We see them everywhere: standing at the
expressway exit with a cardboard sign that they seem to pass to one
another in shifts, leaning on the wall outside the drugstore, sitting
around in dejected groups in a park. We're afraid of them, or at
least I was always afraid of them. Sometimes I would give them a
couple of dollars, but I would never look them in the eye or speak,
and I was never sure if I should
give them anything. I could make a pretty good argument one way or
the other.
Once I ate dinner
with a former homeless person who had made it “all the way back.”
I thought, “Great. Now I can ask somebody who really knows whether
or not I should give those people money.” So, I asked, and he
thought a minute and said, “I don't know.” Phooey. But I did have
one friend whom I really admired and who said she just didn't worry
about what they did with the money, it was just her business to give
it. And one day, I was out with another friend and her daughter when
a well-known homeless man came up and asked for some money, and they
gave him some. The really remarkable thing to me was the way they
gave it. They were happy to be able to give it. They were almost
excited. That really made me think, and from then on, I would usually
hand over a couple of dollars, but I can't say that I was at all
excited.
The next challenge turned up at the
seminary where I worked. Several years ago, a group of people began
to meet there every Tuesday to make Burritos to distribute to
homeless people downtown. Since my office was only two doors down
from the small kitchen where they worked, I could always hear what
was going on down there, and they always seemed to be having a great
time. I always thought that I should go with them some time, but the
time never seemed right.
This is an older picture, taken when they used to distribute burritos at a downtown park. Now, after some discussion with the police, they go to the parking lot of Catholic church. |
Finally last November, I decided that
as an Advent penance, I would go with them. I was really nervous
though. I'm not really sure now what it was that I was afraid of, but
there was something. I went to my boss's office and told him I was
going to go, but I had to ride with him and that he better stand next
to me every second of the time we were there. He laughed at me and
said that was okay.
Well, I can't explain what happened
when I got there, but all I know is that the second I stepped out of
the car, my life changed. I lost every trace of fear and nervousness
to the point that I can't begin to remember what I felt before. And
the people were so different than I expected them to be. They line up
quietly and stand waiting patiently even when the food is late
getting there and it's 95º
or 28º F. They seldom
complain. I've hardly ever heard anyone complain even on the night
when we ran out of food before everyone had eaten. They are very
polite. They are very grateful. They say, “Thank you,” they say,
“God bless you.”
I love handing burritos to these
people. It's a sacramental action. I love looking straight into their
eyes and touching their hands. I would love to get down on my knees
and kiss their feet if it wouldn't embarrass the heck out of them.
It's because I know they are Jesus.
I'm not saying that there is never a
problem. Sometimes somebody is way too drunk, or once a couple of
guys were fighting when they got there. I also know that if I met
them in another situation, they might not be so nice. One of the
women who used to come to eat was murdered in the church parking lot
by another homeless person in the middle of the night. So, there's
always an awareness that something could happen, but I never worry
because I know I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing.
Then, there is that scripture. I think
I've mentioned that before. You know, the one where the Lord says to
those on His left hand, “Depart from me, you cursed, into the
eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry
and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I
was a stranger and you did not welcome me, Naked and you did not
visit me.” I used to worry about that quite a bit, but I don't
anymore.
Since I changed jobs, I haven't been
able to help with the burritos on Tuesdays, but I plan to start
making cookies or something and going down to meet them at the
parking lot. My pecan tree has put a dent in these plans, but as soon
as I get home, I want to start. Also, at my new job, I am constantly
challenged by those who don't have enough. They don't have food.
Their utilities have been turned off. They need gas. They want money.
So often I'm frustrated because there is nothing I can do. There is a
group at the parish that has a clothes closet and that hands out
food, but we recently sold our high school and the group's building
sat on the property that was sold, so now all their stuff is sitting
in a POD waiting for another space to be renovated, and the funds to
renovate it are slow in coming. The pastor bought some food that we
can at least hand out for people to eat then and there, but it's a
far cry from all that's needed. Very few of our parishioners have
much more than they need, but hopefully we'll be able to pull
together a little something more to help. Pray for us.
So you see, in my current situation I
haven't been able to use the word “homeless” to describe myself
even in jest. I'm not homeless. I have generous friends, and a
supportive family, and even if I had to leave this lovely place where
I'm staying, I know I could find someplace else to go. I have so much
more than I need. And every day on my way to work, I pass under an
expressway where I can look up to the place that looks like this:
This isn't the expressway I am talking about. I thought it would be rude to take a picture of that one, like I was taking a picture through the window of someone's house. |
There I see the “homes” of many
homeless people. They have already left for the day, but all their
boxes and bags and things are still there. It humbles me a bit. It
makes me sad, and it makes me a bit fearful to think of all the
things that I have that they don't. Fearful because I've been given
so much, and so much will be expected. It's not just the possessions.
It's the healthy mind and body, and the abilities and the family—and
of course, the Faith, although I must say that that is the one thing
that some of them have, and that's another humbling thing because how
many of us could hold on to our faith in that situation?
Oh, and that phrase I used
earlier—making it all the way back—I heard that from one of the
men, Logan. He has a big addiction problem and he asked me one night
to pray for him to make it all the way back. So, I do. Pray for him,
too.
AMDG
It's always great to read a post from you Janet. We have a Catholic worker house in my town. They trained me, last May (2012). Unfortunately, I was fighting back tears all through, because my mother was dying. The next day she died. So I haven't been back. It's become where I spent the morning the day before my mother died. But before that, I had been eager to work there. When I got my car, and got enough confidence to drive into town, it was the first place I went. So I'd like to go back. If it could stop being the place I went the day before.. (Grumpy)
ReplyDeleteThanks. It's always great to get a comment from you.
ReplyDeleteThat's really tough, Grumpy. I'll pray for you. Maybe if you do ever go back, you can offer it up for your mother.
I'm reading a book for my book club called To the Field of Stars. It's by a priest named Kevin Codd (very unfortunate name) about his pilgrimage. It's not the best-written book I've ever read, but it has some good bits.
AMDG
"But I did have one friend whom I really admired and who said she just didn't worry about what they did with the money, it was just her business to give it."
ReplyDeleteI was pretty confronted by the people begging on the freeway exits etc, but I really like to have notes ready to hand to give when I get to stop at a light. Personally I really enjoy it. It makes me feel happy to know that if they wanted to they *could* get at least a meal. I don't worry any more about the "should I, shouldn't I" thing. And they are so grateful it makes me tear up when I think about it. I normally say "God bless you" and they do to. The dears.
We have homeless people in Australia, they just tend not to be so visible.
Louise
I never thought of offering it up. It's a good idea.
ReplyDeleteExcellent piece. I'm generally of the same mind as your friend who said it's not her business what they do with it, just to give it. I always ask them to say a prayer for me.
ReplyDeleteNow that's a good idea.
DeleteAMDG
I agree - good idea.
DeleteLouise
yes, its a good idea because it generates reciprocity, and makes the homeless person feel like a human person.
ReplyDeleteYes. And it lets them know that you see them as a person with some worth.
ReplyDeleteAMDG
My experience of helping at a drop-in centre for the homeless ended after I was attacked by a tipsy Scotsman. He was surprisingly easy to fight off (with next to no muscle, and so light I could pick him up and bundle him off the premises with very little difficulty), but it precipitated a mini-riot and I thought it was probably better not to show my face there again, just in case the sight of me riled any of his friends.
ReplyDeleteIt annoys me when middle class people who are looking for a house or something refer to themselves as 'homeless'.
ReplyDeleteI booked myself in for Friday at the Worker hse here. G
Hooray for this!
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteAMDG