When Father Richard Sutter, a former U.S. Army Airborne Ranger Infantry Officer, summoned a handful of his strong-backed St. Gabriel Catholic Church parishioners for what he called a recon mission to Swannanoa, North Carolina, a community devastated by Hurricane Helene, we did not hesitate.
Once there, we were surprised to learn that the earlier-arriving boots on the ground were not boots at all, but sandals, and small ones at that. Sisters of the Missionaries of Charity were already at St. Margaret Mary Catholic Church, our designated rally point, by the time we gents had arrived in town.
I was aware of the Missionaries of Charity and their service to the poorest of the poor. But I’d never seen them in action, and certainly never expected to do so two hours from my home. The strength of the hurricane notwithstanding, theirs was a masterclass display of the most powerful force in the universe: love.
HURRICANE HELENE: NORTH CAROLINA RESIDENTS FIGHT FOR THEIR SURVIVAL AS BASIC GOODS BECOME SCARCE
The men had driven in from Charlotte, five of us across two well-provisioned trucks. Six sisters had arrived in one van, having come from Chicago, St. Louis and Memphis. We guys stayed hydrated throughout the sun-baked day; I never saw any of the peripatetic sisters take a single sip of water.
At the first neighborhood we visited, a trailer park on the bank of the Swannanoa River, the sisters scattered to flood-damaged homes like fireflies in a Montreat, North Carolina, summer night’s sky. Worried, I ran to catch up with them, not sure of what they’d see behind each damaged door on these unannounced checks.
They smiled at me with kind eyes that voicelessly said "kid, this ain’t our first rodeo." I soon realized smiling is one of their trustiest weapons. Most adults have forgotten what all babies and Sisters of Mother Teresa know well – the purest of smiles beget smiles in return. It happens before there’s even time to think.
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The joy these holy women radiate from their very souls is disarming, even in places of great suffering like Swannanoa, where receding river and ubiquitous mud still give up their dead. I am sure it was no less nourishing than the food and water they helped deliver, all day long and without rest, to the suffering.
One sister let me hold her hand to guide her through a patch of particularly muddy terrain. Looking back, I think she did it just so she could get on with her merciful work. On the evening drive over Black Mountain back home to Charlotte, my friend Jay and I took stock of our most uncommon day.
We laughingly agreed that my concern for the sisters’ own welfare on their dangerous welfare checks, while coming from a good place, was about as necessary as giving the Tar Heel State’s Michael Jordan unsolicited tips on how to stay hungry and close out tight basketball games. But we strapping guys, given over to a more muscular Christianity in our own lives, learned an unforgettable lesson about true power from the good sisters.
Western North Carolina’s road to recovery will be long. It will require great strength from many. But the presence of the sisters of the Missionaries of Charity in Swannanoa called to mind St. Francis de Sales’ beautiful words: Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength.
