“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” -Mother Teresa
The following post is part of my weeklong series “Lessons Learned from Mother Teresa” (read that post first). This excerpt is part two of the Direct Selling News article from March.
This is the truck ride on the way to Dispensary duty, with Sister Nathaniel among others. There are a lot of things that aren't well communicated in pictures, but the smell and soot of Kolkata is one of them.
“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” -Mother Teresa
When you arrive in Kolkata, despair, more than anything else, greets you. There are an inordinate number of people that live on the streets, and there is an exceptionally difficult amount of poverty to absorb. From the vantage point of an outsider, poverty—whether in India, North America, or elsewhere makes it relatively easy to pontificate solutions, point fingers at problematic fulcrums, and even become embattled in a bitter debate about political partisanship while sitting safely on the sidelines. I was reminded that it’s much more difficult – emotionally and physically – to actually do something about it.
Each bag represents a months worth of provisions--oil, biscuits, and wheat
Similarly, in other matters of life it’s sometimes hard to listen without making a judgment. Whether it’s financial troubles people are having (“and you bought what!?!?!?”) or leadership problems (“why would you say THAT?”) or emotional baggage (“okay, tell me again what exactly was it that happened at ten years ago that you’re still so rankled about?”), to simply listen, and love someone, is an exceptionally difficult thing for most of us to do. For some, it’s a God-given gift. Yet, I think for most of us, it’s a developing skill that takes effort as we experience both the need and the blessing that can arise from compassion and grace. It also needs to be coupled with honest accountability. Often we’re better with the judgment side of the ledger rather than the grace side — until, that is, it comes to ourselves.
This is the male side of the "Home of the Sick and Dying", essentially a hospice for the sickest of the sick.
Perhaps the greatest impact I experienced from my time at the Home of the Sick and Dying was to see, firsthand, the many patients in the home — some of whom were there as a result of their own circumstances — to be able to live their final days experiencing love and compassion.
Regardless of their past, their poverty, or their personalities, there was no judgment, no critique, no “rehab” program to get them restarted and on a life of significance and meaning. Behind the scenes, never a word was said among the Sisters or volunteers about what it was that led them to this final destination. They were there. It was home, and that’s all that mattered.
In my professional and personal life, there’s an easy carryover of this particular theme. Many people in my life are “home,” and how they got to this place doesn’t really matter.
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