Today I sat in the shadow of the ruins of an old building near the train station in Bucharest. A horde of children and teenagers are scattered around here. Soon I am encircled by many of them. I'm looking for the dominant theme for the year; I ask them what the most important thing in life is. Two minutes later they've come to an agreement: God. I find it hard to believe that they are serious and I probe deeper. Now even Florica, the shy boy sitting next to me, begins to speak, "Jesus is my best friend." The mood gets louder and boisterous. I can only hear Florica say what the most important thing for him is: "That I say thank you to Jesus." "What for?" "For a thousand things. That we survive. For joy, today, for example, I met Charlotte."

I would like to hear more about Jesus from the street children. I take notes: "Sometimes I try to be a good shepherd. If I have the chance to give something to someone who is poorer than me, or to talk about Jesus to someone who doesn't know Him. The most important thing is that Jesus comes close to the children. Then they are happy, even when they are unhappy. Jesus is more important than money." "Why?" "Because he teaches me. Even more important is that the others are happy than that I am happy. When I think about him, I need to do something good. Then I'm really happy."

I write it down, word for word. Will anyone believe me? In the meantime our powerful street-workers, all of whom were once criminal and feared, have brought ten boxes of pizza - a quarter for each. Florica lets his piece get cold on the ground beside him. He doesn't even notice how the others take away his food. For him it is more important to talk about Jesus. "He is the good shepherd, he helps street kids, he helps all children. He also helps grownups when they want. He has often helped me."

Finally, he quotes a sentence he has memorised from the Revelation of John: "Outside are the dogs, those who practice magic arts, the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters and everyone who loves and practises falsehood." (22,15) I can't get over my surprise and ask the boy why he has remembered precisely this word. "I think about whether I belong to the bad ones. I would like to belong to the good ones, even if I do live on the streets. When I see other children who have everything, even a family, then sometimes I have to cry. I think: and me, I'm on the streets."
Florica, the fourteen year old friend of Jesus, captivated me. How can the street children feel so cared for by God? When they fight for mere survival. It is turbulent around us. There is fighting, lacquer is filled into plastic bags to sniff. Stela dances with ear phones. A girl has cut open her arm and is crying. A sixteen year old is expecting a baby and wants to go to the hospital. It's hard to say if the mood is fun or desperate. Someone asks impatiently, "When will the Social Center be finished? How many will be able to sleep there? Will there also be a canteen? I can share some good news - we'll be able to move in before winter comes. There is room for more than a hundred. The military has promised to deliver food. Everyone is interested in the news, the joy becomes a general tumult. "Lazarus lives!" they cry out. The future name of the centre has already travelled the grapevine.

In response to the noise, Florica slips closer and says in my ear, "I know Lazarus. He died and Jesus raised him from the dead. I saw it on TV, how Jesus cried, he really liked Lazarus."

I did not give the children this year's motto, the children have given it to me. It is Lazarus. Translated from Hebrew, the name means God helps. The children teach me: the tasks which come my way will not be too difficult. I think about the teenagers on the streets and about our social centre for the most difficult people. I also think, however, about our church, a church to which no more teenagers come. Lazarus encounters us in this youth, so like the friend who can be called back into life. With God's help.

Dear friends, in amazement I share with you the message of the children: God helps.

With grateful greetings from Bucharest,

Bucharest, Summer 2002