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December 29 Vera and I met today for a Czech lesson. She is such a great teacher, helping me to understand how to speak (and not speak) her language. Like the prophet Jeremiah, I sometimes feel as though I might burst, wanting to express something but not really having the words to say it. Yes, trying to communicate in this language has been very humbling. In addition to saying a lot of stupid things, I realize that I have often judged people unfairly because of how they speak my language. It has also helped me realize the truth of St. Francis’ maxim: “preach the gospel always; use words when necessary.” Or as one of my teachers used to say, “speak less, say more.” Today
as I made my way home from my Czech lesson, my head swimming with how stupid I
must have sounded, I approached an older man, who was barely able to stand. Even
before I reached him, I could smell he had been drinking. As I got closer, I
realized he had been propped up next to a hot dog stand. As I looked around, I
noticed that no one seemed to care, hardly noticing he was there. I tried to say a few words to him, asking him if he was ok and which tram he needed to take in order to go home. He only mumbled a response, though this was not Czech I was learning in class! I stayed with him a while, but then I tried to find help, looking for someone who might know whom I should call. Again, no one seemed to care. When I returned, I saw he had fallen. Close to his head, blood was trickling down the cement. A few people came closer, including a policeman. Minutes later an ambulance appeared, whisking him away. I didn’t do much for the man. I didn’t keep him from falling. I tried to utter a few words of hope while he lay there, motionless on the pavement. I was sorry that he had fallen and was bleeding. I was sorry that no one seemed to care. And I was glad that the Lord had directed my steps to him, offering him a newly found compassion for sinners like me. |
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