The Good of the Poor

About 1981 or 82, I sat in a cold church in Detroit, Michigan. I pulled my coat around me, barely noticing the cold, entranced, instead, by the strong voice of a diminutive woman clothed in just a white sari with blue edging. Fearlessly she proclaimed the need for more care for the poorest in our community, and she had the right to do so, as she was opening a shelter for the poorest in Detroit. Outside, winter winds howled. Within, I questioned how I could do more in my own mission of nursing the impoverished elderly.

After her talk, those of us who were engaged in such service were led to the basement for a reception. There, we had the opportunity to meet and greet Mother Teresa, one-by-one. The warmth of her words and her hug have remained with me, sometimes encouraging, sometimes chiding. I…