Face of the Poor

“Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely and the unwanted according to the graces we have received and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work.” ~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Roman Catholic Sister, founder of the Missionaries of Charity order (1910-1997)

It was Sunday afternoon and the Parish Center was humming. The Ladies’ Tea started in less than 15 minutes and final preparations were being made. The annual event was a particular favorite for the women of St Peter Claver Parish.

Each of 30-plus tables had a hostess who took responsibility for the decorations and service ware. It was a chance for each to show off her finest china and tea service. Each table was a masterpiece reflecting the character of the hostess.

Husbands, sons and other male volunteers served as the waiters.

My wife, Teresa, was seated at our friend Jennifer’s table. The teapots were filled and I was just preparing to head for the kitchen, when Linda, one of our parishioners, came running up. “Jim, there’s a homeless person at the door who needs help.” “Since you are going to be ordained as a Deacon soon, I thought you would be the best person to handle it.”

Standing there in my crisp, starched tux shirt, black bow tie, cummerbund and matching cufflinks, I could not have felt more ill-equipped.  “Of course,” I responded, dutifully following Linda to the main entrance of the event.

Along the way I tried to prepare myself for what I might encounter - probably a scruffy old man with a foul smell and an attitude to match. But, as a soon-to-be Deacon, my principal responsibility was serving the marginalized. “This is what we do,” I thought.

Linda disappeared out the door ahead of me. I stepped outside behind her and turned, my eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight. The sight which greeted me was unexpected, to say the least.

There, standing next to Linda, was not the man I had imagined. Instead, Linda was standing next to a wisp of girl who could not have been more than 20. Her lower lip was pierced in two places and her wispy blonde hair was pulled back with a well-worn scrunchie. She wore a pink and white striped knit top with short sleeves. At her feet lay two zippered bags which appeared to have once been nice carryon luggage.  Her nose was red, as if she had been crying.

“Hi, I’m Jim, What’s your name?”  “Christi” she responded, looking at her feet.  “How can I help you?” I asked.  She choked back a sob. “I’m hungry, I have no money and I need something to eat,” Christi said, looking to her right, tears leaking from her eyes.

I gently asked her a few questions regarding services she had tried or organizations she might have contacted. The problem was that it was Sunday and none of the usual services were open. Even our own parish office was closed. 

“Wait right here,” I said finally. I trotted back into the parish center where I was greeted by the hum of convivial conversation. We tapped the cash box for a few dollars, enough for some food and bus fare to the Samaritan Center which would be open in the morning.  

When I returned, Christi was still standing there.  “Here’s enough money to get you through the rest of the day and bus fare across town,” I said with a hopeful smile. “Thank you, Deacon,” she sniffed, looking at her shoes. “May I pray for you?” I asked. For the first time, Christi made eye contact. “Yes, thank you.” 

I prayed briefly over her, asking God to give her help and strength. “Thank you,” she exclaimed again as I pronounced the “Amen.”  Then she hugged me. 

Even outside I could hear the opening announcements for the Ladies’ Tea. “I’ve got to go,” I told Christi. “Will you be all right?” “I think so,” she said simply; picking up her bags. Turning, I headed for the door. As I reached it, I glanced back just in time to catch a glimpse of her disappearing around the corner.  

I paused for a moment: Funny, I never told her I was a Deacon. Heading back into the crush of activity in the parish center I wondered what other surprises God might have in store for me. 

“The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me,” (Matthew 26:11 Jesus tells his disciples.  That phrase (a version of which appears in three of the four Gospels) has generated much discussion and debate as to what Jesus really meant.   

It seems to me that the words mean more than just the continued existence of the poor – that they will always be around. Rather, the words imply a relationship in the same way that “I have a child” or “I have a spouse” implies a relationship. “I have the poor with me” also means I have a relationship with them. So, perhaps the implication here is: “You will not always have me (here), but you will always have the poor (instead).” 

On the day of the Ladies’ Tea, this passage took on a special meaning for me. Whether or not we acknowledge their presence, the poor are always with us, and they are often nearer than we think. Sometimes we pass them on the street, sometimes they are on the highway exit ramps, and sometimes they are literally right outside our door.  

Those in need seem to appear at the most inconvenient of times. They appear just as we are trying to get something else done, something important to us. Perhaps they are a reminder of what really is or isn’t important. The poor don’t require an appointment, but they do require our attention.  

The poor don’t always fit neatly into our stereotypes. They are not simply the local wino from the gutter. They can be people who are uncomfortably close to us, even family and friends.  

Once, while working in a homeless shelter, a former, fellow employee appeared asking for food. He had gone from being the head of a department to being homeless. The poor and needy are closer than we think. 

Whether it is a grizzled old man, a scared young girl, or a former co-worker, when we look into the face of the poor, the homeless, or the marginalized, we are looking into the face of Christ. After all, he promised that they – and he – would always be with us. 

Dear God: Help me to see you in everyone I meet today. 

“If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.” ~John F. Kennedy, 35^th President of the United States (1917-1963) 

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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