The Language of Helping the Poor

By Mo Yan

I wrote on my prayer card: I, Mo Yan, must serve the poor.

In Yunnan, I often encountered impoverished people and tried to help them.

When somebody sat down down beside me to talk, my mind would become very active: What is the problem? what is the solution? Before they had finished talking, I had already come up with a series of good steps to solving their problem. I would give them my "prescription", only to find out that very few of them were actually healed.

I also touched those who were sick. Once when we were playing a game, I was assigned to partner a person with leprosy. We were supposed to hold hands. But he had no hands and what I was holding were two pieces of shapeless arms. After just a few seconds, my hands began to shake and I had to turn my head aside as I didn't dare to look him in the face. Those few moments seemed to last for ever.

Another time I was dancing with a village doctor. This was yet another experience of holding somebody's hands. This time the hands were sticky and smelly. I had to slip away from the party and scrub my hands. After that I tried to keep them at a distance.

Another time I went to the village to visit some students. I couldn't sleep that night because the blanket was too heavy. If I took it off I would be too cold and it was too heavy to keep on. I could hardly breathe. I wished I had brought my goose-down sleeping bag.

Lying in bed, I prayed to the Lord, "Oh Lord, I am willing to do something great for you. I am willing to help turn all these people away from the old self to the new, and every place from the old to the new. But how am I to go about it?" Then the Lord replied gently, "Listen attentively to the ones who speak to you. When you are with the sick, look straight directly at them. When you are with the village doctors, sit right up close to them. When you go to the villages, do not let them see how tired you are. Serve the poor as you would serve Me."

The Lord had shown me my own weaknesses, my poverty in the areas of patience, compassion and love. I finally realized that it was I who was really poor. It took me a whole year of working here to finally understand that serving the poor did not require dramatic deeds or glamorous words. It was a language of quietness.

The other day I saw a woman walking along the street with a big basket on her back and a hoe over her shoulder. She was a trash gatherer. Behind her was a boy four or five years of age. Over his shoulder too was a hoe, tailor-made for him. His hair, face and clothes were all covered in dust, but his eyes were black and shining, his expression one of fearlessness, firmness and serenity. His steps were strong and purposeful as they approached the next trash site.

This image went deep into my heart and refused to fade. Whenever I encountered failure, difficulty and struggle, I would think back to this little boy, who gave me new courage.

I don't know whether it is I who am serving the poor or the poor who are serving me. From that day on, I have always carried a few candies in my bag. This has become my new language of service.

The author came from Shanghai. She now works in Southwest China helping the poor. The first three parts of this article were published in Behold, Issues 5, 6 and 7.