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Sunday, February 6, 2011

From India with Love

                                                              By Robert R. Schwarz
            As two searching pilgrims, Tom and Gheeta Chitta nine years ago stepped off their jumbo jet at  O'Hare International Airport, cringed a bit at the radical  climate change from their hometown in India, and headed for the northwest Chicago  suburb of Arlington Heights. Their mission—which they were starting from scratch—was to pitch a  base camp from where they could be reaching back to help the "rural poor"  in the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh. Besides repeated prayers, their hope lay only in having learned that  an Arlington Heights married couple once adopted a three-month-old boy from an adoption agency in India . Now they were about to meet the parents of this child, Gail and Al Walton.
Momentum for their base camp picked up amazingly fast. The "kindness of strangers” first came with Katie McCambridge, who provided the Chittas with living quarters in her condominium for two months. After that, several other families, perceiving the mission zeal of Tom and Gheeta, shared their homes with them.  The Waltons gave them an office, and Gail Walton donated her full-time services as executive secretary. Soon, the Chittas had their base camp for a fledgling not-for-profit organization called Foundation for Children in Need (FCN).
            But the milestone for FCN,  Tom said in this interview, was when Fr. Bill Zavaski, pastor of St. James Catholic Church there, offered them a parish-owned home. “Fr. Bill was a blessing in our lives," Tom said. “He changed everything for us. ".  And now came an annual FCN "thanks giving” banquet, sponsored by St. James and emceed by the foundation's future board secretary, Brian Reynolds, a musician who plays his drums as fervently as he promotes FCN today. 
            Next came eight years of the Chittas  criss-crossing  America  by automobile and jet, annually averaging 20,000 miles  to add sponsors and bring their  FCN message to more than 300 Catholic parishes.  "I don't know of two harder working people,” Reynolds said. “Tom is not able to slow down. He has only one speed:  'faster ' . " 
            Nowadays, Tom, 56, and his 50-year-old physician wife, Gheeta, provide leadership for an organization that brings critical aid to almost 5,000 Indian children, students, and the elderly. They spend six months each year at their home in Porumamilla , a town of 30,000 people  in the  continent's southeast, about 400 kilometers from  the city of Hyderabad.  There, one sees the fruits of the Chitta’s seemingly indefatigable  labors and of the loyalties of thousands of American donors and volunteers. Here is where 2,200 children and college students receive aid, where another 2,000 non-sponsored students annually receive dictionaries and notebooks, and where care is given to more than  500 individuals afflicted with deafness, blindness, lameness,  and physical deformities. (You just might occasionally see the Chittas at mass in St. James.) 
            FCN school is spread over  eight acres surrounded by mostly flat farmland of  sugarcane, lentils,  sunflowers, peanuts, and—if water is available—rice.  Many of the farmers here are unskilled day laborers who, working in summer (March through May) with temperatures of 90 to 110 degrees F. , earn 150 to 200 Rupees daily, or U.S.  $3 to $4. 
            Porumamilla is encircled by approximately 200 villages, all within a 20-mile radius of the FCN operation; each is   populated by 20 to 50 families.   Most people are Hindus but, Tom said during our interview, there is "a good-sized Moslem population, with whom we have an amicable relationship."    The local language is Telugu, the official tongue of Andhra Pradesh and is spoken by the third largest number of Indians. Its vocabulary has been somewhat shaped by the Sanskrit and Prakrits tongues.
            Water comes from hand-pumped "tube" wells in the villages; it is stored in tanks from which people tap it and then carry home. Homes do not have running water.   Although typhoid, tuberculosis, pneumonia, and Hepatitis A exist, none is endemic, Gheeta explained.  "Infant mortality is about two to five per cent,” she said.  Tom added that “mosquitoes are a big problem.  “So is malnutrition.  In a recent newsletter FCN, stated that "most of the people in the villages do not eat balanced food. The health and sanitation conditions are very poor. "
            FCN has separate hostels for 90 boys and girls in grades one through ten. The students are brought in from villages and provided with education, food, clothing, and medical care. They return home on holidays. Another 250 children daily   walk one to three miles from home to attend school and, guided by FCN staff, are given disbursement checks to deposit in their bank accounts.  All students attend classes 9 a.m. to 4 p.m., with a 45-minute lunch break.  They have a six-week summer vacation.  FCN also provides free food, clothing, and medical care for 40 elderly at its St. Xavier's Home for the Aged.  
            Because many older children and college age students have to stay at home to look after their younger siblings and because child labor abuses are a serious problem in the region, FCN staff and social workers must encourage parents to have their children educated. Asked to relate "success" stories of his students, Tom paused, then confidently replied: "The success story   is when the student graduates and is able stand on his own two feet.”
            One such story is about Bramhaiah Chintakunta,  a college history major from a poverty-stricken family whose father  died when he was age four, forcing his mother to  work in the  fields.  "I am so grateful for a college education upon which to build the dreams of my life, " he stated.  Another success is Parameswari Palle ,  a college freshman studying engineering.  "I now have a bright future because of FCN,” she said.  And there is Bharath Moyela , an eleventh grader born with a protruding spinal membrane, who related : " My mother is an unskilled laborer who is looking for work each day. It was very sad to see my mom struggling to take care of my medical needs and then to send my sister and me to school. God heard our prayers and my days are bright now just because of someone in America [i.e., Fr. Bill Zavaski, pastor of St. James] who is helping me through sponsorship. "
            Though FCN staffs 3l people and two nurses in India (there is no paid full time staff in America), its annual fundraising disbursements of four per cent and administration costs of three per cent (according to its 2009-20l0 financial report) are obviously to be envied – if not to be sought — by most not-for-profit organizations.  Reynolds, in an interview, explained that the Chittas take only asmall stipend for themselves. “Everything is for the kids," he added.  Also, as a FCN factsheet points out, dollars go ten times further in India than in America.  For example, $75 will buy a bicycle for a social worker, $50 a month of work from a social worker, $240 for a year of sponsorship of a child, student, or a senior, and $6,000  will build  a classroom. (Sponsorship and other information about FCN can be had from their website:  www.fcn-usa.org or by writing FCN,  P.O. Box 1247, Arlington Heights, Il, 60006-1247).
            Tom sees FCN as unique: "It has been built up on the sacrifice of many peoples' time, talent, and prayers,” he said.  “We are a very personable organization which keeps in timely touch with our sponsors. We keep a good link between our children and sponsors by having them exchange letters. “Sponsors are also encouraged to take educational tours to FCN in India and visit their sponsored child or student and family. One such sponsor, a St. James member, and his sponsored child, now in the fourth grade, have been exchanging letters for four years. In her last letter, Mounika Kalluri, gave a full report of her studies, adding: "I am safe here. Hope you are also safe by the grace of God. "
            Tom's parents were both primary school teachers and were from what he labeled "lower middle class.”  He has been a Catholic from birth; his father was a Hindu convert.   Tom obtained a Master's Degree in pastoral theology and counseling from Loyola University in Chicago. Gheeta obtained her medical degree (with a family practice specialty) from St. John's Medical College in Bangalore, India. Her father was a military office, her mother a homemaker.
Tom and Gheeta met in India while both were engaged in Catholic parish ministries in Kadapa.  Both have been immersed in Catholicism all their lives; critical help for launching their mission, however, also came from two non-Catholics, Gail and Al Walton.
For recreation, the Chittas read a variety of books and favor Italian food. They rarely see a movie and turn the TV channel only to news.  Tom's most difficult adjustment to this region?  Without hesitating, he simply uttered, “cold weather.”  His most loved prayer is the widely-known one of St. Francis. As for scripture, he loves Matthew 25:40: "Whatever you did for one of these least of my brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." 
Husband and wife have been inspired by the work of Mother Teresa, especially Gheeta, who met this likely saint of the future when Gheeta was l7.  "I see something special in you,” Mother Teresa told her. "You little girl are going to be a doctor and help the needy."
Years later with her medical degree in hand, Gheeta told her husband:  “And when a saint tells you to do something, you do it."
THE END
©2011 Robert R. Schwarz

Friday, January 14, 2011

"What Justice Cannot Do On Its Own”

                                     By Robert R. Schwarz


At her kitchen table, Marybeth muffled a sob when she read  a simple note that had been left for her at the parish office by a client. Scribbled on the back of an envelope was: “Thank you for helping us when no one else would.”
In the early l9th Century, a Frenchman's prophetic vision about charity quickly resounded throughout the world, eventually inflaming the hearts of 900, 00 people. Among them today are Marybeth and Mike Schoenwald who spearhead the Society of St. Vincent de Paul of the St. James Catholic parish in Arlington Heights, Illinois.
 This husband and wife team provide leadership for 50 volunteers who, since 2005, have been motivated by words of that French visionary, Frederic Ozanam: "Order in society is founded on two virtues, justice and charity. But justice already presupposes a lot of love, for one must love a person a lot if one is to respect his rights which border one's own rights, and his freedom which limits one's own freedom. “Ozanam wished for "charity to do what justice cannot do on its own.”    Beatified on Aug. 23, l997, by Pope John Paul II, Ozanam poignantly expressed the ideal of the Society's founding patron, St. Vincent de Paul, when he said:  “There are many people who have too much, and who want still more. There are very many more who do not have sufficient, who have nothing and who want to take if people won't give".
Responding to the needs of nearly 100 families each year, Marybeth and Mike have  been changing lives of single mothers and other people—some St. James members, some not—troubled with unpaid bills, divorce,  addictions, and inability to pay for medical treatment. Members of their team have also been knocking on front doors with a bag of groceries in hand. 
As the Schoenwalds and their volunteers move single moms out of sleazy motels and into apartments (which the Society sometimes furnishes), they take joy in knowing that what they do "unto the least of them [Matthew 25:40], " they do for Jesus Christ. One husband whom Marybeth and Mike help reunite with his family told them: “We know that with your prayers and blessings, we will succeed and be able to give back to society one day everything that has been given to us in our time of need.”
 No money is ever loaned to clients; a typical aid amount is from $400 to $800. Last year the Society’s $36, 000 in aid money almost tripled that spent in 2005, its first operational year. The current ill economy has increased cash needs of the Society's clients; for the first time, more clients need help with mortgage rather than rent payments. Most of the aid money comes from small donations and the parish itself. In turn, the Society donates regularly to their partners, the Dominican Republic Conference and the St. Clare/St. Rita Conference in Chicago. 
The Schoenwalds conduct a monthly Bible study in their modest home a few blocks from their church. Then there is their Rosary network of 163 friends to whom Mike and his wife relay prayer intentions each l3th of the month at 7 p.m.  The ministries of PADS (for the homeless) and Respect Life   also benefit from these two seniors’ labors. For the past five years the couple, along with other Christians, have spent an hour praying each Thursday morning at 9:30 in front of a Chicago abortion clinic. Marybeth smiled when she mentioned   their annual “Truly Garage Sale”, which was held on their own driveway on north Hickory Street last year and which raised $2, 000  for five charities.
            Married 33 years, Mike and Marybeth obviously demonstrate what St. Vincent de Paul proclaimed soon after he and six Paris university students established the Society in 1833: that faith and work should harmonize in service to neighbor. 
            The tonnage of paperwork which keeps the couple busy full-time is done on the Schoenwald’s kitchen table. While organizing notebook after notebook one afternoon, Mike shook his head and said: “All this required record-keeping was beyond what we expected.”  He and his wife share at least one item on their "wish" list:  more free time just to talk about things like friends and family. They have two recreations: One is Marybeth's organic garden of fruits and vegetables which, she said, "we're still eating in January."  Their other fun time, Mike said, "is finding a good restaurant with a good chef.”
At the table, Mike started to tell about the early years of his marriage to Marybeth, those days when they had little money.  Then, pausing to exchange a glance with his wife, he reflected: “I’ve walked those miles in other people's shoes and know that there, but for the grace of God..."  And then Marybeth handed him another notebook.




THE END
©2011 Robert R. Schwarz

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

The Man in the Front Pew

                                                                   By Robert R. Schwarz  
             Though he's been sitting in that front pew for more than 10 years, chances are many worshippers in the back have never met him nor know his name. He's known by some as that broad-shoulder man—six-foot-two tall—who sits almost motionless, his attention fixed on the looming Christ figure behind the altar. He arrives before anyone else for the 7:30 a.m.  mass and, for ten, sometimes fifteen minutes, remains a solitary figure   in the early dawn light. Monday through Friday in the St. James Catholic church in Arlington Heights, Illinois, you'll see him in that front pew, praying and reading his "Magnificat". People wonder—but never seem to ask—what life journey this man has trekked and continues to trek.
            Being a retired newspaper editor and still a nosey soul, I talk to him, Brad Jenkins, and learned that his journey has been a lifetime of   searching for truth and love, a journey not without devilish attacks and perilous walks down rabbit trails leading nowhere. Mr. Jenkins is no stranger, so he told me, to spiritual combat. 
            Describing himself as a once  " poorly catechized cradle Catholic,"   Brad  was born into music, to  a father who was a trombonist with the Stan Kenton and Louis Prima bands  and a mother   classically trained to sing opera so well that her singing in church embarrassed her son.  “And , at home, all the neighbors would hear her," Brad reminisced with a chuckle.  At age l4 he formed his own rock'n’roll band and was  singing melodies and playing bass guitar with a latent professionalism that one day would bring him gig after gig in northwest Cook County.
  In 1969, Brad and family moved from St. Louis to nearby Crystal Lake and, later, to Arlington Heights, where soon, he said, “I was dabbling in things I he shouldn't have”.  He experimented in drugs ( no arrests, he said )  and got "things sort of messed up"  by  getting too deep into Eastern religions and  Evolution and by  reading New Age books, including one on astral travel.  “I was a truth seeker," he said. “I always wanted to know the truth. I knew there was more than just this life I was living. "          
            At age 23, Brad married.  Two children followed: Katy, now a 27-year-old actress living in Manhattan, New York, and John, 24, studying to be lawyer.  “My wife was Catholic, too, but neither of us wanted anything to do with the church. We never really had much of a faith life." Seventeen years later, the couple was divorced over "irreconcilable differences,” which, Brad points out, had a lot to do with money.  "When you don't have Christ in the picture, things fall apart,” he admitted.
            Towards the end of the marriage, Brad started to attend mass at St. James. He was  also attending the Willow Creek Community church in South Barrington ( he still thinks it's got some of the very best contemporary church music ), the Moody Bible Institute  ( which ostensibly appealed to his charismatic sense ),  and a Promise Keeper rally , a national Protestant event  after which, l8 years ago,  inspired him to  join—and later help  facilitate for eight years-- the Saturday morning men's faith group at St. James.
But Brad, like the ancient Hebrews fresh out of bondage, had a long trek ahead before reaching his River Jordan. "My goal of knowing truth and love remained.” It would occur to him later that the essence of both was in Jesus Christ.
 Not only did Brad discover he had to put on that full armor of God—which included prayer and Bible study—if he was to ward off the Flesh, World, and Devil, but equally critical to his very spiritual survival, he had to surrender something.  
            This "something"—the “Big One", Brad calls it-- occurred one night in a grove of Oak trees outside the Bellarmine  Jesuit Retreat House in Barrington, Illinois.  Preoccupied with his pending divorce, Brad approached a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary and knelt.   “She just came alive," Brad recalled. “I poured out my heart to her. It was at that moment, when I completely surrendered my will, that the door was opened. My shell was broken. It was through this brokenness that the Holy Mother allowed me to come in and lead me to her Son. "
            Brad soon ensconced his 230 pounds in that front pew on weekday mornings and, on Sundays, with his children and new wife, Bonnie, a high school special education aide he had met through mutual friends. " It was the Eucharist that brought me back into the church," he said,  his voice a full octave.  Now, for the first time, he was believing in the True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  “This was the ‘something’ that had been missing in my faith life," he said.   “I saw that the church is Jesus and without Him, the whole thing would fall apart.”
Brad continued his thoughts  with a reference to Christ's words which proclaim that  whenever two or three  people come together in Christ's name, He is in their midst. “You can pray the Rosary by yourself but it doesn’t have the power like when you say it with another person or group. You know, the wolf attacks the stray sheep."
            Asked if he believed that he had now crossed his Jordan that maybe his exodus trek had ended, Brad paused, took off his glasses and thoughtfully moved a finger across his brown bearded chin.  "You know, everyday is a constant barrage. I put on that full amour of God all the time.  I go to confession once a week, and if I don't, things just start to happen. "
            In McDonalds over breakfast, I asked him how he copes with that "favorite" sin we're all prone to repeating despite resolutions and promises.  Brad put down his coffee and sighed.  "Well, you just go to confession and pick yourself up and start again.”  He quickly added: "The act of going to confession doesn't automatically make everything all right. But it gives us the grace to change.  Without God's grace, you're going to repeat that sin over and over again." 
 We talked about Brad's move at the end of 2010 to Austin, Texas, where he and his wife will eventually retire. It's a move he and Bonnie have prayerfully considered.  Why Austin? Most importantly, the region’s climate will be healthful for Bennie’s rheumatoid arthritis. Then, there's the economy. It's much better there than around the Chicago area, Brad maintains. He'll be working for a large national firm, selling insurance to seniors. Bonnie and he also have friends in Austin. And it's no small bonus that Austin, according to Brad, is the world's music capitol, where Brad, of course, will be contributing his share of music. He's also visibly excited about the reverence he perceives exists among Austin's Catholic parishioners; he will introduce himself to the bishop as a first step in re-activating his St. James ministries of facilitating faith groups and leading adorations of the Blessed Sacrament.
Our conversation turned again to Bonnie. “She makes me happy. She makes me smile." Brad intoned the words as if they were a lyric from a favorite song.
A parting word came from a Eucharistic Minister who has worked with Brad for years. "He's been a wonderful fixture, and we're going to miss him.”





THE END
©2010 Robert R. Schwarz











           






           

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Early Greeter at Mass

           
            By Robert R. Schwarz
           On weekday mornings, one or two souls enter our sanctuary around six-forty-five and prayerfully embrace the silence before the seven-thirty mass begins.  With votive candles flickering on both sides of the altar and the sun or early morning light illuminating the eight stained glass windows and the huge, multi-color Rosetta window high above the altar's crucifix, this silence is golden.  You might, however, hear a dangle of Rosary beads upon one of the 22 hardwood pews or a clang of a metal walker being pushed down the aisle.
At ten after seven, no matter the weather or season, most of the dozen or so "regulars" are in their usual pews at the 4,000-family St. James church in Arlington Heights, Illinois.  Here, a man is praying for his spouse with severe rheumatoid arthritis; behind him are three nuns—one 95 years old — from a nearby convent; across the aisle, a retired dentist and his wife; also, an unemployed chauffeur with an injured back, a CPA who is an Opus Dei member, a church deacon, a retired newspaper editor, and a financial consultant.  Occasionally, you will see in the rear pews  a "homeless" man or woman  or a teenager—you can't help but wonder what brought either of them here— or a pregnant woman near her time. And for several weeks the first to arrive was an itinerant Catholic evangelist—she had just returned from knocking on home doors in Nova Scotia—whom you might have seen outside, in winter, kneeling before our Blessed  Mary statue before entering the church to pray at length before the tabernacle. 
The silence is now pierced, as on most mornings, by Tom Adams entering through the rear door after a brief walk from the home in which he has lived alone since his wife of 60 years died four years ago.  He is an outgoing, feisty 85-year-old with a daily mission.   Tom, a balding,  blue-eyed man whose clothes and  mannerisms are both youthful , doesn't break stride as he  approaches the pews and begins to scan faces with a broad, good-morning smile.
Like an attentive hospital physician making morning rounds, Tom begins to weave in and out of pews, greeting the regulars (and now and then a stranger) with a hand on their shoulder and a humorous or comforting word.
In an interview with him at a McDonald's, Tom is asked why he does this: "Why not?" he replies with curmudgeon tones. “These are your own people. Most of them have got problems or they wouldn't be here. Grieving widows and widowers, men out of work, women who want to get pregnant . Thing is, nobody talks to each other. Some have sour faces but they're praying. So, why not say 'hello' to them? Make them feel good they're in church and that there are people who think about them once in a while. They're glad to see me."
It’s nearly seven-thirty. The church has been quickly populated with perhaps 90   worshipers. Tom senses he’s got time for one more pew visit until someone tells him to muffle his voice. "How's the wife?” he asks a senior.  The man replies that she is still alive, and Tom pats him twice on the back.  
Sure enough, Tom hears a commanding “hush!”
In McDonald's, Tom is asked if he thinks his behavior distracts people who are praying.  He seizes some humor:  " Hey, look: I'm helping them to pray harder!”
The young altar server rings the bell over the sacristy door.  Tom goes to a pew (he seldom sits in the same one), kneels and takes out Rosary beads…
In McDonalds this morning after mass, Tom excuses himself from his coterie of coffee-drinking parishioners to join this reporter to answer questions about his past marketing and sales careers with the Chicago Tribune, New York Daily News and Boston Herald before publishing a weekly newspaper in Tacoma, Washington, and, finally, the Penny Saver shopper in nearby Buffalo Grove and Mt. Prospect.  Currently, he works 22 hours each week operating the freight elevator at the Arlington Park Racecourse.  
It isn't easy to get him talking about those eighteen B-24 bomber missions he flew as a 17-year-old waist gunner over Romania during World War II, including the raid over Ploesti in which our Air Force lost 660 crewmen and 53 aircraft.  “We got hit pretty hard by flack and I had to jump into Yugoslavia," he says.  (He was rescued later and flown back to his unit by the Russian military.)  One of his regrets about the war was that he never went to see Padre Pio, whose church was only a mile from Tom’s base in Italy. Was there anything for Tom to confess to the famous saint?  “At my l7 years of age? Are you kidding?"      
Asked what he does for fun besides walking four miles daily (twice around Lake Arlington), Tom says: "Not much. I talk, laugh. I've been with people all my life who laugh."
And with that, Tom gets up and returns to his friends.  Soon everybody is laughing there, Tom the loudest.

THE END
©2010  Robert R. Schwarz


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