Elizabeth

Elizabeth is a tall, stately Englishwoman. She is not young; she is not old. It is difficult to place her age. The harsh climate has creased her face and blemished her white skin, but it does not mask a glowing serenity. She speaks English with an accent that reveals a privileged, upper-class background. Her grey-streaked hair is pulled back and tied loosely in a knot. Uncaptured strands radiate in all directions, some clinging to the sides of her face. She wears an old, frayed sari. Her feet are grimy and scaled, her toes splayed, signs of an unshod life. Children of roughly eight to ten years old, all dark-skinned little boys dressed neatly and simply in shorts and tee shirt, are gathered around her like ducklings. In fluent Tamil, she patiently and kindly responds to their questions and comments.

Right now, she is talking to a group of smartly dressed teenagers from a Colombo church. They have come to the orphanage to see for themselves a living example of Christian charity. She tells them her story.

Elizabeth’s father was a surgeon working in hospitals in London’s East End. He never refused to operate on a patient who couldn’t afford to pay him. He’d have been one of the least wealthy surgeons in all of London, she said with a chuckle, but he could afford to send her to a private school. Her mother was forever raising money for charities, running soup kitchens, donating food and clothing to the Salvation Army.

Elizabeth loved and admired her parents’ altruism. She harboured a desire to be like them when she grew up. Throughout her academic years and her career in the corporate world, that desire gathered momentum. She learned about the unfair global systems that trapped generations in inescapable poverty. She began to hate the trappings of success that surrounded her. Her desire blossomed into a passion to dedicate her life to people who lived in absolute poverty. On her thirtieth birthday she decided to change her life. She wrote to charity organisations all over the world asking about ways and means of becoming involved. She became aware of a struggling orphanage attached to a Christian Ashram in the dry, harsh north of Sri Lanka. The founder of the Ashram was forever running short of money and appealing worldwide for contributions. A year later, Elizabeth arrived at the Ashram. She had spent that year converting all her material possessions to cash, and learning Tamil, the language spoken in that part of Sri Lanka. The moment she stepped off the van onto the hot, dry gravel driveway of the Ashram, she knew she had found her calling. She gave all her remaining money to the orphanage.

The orphanage continues to run out of money, but each time something happens to bring in enough to keep them going. They are doing well at present. A few months ago her mother passed away and the inheritance has enabled the orphanage to afford a few luxuries. With a smile, she gestures to the boys who she says are very proud of their new shorts and tee shirts.

One of the smartly dressed teenagers asks Elizabeth how her faith has influenced and sustained her passion for helping the poor. She replies that her faith only reinforces a passion that is part of her nature. She adds that she has encountered the same passion in people of different faiths and of no discernible faith. She is convinced that it has been an innate part of humanity long before religions sprang up. She adds that the passion to help less fortunate others is essential for human survival.

At least one of those teenagers goes away deep in thought. Contrary to what has been instilled in him practically from birth, what Elizabeth said confirms a compelling suspicion that no religion has a monopoly on goodness.