Mother Teresa's Secret Fire. Joseph Langford

      Foreword

      The book you hold in your hands is itself the fruit of an encounter — one that took place years ago, as you will read, through the mediation of a photograph on the cover of a paperback book. As Providence would have it, that seemingly insignificant occurrence progressively involved Father Joseph Langford in Mother Teresa’s life and work, to the point of founding with her the Missionaries of Charity Fathers, something for which I personally am particularly grateful. Throughout the years, he has prayed, reflected, and written on the charism — spirituality and mission — given to Mother Teresa for her religious family, striving to discover and articulate its depths and implications, something Mother Teresa herself did not do. This book can be said to be a synthesis of his work. It lays a groundwork for others to follow and build upon, for, as we discovered through her private letters contained in Come Be My Light,^† Mother Teresa’s charism, like her holiness, contains unsuspected profundity yet to be fully appreciated.

      With his distinctive style and gift of eloquence, Father Joseph delves into the questions about Mother Teresa that shaped his own spiritual journey since that first encounter with her — and through her, with God — thirty-six years ago. In Secret Fire, he not only presents his reflections on what made Mother Teresa who she was and how we, too, can become who we are called to be, but provides meditations that have been a source of grace to many over the years.

      The fire in Mother Teresa’s heart, born of her encounter with the thirst of Jesus, expressed itself by “love in living action” (to use one of her favorite expressions). Her heart was filled with love, affection, compassion, and mercy, which was made concrete through the spiritual and corporal works of mercy that make up the charitable work of the Missionaries of Charity. Fr. Joseph Langford’s book helps us to understand, appreciate, and live this in our own response to the thirsting love and mercy that God has for each one of us.

      In the last years of her life, Mother Teresa would exhort those she met, either individuals or groups, to take up the challenge to strive after holiness: “I want — I will — with God’s grace — be — holy.” May these pages enrich that striving and encourage you on your way.

      Fr. Brian Kolodiejchuk, M.C.

      Postulator

      Director, Mother Teresa Center

      Editor, Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light

      ^† Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light, edited and with commentary by Brian Kolodiejchuk, M.C. (New York: Doubleday, 2007).

      Section One

      Fire in the Night

      The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

      —John 1:5

      “In the world of today, Mother Teresa has become a sign of God’s love. Through her, God has reminded the world of his intense love — his thirst — for mankind and his desire to be loved in return.”¹

      —Fr. Brian Kolodiejchuk, M.C.

      One

      Why Mother Teresa?

      It seemed as if she had always been there, on the horizon of our awareness, part of the way things should be. There was Mother Teresa, on the covers of our magazines and the back of our minds, touching hearts and mending lives, turning the world upside down without trying. From all around the globe we watched, as her labor of love drew both rich and poor, believer and skeptic, into the shelter of God’s embrace.

      We followed the unfolding of her life writ large across our newspapers. Her name had become a synonym for compassion and goodness, and she graced our daily lives, from conversations over coffee to sermons on Sunday. Her image added a note of goodness to the evening news, making a home for her not only in Calcutta, but in living rooms around the world. Effortlessly, almost without our noticing, she had made her way into our hearts. As the poor of the world clung to Mother Teresa’s sari, and the rulers of nations showered her with accolades, we watched — and in some deepest part of us, we understood. We saw in people all over the globe, and experienced within ourselves, the attraction of her small, humble frame and her vast, resplendent work.

      She had become a living icon, a symbol of things better and nobler, a reminder of how we and our world could be. Through the humble portal of her work for the poor, the immense goodness of God poured forth on us all. She became a reflection of God’s glory in miniature, like the sun’s full radiance dazzling off a tiny shard of glass.

      God had sent her to soften the rude landscape of human suffering. She would accomplish this by “being his light” and radiating his love, illuminating the darkness that descends on the bearers of unrelenting hardship.

      The day it was announced that Mother Teresa of Calcutta had won the Nobel Peace Prize, I had just arrived on campus at Southern Illinois University, where I was chaplain. Within minutes of the announcement, I received a call from Mother Teresa’s Sisters in St. Louis, whom I had gotten to know during my chaplaincy. They were asking if I would come over to field questions from the newspaper and TV reporters who were gathering outside their convent. The reporters’ comments revealed their understanding, and even delight, at Mother Teresa’s nomination. They seemed genuinely intrigued that the prize winner had not been a president, scientist, or politician. For the first time, the Nobel Prize had been won by a diminutive, humble religious woman who worked obscurely in a third-world country. This disruption of the usual order had charmed the world and piqued their curiosity.

      But as the days passed, while the world press lauded the Nobel Committee’s choice, the professional religious I knew kept asking, “But why Mother Teresa? Aren’t there others who do what she does, who serve the poor just as selflessly as she? Why such commotion over her?” An excellent question, I thought — and an important one.

      The question brought to mind an episode from the life of St. Francis of Assisi. According to the thirteenth-century account, a certain pilgrim had been traversing the hills of Umbria in the hopes of meeting up with the young Francis. After weeks of searching, he finally found himself standing before a very ordinary looking man. Perplexed and disappointed, the young searcher looked intently at Francis and remarked, “Why is the whole world running after you?”

      Indeed.

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