Called By Name

Yesterday, Sunday, was another extremely long and tiring but fulfilling day. Departing from the usual Saturday feedings, He Cares held its weekly general assembly on Sunday, to accommodate a medical-dental mission sponsored by St. Paul High School Class '81.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, on Saturday, les affreux came to the Center (they hardly ever come on Saturdays; they're more part of the "weekday" crowd), only to find out that the feeding would be the next day. We asked them to come back on Sunday, and so they did (except for the two little boys) - Ningning even had that little chunk of sulfur oxide soap we'd given her the day before, tucked away in her shirt pocket, to use when she needed to wash up.

It's a little touching how these most desperate of children warm up to you - I met Ningning and her two other female companions walking up Road 9 as I was off to buy some missing ingredient for lunch; they easily acknowledged their Ate Honey, who told them to go and line up with the other kids for the medical/dental check-ups.

A good 20 minutes later, on my way back to the Center, there they were, at the very same place I'd left them - it turns out that they were waiting for a familiar face to guide them into the activity. They didn't want to go anywhere if Ate didn't take them there.

Apparently, they didn't want to answer any questions either, unless someone familiar did the asking: the social worker was trying to record their names for dental and medical recording purposes, but they kept mum. Ningning, who willingly went to wash up when directed, likewise refused (initially) to be bathed by anyone she did not know. Ate Honey had to give directions, and assurances, and precautions about how to treat her, and about who these nice and helpful teen volunteers were (likewise He Cares beneficiaries and friends of Ate).

Earlier that morning, I had read the Gospel for the day as a regular part of my prayer time, but it was only when I went to the celebration of Holy Mass that evening that the import of the Lord's word struck me to the core.

"To him the gatekeeper opens; the sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers." (John 10:3-5)

Ningning and her companions, poor little ones batttered by the evil that reigns in the streets, had very little trust to give away. And yet, apparently, through all these months, they surrendered that trust to some people who had shown them something that they did not receive anywhere else: LOVE. They knew the voices of these people - Kuya Joe Dean, Ate Honey, Ate Mia - and they followed them, because they knew they would be cared for by them. And, expectedly, because of where they came from and how they lived their lives daily, they were wary of coming into contact with "strangers" whose voices they did not know. Now I remember how Ningning tried to put her scabies-infested hand in mine as I walked with her into the Center, and I instead delicately chose to hug her around the shoulders to avoid potential infection. I only want now to go back to that moment, to embrace my "sheep," no matter how gruesomely contagious her disease, to press my face against her hand in thanks for the love and trust I feel I have undeservedly earned from her.

One other thing. From the time that I met les affreux - Ningning, and Nadir, and Jerry, and the rest - I have had the most difficult time remembering one girl's name. It's a miracle how I've managed to keep so many children's names straight since I've started serving with He Cares - especially since I'm so bad at names in the first place - but this particular girl's name always seemed to slip through the cracks, no matter how many times I'd asked her for it. Finally, on Saturday, she said something that will engrave her name in my heart forever. And I will forget my name sooner than I forget hers. She said, not without some amount of tampo, "Ate, my name is Mary Jane. I always have to tell you when you ask. Why do you always forget it?"

Mary Jane. Ningning. Jerry. Nadir. Joe Dean. Honey. God never forgets our names; He has called us by them, even when we never imagined He would acknowledge us, in our worthlessness. And so too should we never forget those He gives us to care for, those in whom He shows Himself to us. Each of us was called by name, and thus, each of us has WORTH.

Praise be to Jesus Christ, the Name above all names, from Whom all goodness comes.