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They came from worlds apart: Diana from estates and palaces, Teresa from convents and slums. Yet they met on common ground, the place where human misery is embraced by human compassion.
Did you notice the similarities between them in the television documentaries and tributes? Did you see how they both touched those they consoled, how they looked into the eyes of those they comforted, how they spoke directly to those they encouraged and cared for? Did you notice how their attention and love was given to the same people: those abandoned due to poverty or leprosy; those cursed by the modern plague of AIDS; those shattered by the indiscriminate terror of land mines? Recall how often both of them were with children--orphans, and those with splintered bodies and minds.
Even though they met on common ground, they walked very different paths. Teresa lived among those she served, and now she is buried there. The mother house of the Missionaries of Charity is on a busy, noisy street in Calcutta. Many of the derelict children who are rescued, loved and cared for by the sisters are found on nearby streets or are quietly left at the gate. That pattern is repeated around the world. The sisters live among those whom they serve. In the dirt and squalor of those settings, Mother Teresa's white and blue sari looked pure and incandescent, but when she was invited into the courts of rulers, her sari was a quiet, simple reminder of her vow of poverty and her commitment to selflessness.
Diana visited those whose causes she championed. Her compassion and concern drew world attention to worthy causes and the desperately needy; but at the end of the day she did not stay and share their lives. She returned to her limousines, Land Rovers and hotels. Now that she is dead, she lies buried on an island on her family's ancestral estate, far from the crowds who mourned her and the needy whose causes she promoted. Her advocacy was through media and fundraising. She used the glamour of her royal identity and youthful beauty to raise awareness and support. Where Mother Teresa owned only two saris, as part of her discipline of poverty, Diana was a world fashion leader--her clothes were often identified by the single occasion on which she wore them.
Since they died within a few days of each other, the media played and replayed the pictures of Diana and Teresa together: the Princess, tall and elegant; the Mother, small, shrivelled, stooped and feeble. One of Mother Teresa's last public statements was her tribute to Diana. The last press release about Mother Teresa before her death was the announcement that she was not strong enough to attend Diana's funeral.
Even while the world still echoed with tributes to their goodness and compassion, some uncertainty and ambiguity was voiced. Diana, we were reminded, was "no saint". Teresa was "out of date".
Goodness is ambiguous because while we applaud it and long to be embraced by it, we don't fully understand how to respond to goodness mixed with human imperfection. What are we to make of Diana, whose kindness brought hope to so many wounded and suffering, and whose own family life and personal relationships were in such a shambles? She was glamorous and wealthy enough not to have to suffer from the scourges of the war and disease she campaigned against. Would she be more worthy of our moral approval if she wasn't as beautiful, nor as rich, had suffered more deprivation, and had a stable marriage relationship--even if she had done much less for others?
What about Mother Teresa? Some of her critics said she dealt only with the results and not with the causes of poverty. Her response was that God had called her to work with the victims, and she blessed those who worked with the causes of poverty and injustice. Other critics could never fully acknowledge her goodness because they objected to her deep Roman Catholic piety. She obeyed the Pope, adored the Virgin Mary and adamantly opposed birth control as well as abortion.
We sometimes resist goodness when we encounter it because it challenges our own lives. Does the simple poverty of Mother Teresa's life demand that I live as she did? Diana touched and even embraced people with leprosy and AIDS. Isn't it possible to help but stay at a greater distance, like royalty?
If the flood of adulation is not a fully adequate response to Diana or Teresa, the countercurrent of cynicism is worse; we are far better off to celebrate their goodness than to try to undermine it. Diana's death is a tragedy, like all early deaths when so much is left unresolved and such great promise remains unfulfilled. Teresa's death is a great loss, like the deaths of all of those who are examples of compassion and selflessness. The lives of Diana and Teresa, the Princess and the Mother, are reminders that God continues to use ordinary people, with all their limitations and imperfections, to work for good. This is a "teachable moment" in our culture for us to talk about goodness; but, most of all, this is a moment to model in our own lives a goodness that exemplifies the self-giving love of Jesus.
James Pankratz is a former president of Concord College, Winnipeg, and a member of McIvor Ave. MB Church
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