Seeing Christ in the Face of the Poor - A Catechetical Moment

The homeless man sat, cross-legged on the sidewalk, his head slumped forward, dozing as the snow continued to fall, leaning over the small cardboard sign that read "Please Help".  Getting out of my car to go into the store, I walked over, greeted  politely and waited for him to respond.  He awoke at my second greeting - and I held out some money, asking gently, "Would this help you?" The head snapped up, and I was shocked to see he had a very angry-red-purple recent black eye. Someone had been beating him up - my heart sank in compassion. Blessing me, he shot me a toothless grin and took the money, continuing to call out his thanks as I turned away.  He was gone when I looked out the store window a few minutes later. I, however, was haunted for hours by the memory of the black eye and the sense that unlike him, no matter how challenging my life might be, was incredibly lucky to have food, ready cash, and a warm home to go back to. I felt regret that I had not talked to him longer or given him more.

Last year, during Lent, our parish focused on seeing Christ in the face of the poor, using a large hand-painted icon with haunting eyes (shown left) designed and painted by two parish artists. Those eyes, however, were not nearly as haunting as those of the homeless man.  In him, I saw a human being beaten down by life, his dignity stripped away, yet with enough essential humanity to express his gratitude with sincerity. It was the suffering Christ that haunted and still haunts me in that memory. "Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers..."  Was it enough?  Why didn't I have the courage to do even more?

As a catechist and trainer of catechists, I have for a long time felt that my ministry is less-directly to the poor and those suffering injustice, and more toward teaching those who teach others about the poor.

Recently, I heard Sr. Helen Prejean tell about her life, how as a well-off child and later as a teacher-sister in Louisiana, she was sheltered from direct experience with poor people. It was not until she was asked to be a pen-pal with someone on death row that she encountered the life of the less-fortunate, and, as she put it, was drawn "into the fire".   Like Sr. Helen, although I normally give to several charities and am reasonably generous when appeals are presented to me, I have had little direct contact with the poor.  The encounter yesterday was surprisingly moving.  Truly a catechetical moment for me. I will be reflecting on how this should change me for some time to come.

This underlines the importance of direct service projects for youth - but more than that - for adults in the Church. If we sit in our comfortable pews and toss money into the basket when asked to contribute to a direct appeal, I think we run the risk of being too insulated from the poor.   The church needs to find more ways to provide wake-up-call moments of direct contact. Better yet, the poor need to know they are always welcome in our churches.

Baptism of the Lord - Jesus's "Job Description" - and Ours

If God asked you today to participate in a "performance evaluation" of whether you are fulfilling your baptismal call, how would you measure up?  This Sunday we celebrate the Baptism of the Lord - an opportunity to reflecta again on the meaning of our own baptism as we listen again to the familiar gospel reading from the 3rd chapter of Luke about John the Baptist baptizing Jesus, in which we hear the voice of God saying “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.” 

Notice that the first reading (first choice) from Isaiah fleshes this sentiment out even more fully: 
"Thus says the LORD: Here is my servant whom I uphold, my chosen one with whom I am pleased, upon whom I have put my spirit; he shall bring forth justice to the nations, not crying out, not shouting, not making his voice heard in the street. A bruised reed he shall not break, and a smoldering wick he shall not quench, until he establishes justice on the earth; the coastlands will wait for his teaching.  I, the LORD, have called you for the victory of justice, I have grasped you by the hand; I formed you, and set you as a covenant of the people, a light for the nations, to open the eyes of the blind, to bring out prisoners from confinement, and from the dungeon, those who live in darkness." (Isaiah 42: 1-4, 6-7)

This seems, in fact, to be in fact a "job description" for the one God is sending. The elements of this job description are clear: to bring forth justice, teach all over the world, be a sign of the covenant, be light to the nations and to the blind, free prisoners, and do all of this quietly, faithfully, inevitably, without shouting on street corners. Notice that the form of address in the Isaiah text changes in mid-stream - from proclamation to the world of who the chosen one is, to addressing the chosen one directly, calling him to the fullness of his mission.

And, when we were baptized into Christ Jesus' life and death, it became our mission too. So it is that the quiet heroes often are the ones who are raised up by the Church as saints and holy ones. St. Therese of Lisieux with her "Little Way", St. Damian of Molokai, who worked to free the lepers from their darkness and suffering, Mother Theresa, who picked up the sick and dying from the gutters, and many others whose lives were quiet, faithful, but other-centered.

For the rest of us, we participate in the mission when we evangelize by word or deed in the midst of our daily lives. We participate when we work for justice, teach others about faith, and offer our hand to help lead someone out of a dark place. For most of us, it is a lifelong effort to live up to this calling, but it is a worthy effort, because it asks of us that we give our best in service of others - even at the cost of self  (Paragraph 75 of the RCIA names that as one of the attributes of the kind of disciple the process is aiming to create.)

So, this weekend, as you hear the readings, listen - really listen - and then ask yourself how you would measure up if you were asked for a performance evaluation. Maybe it's as simple as the Ignatian examen: ask yourself when you have cooperated with God, and when you have failed... and resolve, with God's help, to do better.