Pray For Me

“We must build a new world, a far better world – one in which the eternal dignity of man is respected.” ~ Harry S. Truman, 33rd President of the United States (1884-1972)

The new member reception was in full swing. I was in the rectory pantry retrieving a fresh bottle of wine when the back door bell erupted with a bbbbbbbrrring sound. Glancing through the doorway into the kitchen Arlene, the rectory chef, was busily serving the Priests dinner. The door was an arm's length away. I reached for the knob with a perfunctory, “I’ll get it!” Pushing it open I expected to find a reception guest standing there, having mistaken the kitchen door for the main entrance to the rectory.

Instead, I came face to face with a little, old woman. Dressed in a knit sweater and baggy pink slacks she stared at me for a moment apparently collecting her thoughts. “Is there a priest here?” she asked. A question meant to validate this was a rectory rather than summon the clergy. “Can I help you instead?” She stared at me again. After a hesitation she launched into a convoluted story. In short, food was to have been distributed in the park across the street. She had waited all day, but nobody came.

“I’m sorry to hear that…” but before I could finish, “Do you have any bread?” She asked abruptly. “Wait right here.” I said with a smile and headed off to the food tables at the reception located in the dining room. Returning with a plate full of hors d'oeuvres I handed them over. She inspected them carefully. Finding them to her liking she repeated the same story about the food distribution over again…word for word.

Then, having made her point, she headed down the stairs, waving and saying “thank you” with out turning to look at me. The old woman disappeared down the driveway and into the dark. I grabbed the bottle of wine and headed back to the dining room.

An hour or so later I was again in the pantry placing empty wine bottles in the recycling bin. Déjà Vu! The door bell came to life with the same bbbbbbbrrring sound. “She can’t have come back?” I thought, reaching for the knob, but instead of the old woman, a man stood at the door. His ruddy skin, dark from exposure, scraggly beard, limp soiled clothes, seemingly covered with a light film of coco dust and hungry, desperate eyes left no doubt he was homeless. His arms were wrapped around his shoulders and he was shivering.

“Hi, how can I help you?” I asked. “Do you have a blanket I can use?” he replied. Turning to Arlene who was busily cleaning up the in the kitchen I asked if we had any old blankets. “Just a minute,” she responded. “You get the blanket, I’ll get the food,” I called after her heading back to the dining room.

I returned first. “Would you like some food,” I asked the man. “Sure” he responded hesitantly.

Arlene’s voice turned me around. “This is all we have.” In her arms was a bed pillow in a plain, white, pillow case and a quilted bed cover. “They will have to do.” I smiled. Taking them from her I handed them out the door to the man expecting nothing more than a “thank you”. “I can’t take these,” he yelped in shock stepping backward. “These are from your bed.” “That’s OK,” I assured him. “These are extras.” “Can I give you something for them?” He stammered, still staring at the bedding, though he obviously had nothing to give. “My name’s Jim; you can pray for me. I can always use prayers,” was all I could think of.

He looked up from his bedding and food his face brightening. Taking a step or two back he stared into the heavens and launched into a series of prayers; some I recognized and some which were obviously improvised. By the time he had finished he had asked for the intercessions of God, Jesus, Mary, Moses, the Holy Ghost, the Trinity and a few Saints I had never heard of.

Finally, he finished and brought his eyes earthward. “Thank you.” I said sincerely. He nodded and headed down the driveway. Just before he reached the side walk and turned out of sight, he spoke over his shoulder: “Don’t worry Jeff, I’ll pray for you,” he shouted and disappeared.

I smiled to myself for a moment. Then turned and headed back into the rectory, secure in the belief God would know I was Jeff.

Whether we hear them or not, the poor are always knocking at the back door of our lives. No one would argue we need to provide them with life’s basic necessities. Whether it is food for an old woman or a blanket for a homeless man satisfying bodily needs are important and necessary.

It doesn’t stop there however. Mother Teresa was renowned for many things, but she would often ask those in need to pray for her. Even to the point of asking hard core convicts at San Quentin to pray for her. Some of whom she converted.

As faithful stewards, we are called, not only to be our brother’s or sister’s keeper (keeping them fed, keeping them clothed, keeping them warm) but we are also called to care for their spirits. One of the ways we do this is by helping restore their dignity.

When I gave the homeless man the bed cover and pillow his bodily needs were served, but in turn I caused him distress. He was troubled by what I gave him, because he had nothing to give in return. Inadvertently, I had made him feel unworthy.

When, however, I asked for something in return; when I entrusted him with praying for my soul it gave him meaning and purpose. In that moment, the bedding became a symbol of something good, something earned, rather than something undeserved; another reminder of being unworthy.

This not only applies to the needy, the homeless or the incarcerated. It applies to everyone with whom we interact during the course of our daily lives. We are not called to demean others or obligate them. Rather we are called to value them, to see them as God’s creation; as something good. In short, we are called to treat them with the dignity they deserve.

Dear God: Remind me daily to treat your creation with dignity.

“There is no art in turning a goddess into a witch, a virgin into a whore, but the opposite operation, to give dignity to what has been scorned, to make the degraded desirable, that calls for art or for character.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German playwright, poet, novelist and dramatist. (1749-1832)

© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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