There are moments in history when everything seems to be falling apart. Certainties crumble, cities become places of fear, relationships break under the weight of violence. At one such moment, whilst Eastern Europe is ravaged by war and the city of Warsaw endures days of siege and uncertainty, Saint Vincent de Paul looks outwards, towards those missionaries who are there, immersed in the same precariousness as the people.

They are not outside observers. They are not protected. They are in the thick of history, exposed to the same dangers: diseases spreading rapidly, news that fails to reach them, lives suspended between hope and fear. In a letter written as news of the war in Poland arrives, Saint Vincent reveals all his apprehension. He speaks of the missionaries in Warsaw, “surrounded by all the hardships and dangers of war”, and confides his anguish for one of them, who is seriously ill and from whom no news is received. He writes, in fact, that they are “very worried about them”, both because of the dangers of the siege and because of the illness of their brother, of whom it is not known whether he is still alive.

They remain.

This is perhaps one of the most powerful images of Vincentian charity: not so much the heroic act that strikes the imagination, but the daily decision to stay when everything urges one to leave. To remain alongside the poor when the situation becomes dangerous, when conditions worsen, when there are no guarantees.

For it is precisely in those moments that the poor become even poorer.

War does not merely bring material destruction. It breeds bewilderment, loneliness, fear. Structures break down, networks dissolve, people are left without points of reference. And those who have nothing lose even the little they had. It is a poverty that spreads and deepens, affecting the body but also the soul.

St Vincent understands all this with great clarity. That is why he never thinks of the mission as something to be suspended in difficult times. On the contrary, it is precisely then that it becomes most necessary. Not because problems can be solved, but because one can remain close by.

There is no naivety in his words. He knows full well that missionaries are in danger. He knows they can fall ill, that they can die. And he does not trivialise this risk. He entrusts it to prayer, shares it with the community, and experiences it as a real wound. But he never uses it as a reason to withdraw.

Here a profoundly evangelical dimension of his vision emerges: charity is not conditional on safety.

This does not mean seeking out danger, but not making safety the ultimate criterion. If that were the case, the mission would come to a halt precisely when it is most needed. Instead, for St Vincent, the criterion remains always the same: where the poor are, there the Church must be.

And if the poor are within a besieged city, then the mission passes through there too.

But there is another aspect, more hidden and perhaps even more relevant today. In these letters we find not only grand scenes of war. We also find daily life continuing: the management of the works, internal difficulties, the struggles of the confreres. It is as if the grand narrative and the everyday story were constantly intertwined.

On the one hand, the siege; on the other, the need to organise, to decide, to support. On the one hand, danger; on the other, the patience of relationships. This tells us something very important: charity is not lived only in exceptional moments, but in the continuity of daily life, even when the world seems to be collapsing.

St Vincent is not a man detached from these realities. He writes, asks, enquires, recommends. He carries within himself the people, the situations, the sufferings. When he has no news, he prays. When he receives news, he shares it. He is a presence which, even from a distance, remains deeply close.

And this is perhaps the most powerful point of all.

Staying does not simply mean being physically present. It means not abandoning them in one’s heart. It means carrying the other in one’s heart, continuing to care, to support, to remember. Even when one cannot do more.

It is a form of fidelity that makes no noise, but which keeps the mission alive.

Looking at these pages, it is hard not to think of our own times. Even today there are places marked by war, violence and instability. Even today there are people living in situations that seem hopeless. And even today the temptation is to turn away, to protect oneself, not to expose oneself too much.

St Vincent does not judge this fear. But he points to a different path.

We cannot always change situations. We cannot always solve problems. But we can choose not to turn our backs.

We can stay.

To stay with a tangible presence, when possible. To stay with an inner fidelity, when it is not. To stay through prayer, through remembrance, through responsibility.

Because, in the end, charity is measured precisely here: not so much in what it begins, but in what it does not abandon.

And in moments when everything seems to be falling apart, staying close to the poor becomes perhaps the highest form of proclaiming the Gospel.