God with us, then so that "I" is free to be completely itself. I am free to stand naked in all my strength and struggles and still be loved. I am free because of the love. I am "I" because I am free, and loved. That is why the "I" means Freedom and the Freedom means Friendship. That is why its all about love. 

And this evening. It was just a little space in time in which the "I", Freedom, Friendship, and Love we had just discussed, was incarnated. My friend didn't just smile, tell me some superficial news on the recent events in her life and move on, guarding herself and leaving her problems for her to carry alone. She trusted me. She saw me as a friend who would love her no matter what. And act on that love by carrying her with me in prayer. She knew she could be her "I" with me. 

This "I", I have realized, is what I have come to cherish in the past 13 months. Not only this friend's but many of my friends with whom I share those bittersweet moments. I once read the following quote which seems to put it just how I would have liked to:

 {I'm not fascinated by people who smile all the time. What I find interesting is the way people look when they are lost in thought, when their face becomes angry or serious, when they bite their lip, the way they glance, the way they look down when they walk, when they are alone and smoking a cigarette, when they smirk, the way they half smile, they way they try and hold back tears, the way when their face says they want to say something but can't, the way they look at someone they want or love....I love the way people look when they do these things. It's....beautiful} 

This "I" has raised my understanding of "beauty" to a new dimension. I have gotten to see so many PEOPLE. really. the person as he or she is. and every time it is as a new discovery, a new burst of gratitude springing open in my heart. a new understanding of what it means to stand in the presence of a God who is Love, and to meet His Holy Spirit in those friends He alone has lovingly given me, and me to them. For whom He has called me to be His presence, and in whom He is incarnated in their mysterious beauty.