Soon it will be Easter. We are waiting for the resurrection. Ruth Zenkert explains how we can experience resurrection already today with her report on the “Mothers from the Train Station.”

We feel our way through the darkness up to the third floor. I can only estimate the direction by sound. Costin knows the way and the hurdles; he warns us at the swells and gives directions where we can hold on. It is dark and ice cold in the house. Finally there is a shimmer of light. One light bulb flickers weakly. Now we see a predator baring its teeth. Alina touches the guard dog. She invites us into the room full of garbage with the words, “Please excuse us, we didn’t get everything straightened up today.” Old blankets, a pair of tattered mattresses, a shoe, old bread, empty plastic bottles and diapers.

Nine street kids and their small children live in the ruins. The babies sleep wrapped up in blankets, but the mothers are excited: They have heard that the house is being sold, that they have to get out. The hide-out was good, even though it is ice cold. One of their friends has attached a wire to the public power supply line so that they have light. They can warm tea for the children on an “oven” constructed out of one stone and wires. They get water from the fuelling station nearby.

The girls beg at the train station for their babies. Sometimes they lend their children to others and in return get a portion of the money. But the controls at the train station have become strict. The youth welfare office has taken babies away from some of the mothers and put them up for adoption. Our mothers, however, don’t want to give up their babies under any circumstances.

We invite them to come with us. The girls are skeptical: “You work with the youth welfare services and want to take our babies away from us.” Crenguza interjects, “My Andrea has been with CONCORDIA for years. I can always visit her. It couldn’t be better for her. I have to come with Daniel, he is sick.” With her whimpering child on her arm, she convinces the others.

We go to “Casa CONCORDIA,” our first house in which everything began with the first street kids sixteen years ago. Twelve young people live there now, they all work, one studies. The big ones have to squeeze together so that we can set up a centre for the little ones and their mothers from the train station. Everyone helps to cook, feed, bathe, diaper and play and, for a short time. the house is full of life. But two days later all the little ones have to go to the hospital – we don’t know what to do anymore with fever, coughs, sore skin and diarrhea. Now they have all returned; we fight for healing with medicine and ointment, tea and warm baby food.

Our children’s home St. Paul is nearby. Everyone wants their children to find a place there. The day centre has many visitors. Every day new children come to us with our street workers Costin and Moise. Where will we find space for them? There is never enough space in the 33 Romanian CONCORDIA families. We need new flat-sharing communities.

The children from the house St. Paul go to the school which is right across the street from our new centre. On the way home from school, they like to look at our babies, until Brigitta who is leader of both houses, sends them home – homework is waiting. Moise is the biggest surprise. He is over 20 and has never worked. Now he is the big uncle for the pupils, the mothers, the little children. He guards the door when Costin goes through the streets with his team. The street workers take care of the pregnant girls most of all. They have already managed to get some of the girls to the hospital in time. Recently impetuous Sandale had a healthy baby girl. Her name is Christina.

Life pushes its way into our house. Washed, warmed and fed the children blossom. We’re happy but overwhelmed. The mothers need to learn to be mothers. That could be their salvation. The fathers who stand threateningly at the door every day are searching for a place to stay. They need work and training. With everyone, we struggle along the path towards Easter. We share this great hope with you, dear friends. You help us. For this we want to thank you. Ruth Zenkert with the new house and

Your

Father Georg Sporschill, SJ

Bucharest, Lent 2007

The mothers from the train station.

“That is the new director!”