Mother Teresa: Everyone Can Do Something

Zombie phobia kicked in as I climbed the hospital’s dimly lit cement steps. For some reason, every hospital scene in every zombie movie I’d ever seen came flooding back. But this was no ordinary hospital or hospice. It was Mother Teresa’s Home for Dying Destitutes in Kolkata, India. I had arrived in the city just twenty-four hours earlier to write a book on legendary missionaries Mark and Huldah Buntain.

They had arranged for me to interview Mother Teresa—the chance of a lifetime. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’d heard stories of her work my entire life. I guess I imagined she had a halo over her head. I said to myself, I’m just a kid—I don’t know the proper etiquette. Am I supposed to bow, shake hands, or kiss her cheek? Trying the latter seemed risky, so I decided to wing it and follow her lead.

Garbed in her distinctive white and blue sari, she shuffled to a bench. Smiling, she asked, “What’s your name, young man?” Several beats passed before I could respond. “Hal Donaldson.” “Where are you from and what do you do?” she asked. “I’m a writer from the United States. I came to Kolkata to write a book on Mark and Huldah Buntain.” Her face seemed to light up. “They have helped many in our city.” “Yes, they have big hearts. May I ask you a few questions?” She nodded. “If it will help them and their work.”

For the next twenty minutes, I scribbled her quotes in my reporter’s notebook, trying not to miss one detail. As I wrote I thought, I feel like I’m talking to my grandmother—without the milk and cookies—rather than a recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize.

Repeatedly she deflected my praises. “It’s all because of God,” she said. As our time came to a close, she leaned forward. “Young man, can I ask what you do to help the poor?” Her question wasn’t accusative, demanding, or condescending. It was just a question. But to me it felt laced with expectation. If I lied to Mother Teresa, I was surely putting my life in jeopardy. So I told the truth. I glanced away and said, “I’m really not doing anything.” She could have condemned me, chastised me, or struck me with a lightsaber and I wouldn’t have blamed her. Instead, she smiled and said, “Everyone can do something.