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St. Francis embraces the leper.
I met a homeless man today. That is not terribly unusual, of course. We have been involved with homeless people for years as a parish community. What was unusual was the way this fellow was introduced to me.
I was downtown at a coffee shop this morning, where I met with a Methodist minister to talk about the upcoming bus tour by the Fast for Families movement, interfaith relationships, and other Very Holy Things. As I was waiting for him to arrive, I was greeted by one of two men who were having a conversation.
“Good morning, Father — how are you?” Then he spoke to his companion. “Bill, do you know Father Ball?”
We shook hands and exchanged greetings, as my friend continued his introduction.
“Bill is on the streets, but it’s not his fault. He lost his job. That is, it was bad luck, not bad decisions. And I really like him. I especially like this jacket.”
Bill spoke in reply. “Yeah, every likes a Patagonia jacket.”
I looked at Bill, and he looked like every other person who happened to be in that section of Community Bakery this morning. He was a well-groomed, well-dressed, middle class, middle aged white man. No wonder my friend liked him — he looked like one of us! And to reinforce that message, I had been let in on the secret that he is one of us. Professional. Hard working. Intelligent. Cultured. Just down on his luck.
Not really like a homeless person, you see. Bill is different. Bill is okay. And I liked Bill, too.
I sat down again with my coffee. Then it began to dawn on me what had just happened. I had been seduced by the notion that because Bill is like me, he somehow deserved a warmer welcome and a sympathetic ear as he explained his circumstances. Bill didn’t make me uncomfortable, the way some homeless folks can, or offend me with the smell of poverty, so I was happy to look into his eyes and really see him.
Now, I do believe that it is important to realize that we can’t always look at a person and tell that he is homeless. I never would have guessed that about Bill. It’s also important to be aware that the streets are full of women and children, as well as men. We should know that there are “people like us” who will sleep in the cold tonight and that many people are “one paycheck away” (or the lack of one paycheck) from disaster. All of that is true.
But it is also important to realize that when we try to sell people on supporting efforts to help the homeless by focusing on those who are “acceptable” because of their age, gender, background, cleanliness, mental aptitude, sobriety, etc., we are failing to call them to conversion. To help someone whom I perceive as being somehow like me and who I believe is worthy requires very little of me.
On the other hand, to recognize that the homeless person who is not like me, who unsettles me in some fashion, is absolutely worthy of being looked in the eye, of receiving a warm handshake, of a getting a hot meal, and of having a secure place to sleep, simply by virtue of being a beloved child of God requires me to change my thinking (metanoia, repentance) and to “turn with” (conversion) the Spirit.
Conversion is absolutely essential if we hope to move beyond almsgiving, which is ultimately a band-aid approach to homelessness, and be a transformational presence in our world. Conversion allows us to move from simple acts of charity to relationship building. While I am grateful when people give food or money to help the poor, what I really pray for is conversion of heart that no longer sees the person on the street as “the Other“, but as neighbor.
In his Testament, written shortly before his death, St. Francis described his conversion with regard to lepers in this way:
The Lord gave me, Brother Francis, thus to begin doing penance in this way: for when I was in sin, it seemed too bitter for me to see lepers. And the Lord Himself led me among them and I worked mercy with them. And when I left them, what had seemed bitter to me was turned into sweetness of soul and body. And afterwards I delayed a little and left the world.
I long to “leave the world” as Francis did, in the sense of leaving behind the world’s way of distancing itself from those who are poor or different or challenging. I want it not to matter to me that someone stinks. I pray that I will learn to welcome people with genuine warmth and hospitality, regardless of their appearance or what they can do for me.
Yet, I know myself. I recognize why I was so easily moved by that introduction to Bill. My friend meant no harm, of course. In fact, I know that he is regularly engaged in ministry with folks on the streets, many of whom are not the “worthy” kind people. His words were intended to be affirming and supportive, and that is probably what Bill heard this morning. But my reaction to those words points out again that I still need conversion, daily, until that which seems bitter to me is finally turned into sweetness, and I freely love as I am loved.