Today, on this feast of Pentecost, a few of us went to the Harvard T station to hand out rosaries. It was overall a fairly heavy day in terms of what people needed prayer for; by that, I mean, we met several people going through very difficult things. The heaviest (and most humbling) of all encounters we had was with a homeless man who had just been discharged from the hospital. He has cancer and a few other serious health problems. If you’re reading this, please join us in praying for this man - for his soul and also for a miraculous healing.

The encounter that keeps returning to my mind was with a mother and her two little girls, probably ages seven and four, if I had to guess. One of our evangelists had given the three of them rosaries. Some time later, the mother returned with the rosaries and told us she could not accept them because if she brought them home, her husband would not approve. We asked if she had any intentions she would like us to pray for. She declined and walked away, but her two girls stuck around, just staring up at us, wide-eyed. The older one said, “I’ll take prayer.” Given it was clear the mother wanted an end to the interactions (since she had walked away), we asked the little girl her name and told her we’d pray for her, but then we promptly gestured towards her mother. The younger girl understood and ran off to her mom. The older one looked back at her mom, then at us, and told us she wanted prayers for her grandmother, who was dying. Then she ran off. 

I was very struck. When I was eight, my own grandmother was terminally ill and dying. When she eventually died, I remember going to my teacher at school the next morning, quickly telling her that my grandmother had died, turning around, and running off without showing my emotion. It reminded me very much of what the little girl did today. I know firsthand the emotion that may have been behind her words. It’s funny how God arranges things to affect both the person we encounter as well as the evangelist. It’s been strangely cathartic–maybe even healing–for me to pray for her and her grandmother. If you’re reading this, please join me in praying for this little girl, her grandmother, her sister, her mother, and her father – especially for her father’s conversion.

I’ll end this post on a lighter note. We encountered four or five Spanish-speaking women who couldn’t speak much English but who were glad to receive rosaries. After the first or second woman with whom we couldn’t communicate well, we were lamenting amongst ourselves that all three of us had taken French instead of Spanish in school. Then right after that, we spoke with a young man who said his English wasn’t great. We asked what his most comfortable language was - French of all languages! I was able to dust off some rusty French, earning me a few fistbumps from the man. I didn’t catch everything he said, but I learned that he’s Catholic, and he inquired as to where the nearest Catholic church is, what the Mass times are, and how long it takes to get there. One of our fellow evangelists who could not make it today pointed out that we had spoken in tongues this Pentecost!