At Prem Dan, we started the day with basic chores like washing clothes and cleaning the floors. I really enjoyed this earthy experience. It was so simple, yet incredibly necessary. There was no washer or dryer, only water, soap, hands, and feet. We stomped on the clothes and then rinsed them out. We then hung them on the roof terraces to dry in the sun.
After washing clothes, I had a few minutes to walk around outside. I looked at all the people: the sick, the missionaries, and the nuns. I couldn’t believe how beautiful life was inside Prem Dan. Whereas outside I witnessed neglect and total disregard for so many people, inside I saw a complete giving of one’s love to another. The sick were given the respect they deserved and the love they needed. Humanity was uplifted and was shown that there was a purpose. Missionaries knelt down to massage the deteriorated muscles of the sick.
Near lunchtime, I noticed a man lying on one of the cots in the main room. The man was very scrawny and struggling considerably for breath. I sat next to him. He was shirtless and wore only a rag around his waist. The man was breathing sporadically. His breath smelled horrific, like a decomposing body. He was motionless, and his eyes were glazed over. His chest froze still for maybe 20 seconds and then pulsed several times as the he sucked for air with all his might and then exhaled. This repeated itself continuously, but his respirations became less and less frequent.
“Who was this man? What kind of life did he have? How could anyone ever end up in such poor shape?” As I pondered these questions, I hated the answers that came to mind. All I could imagine was misery and torment for this man. I sat still, weeping. I wanted to feel his suffering. I wanted to experience some of his pain. I wanted someone, anyone to relieve him of the anguish he was experiencing. I grew nauseous pondering the unfair aspects of life. It seemed so unjust.
I pulled myself together as I was obviously being of no help to this man. I was uncertain how much more time he was going to survive. With only several breaths a minute, the man was trying with all his might to remain alive. I imagined he was praying without words. In unexplained desperation, I called to one of the missionaries in my group from across the room. His name was Digger. I asked him to pray with me. So, I reached into my pocket with my left hand to fish around for my rosary and took the man’s bony hand with my right. Digger and I together started praying the Chaplet of Divine Mercy for the man in bed.
“Eternal Father, we offer You the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Your dearly beloved Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, in atonement for our sins and those of the whole world.
For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.
For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.
For the sake of His sorrowful Passion…”
We prayed this over and over again for the entire 50 beads of the Rosary. Throughout the entirety of the prayer, the man continued to struggle for breath. It seemed as if any moment would be his last. I squeezed his hand and we said the last words, “Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world.” Upon finishing the last words of the prayer, the man breathed his last in a sigh of relief.
Digger and I remained still. Tears swelled in my eyes. Staring at the man however, was comforting. There was no more suffering. There was no longer a struggle. There were no more worries, and the room was quiet. There had been justice delivered to this man, by Christ. This man had no attachments to this world before he left it. He did not need anything and wanted nothing. He had held on as long as he could, and was swept away in Peace. I began to weep, experiencing a multitude of emotions. I felt sorrow. I felt hope. I felt joy for this man.
Digger stood up and went to inform the nuns.
I prayed and pondered over this experience throughout the entirety of the mission. Each day brought with it certain intensity and often a circumstance in which it was difficult to give love. Whether it was cleaning up feces or urine or feeding some of the patients, it was not always easy to give my love to any particular individual: patient or missionary.
I learned a little about poverty that day, however. I learned that we are all called to be like this man in some sense. This man had nothing. He desired nothing but eternal life. How many of us can say that we desire nothing that this world has to offer, but only that love with which Jesus Christ shares with us? Victor E. Frankl, in his book Man's Search for Meaning, says you cannot starve a fasting man." The man Digger and I prayed for had not owned anything in his entire life, not even the clothes around his waist. Although he maybe had not chosen this life of fasting, it purified him by God's Grace. He was not unlike the millions of other people in this world that have experienced the same kind of poverty. As unfortunate as it was and as unjust as it seemed, there was beauty to be recognized. He was still a human being, and deserved the gift of love to uphold his human dignity. Freedoms can be taken away, but real love is infallible. It is a choice made with Jesus. Every human is capable of giving and receiving this love through Jesus Christ. Through this experience, Christ showed me how much this love was lacking so often in my day-to-day life in the United States. My outlook on love was distorted. I saw it only as a pleasurable emotion. I thought it was dependent upon the feelings inside of me – the powerful, good feelings we experience at times. I learned that real love requires much effort. It is a virtue that involves sacrifice, responsibility, and total commitment to another person. - JMJ Michael Preszler
