That something more in the slums of Calcutta

Brother Andrew, of the Missionaries of Charity, recalls an inspiring Christmas with the poor of Calcutta
I SPENT a month around Christmas in Calcutta. It was a busy time close to the poor and with retreats and talks to lay groups, sisters and brothers. I enjoyed being free of the burdens of office.
I was able to move about in my smaller boat more freely. I was able to really look and see things, to catch the beauty in scenes and people observed many times but not contemplated in their mystery.
It became a sort of pilgrimage; and like a good pilgrimage it led me somewhere — or better to Someone.
On Christmas morning it brought me to a gathering of well over a thousand children from the streets, slums and railway stations. Every year the brothers have this party for the children they work with through the year. In fact there are a number of such gatherings.
What the children get is simple: a bun and a banana for breakfast on arrival. There are a few songs and dances. Then they receive a packet to take home with a bun, a cake, an orange, a few candies, a balloon and a plastic cup. It is no big deal even for the poor of Calcutta.
But very striking is the immense joy, peace and beauty that immediately becomes the atmosphere. As I walked around among those grimy, ragged children I realised there was something more than just those few gifts, more than the organisation and music. There was an added respect, dignity and love.
From there I went mid
morning to our Home for the Dying. Christmas Mass was just ending and the patients were already having their special Christmas lunch. The heavy cleaning work had already been done. Sisters and brothers were helped by a large group of volunteers from India and abroad. Here too was a striking atmosphere of peace and calm, of quiet joy and contentment in a place with the startling name above its door: "Home for Dying Destitutes".
Again I was struck by that something more. Something
more than food, the clean bed clothes, the medicine, the decorations. There was life, dignity, love in the Home for Dying Destitutes.
I was standing quietly caught up in the wonder of it all, and I noticed that a thin, very emaciated man had just finished whatever he could manage of the special Christmas rice and curry.
I asked if he wanted water. He said yes, and I brought a glass. I poured it into his mouth Indian style. He drank eagerly.
As he finished I had this extraordinary experience myself. I felt myself filled with a deep joy and peace. It was Christmas — God's love and light came to me in that cup of water I had been privileged to give that utterly destitute man.
A cup of water. Nothing more. So common and ordinary. And yet it became the high point of a very beautiful Christmas for me.
It was only a cup of water. But here again was that something more added — which transformed the whole reality.
It dawned on me that my Christmas pilgrimage around Calcutta had led me to that something more that lies hidden in the ordinary, common things and events — that lies hidden even in the most unlikely and even fearful things that happen.
And I realised that that something more is not just some thing. It is Someone more. It is deeply personal — one who touches us, who speaks to us. It is One who transforms the whole reality and quality of my life.
It is not necessary to go to Calcutta at Christmas to find Him. For He waits hidden now in the present circumstances of my life — wherever it be, whatever it He waits for me to pause a little, to look, to welcome Him. And in that moment He transforms the whole reality of my life — and the world.
It's good to let myself be found by Him.
In a little third floor apartment opposite our house in Kidderpore I have seen a high caste but poor Hindu family grow up over the past 20 years. The father struggled with a meagerly paid government job to educate the four children. I was always struck by the goodness and peace of the their family life.
The eldest girl married a couple of years ago. The two youngest, both boys, are still in school. The second child, a girl of about 20, always struck me for her joy, her beauty, her purity and her peace. If anybody ever shone with these it was she.
This New Year she went for a picnic with friends and was involved in a road accident. She was holding a small child in her arms. To save the child she continued to hold it; and not stretching out her arms to protect herself, her head struck the ground and she died of her head injuries three days later. This pure child had given her own life in saving another.
I was deeply moved by her death. I felt myself touched in an extraordinary way by a saint. I still feel myself strengthened and enlivened by her living presence.
I was not the only one. Her grieving family bore the tragedy with an amazing strength and courage. They knew their daughter had not lived in vain. Neighbours stopped to reflect on the deeper beauty and values in life.
Again that something more was present. Here it was in that grim tragedy as it had been in the poorest children and the dying destitute.