Begging For Your Respect

Have you ever been so desperate you had to resort to begging?

Have you ever been so desperate you had to resort to begging?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday when I was riding the bus to school, a man in his thirties got on the bus and began soliciting help from everyone one the bus. For the next fifteen minutes of the trip, he walked up and down the bus repeating this story:

Excuse me, sir. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping that you could help me out. My name is Christian, and I was hit by a drunk driver nine years ago and lost my job and for three years I was in a wheelchair and couldn’t work but I’m better now. I still have some issues, you see my bruises [shows legs and arms with serious scars] but I’m working really hard and I run and when I do the dishes at night I do pushups in between each dish to get strong, you see, and it takes me an hour and a half but I’m getting stronger and able to work I even run each night although that can be really difficult I’m getting better. I used to be a glass installer making $60,000 a year before I got hit by the drunk driver and the company said that they would hire me back now if I got strong enough but in the mean time I’m on disability but I’m out of money and just need help for two days, I’ll get my disability check May 1. If you have any paper metro cards with anything on them or just some spare change or anything I could really use your help you know its just a few days but I don’t know what I’m going to eat and anything would help. If you don’t have any money that’s fine but I could really use some prayers so please pray to God that I get this job because it would get my life back together. Thank you so much, God bless you.

And again…

Excuse me sir…

And again…

Perdon Señor…

His story sounded genuine and my heart went out to him. At the same time, the cynical side of me analyzed everything he did, looking for a reason to make me believe that he was just a mooch on society, lying to people to get free money, or would go and immediately spend that money on drugs.

And do you know what? Those questions are irrelevant compared to the way people reacted to him. Person after person refused to look at him or even acknowledge his presence. One person didn’t even take his headphones off to see what he wanted. Because they had heard the story just a minute earlier when he had told it to someone else, they knew what he wanted, and completely shut off contact.

For all I know, he was a drug addict. For all I know, he was lying directly to my face. For all I know, he had blown his money on useless things like cigarettes or alcohol. I can’t prove that he hadn’t, and I’ll never know.

What I do know, however, is that this man was in a really bad place. He was in such a desperate place that he was willing to get on a bus, share his story with complete strangers, and lower himself to begging. How humiliating and dehumanizing! Even after being rejected by the first few people and having others refuse to even acknowledge that he existed, he kept trying, restarting the story in an attempt to get, as he said, “Even if you have a few pennies that will help.” Have you ever been so desperate that you had to ask complete strangers for pennies?

What should we as Christians do in situations like these, I wonder? Some will say that you should never, under any circumstances, give money to a person like this for fear that they might use it to hurt themselves with drugs or alcohol. There is a lot of merit to this argument: beyond that fear, money can serve as a way of simply getting rid of the person so that they won’t bother you anymore, making the giver feel good about giving but never actually having to enter into relationship or be challenged.

On the other hand, how can we look on someone in time of great desperation, even if it is their own fault, and do nothing?

If a brother or sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well,” but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it? (Ja 2:15-16)

My experience with the poor and homeless is far from thorough and so I in no way claim to be an expert, but there are a number of things that I am trying out myself to see how they work. The first is making sure that I get every person’s name that I speak with, and make it a point to mention mine as well. We can never underestimate the power of humanizing a person that is rarely treated with respect. I let them talk, and I ask them about their life. It’s good to know what they need, and most times I will ask them if they know of a place where they can get food/shelter/clothing. The second this I do is carry extra food or gift cards that I know will go directly to a need. Granola bars are great to keep in my backpack because I know they won’t go bad for a while, and $5 Subway/McDonalds gift cards won’t break the bank for the few I give out but I feel that they are better to give than cash. Lastly, I tell them that I will pray for them, and then I offer a prayer for them right then as I walk away and as well as that evening at communal prayer.

Ultimately, people have to go with their comfort level when it comes to direct service such as this. Some people don’t feel comfortable giving out money, and that’s not a bad thing. What I will say, though, is that when you come to realize how humiliating it must be to beg, to walk up to a complete stranger and ask for something, you know that you can’t just pretend like you don’t see them. You have to acknowledge them, acknowledge their desperate situation, and at least speak to them as a human being even if that is just, “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything.”

For me at this point in my life, I think that I need to err on the side of charity not judgment. Sometimes we are simply called to be a brother or sister to someone in need, not wonder whether or not they’re being genuine or not. I look to Matthew 25:31-46 as a reminder that how I treat the poor is how I treat Jesus. Do I want to be his brother, or his judge? I imagine begging for his forgiveness is much more difficult than begging for a dollar on the street.

 3 Comments

 Posted on April 30, 2014 by

 Poverty

     , , ,

The Joy of Salvation

This was hands down the best liturgical experience I have ever had. Second place hasn't even finished yet this is so far ahead!

This was hands down the best liturgical experience I have ever had. Second place hasn’t even finished yet this is so far ahead!

All around the world, Christians are celebrating! Christ has risen from the dead! Our salvation is at hand!

How does one even begin to celebrate such a moment? At St. Camillus, we celebrate in the way of the Roman Catholic Church with the night watch of the Easter Vigil:

Just after sundown, turn off all of the lights in the church, and sit in the physical and spiritual darkness, awaiting Christ’s coming in joyful anticipation. We retreat outside of the church where a candle is being lit, the Paschal candle, the light of Christ in our darkness. With great praise, Christ illumines the night. From the One true light, everyone keeping vigil lights our own candle and processes into the church, now illumined by 1200 or more flames. What can we do but sing? Lumen Christi. Lumen Christi. Lumen Christi. There is anticipation of the joy to come in our voice, but our celebration is yet subdued. Three of the four priests approach the ambo, and taking turns in English, Spanish, and French, sing the Exsultet. It is emotive, haunting, and joyous all at once.

With only the light in our hands, we now sit for a journey through salvation history. Six readings, proclaimed in four languages, recall our journey from darkness into light, from Adam to Abraham to Moses, from sinfulness to forgiveness, from diaspora to reconciliation. We journey as a people in need of the light. Between each reading we sing a response, praising God, using many tongues to express our praise: Latin, French, Hebrew, Spanish, and Bangla are among them.

And then, all at once, there is a great light. The church lights are thrown on and the whole multicultural community cries out in joyful exultation the best way we can: Gloria Deo in excelsis, Gloria Deo sempiternam, “Glory to God in the highest.” From English to Spanish to French to Bangla, repeating the response in Latin, we are united in our diversity, made one from many in our great praise. An epistle from Romans is read, the Gospel and a homily is proclaimed in three languages, and the liturgy has just begun!

Those wishing initiation into the church are presented, so many they stretch the whole width of the church. We kneel and invoke the intercessions of the saints in a prayerful litany, Pray for us. Twenty eight people step into a pool of water for baptism, and each in their native language, have three buckets of water poured on them: “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” With each there is an eruption of cheers and a joyful Alleluia sung. The rest of us are renewed in our own baptism with our own “sprinkling” of water, chanting Wade in the Water like you’ve never head it before. The other catechumens are then received, either into full communion or through the sacrament of confirmation. 98 sacraments are received throughout the evening.

And as if this were not enough, it was then, after two and half hours, we begin the liturgy of the Eucharist. The gifts are presented with a traditional Bangla dance, and the Holy Spirit is invoked upon the gifts to make them new. A wonderful blending of cultures and languages, the Eucharist was blessed and communicated, uniting people from all around the world in the utmost pinnacle of our faith, the real presence of our Lord, now risen, here among us.

Throughout the whole liturgy, I was overwhelmed with the overflowing, almost tangible, emotion that I felt and witnessed. The absolute tipping point was after everyone had received communion, the whole church stood up and began to dance, shout, sing, and embrace one another as if a war was called off and we now knew we were going to make it; it was as if we had just been reunited with someone lost many years ago; it was as if we had been given an unexpected day to live when we had lost hope. And in a way, it was all of these things. Although we receive Christ in the Eucharist every week, even every day, there was something even more being celebrating among the more than 1200 people last night: we were celebrating our salvation. Christ has RISEN! The darkness is no more! The true light is with us, and dwells with us! Death has been conquered, our fear has been taken away.

If you’d like to see what I mean by overflowing joy, click the link below to see one of the baptisms, the “sprinkling” of water, the Bangla offering of gifts, and the communion song:

 2 Comments

 Posted on April 20, 2014 by

 Favorite, Ministry, Prayer

     , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Gift of Sacrifice

Jesus' gift is Himself, broken and shared. All that is ours to do is be thankful and receive.

Jesus’ gift is Himself, broken and shared. All that is ours to do is be thankful and receive.

In this time of Holy Week as we enter the Triduum (The Holy Thursday/Good Friday/Easter Vigil Liturgy), our focus as Christians is the on suffering, death, and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. We are reminded of the injustice done to Jesus, the spotless lamb, who was sacrificed for our sake. We are moved by the way He took our burdens away from us, removing the stain of sin. We transition from the deepest sorrow to the most exultant joy in a matter of days. All of this because of the gift that was given to us, Jesus’ passion.

I might be wrong, but I have a feeling that “gift” is a difficult concept to understand for many of us because I doubt many of us actually know how to give or receive a gift in the purest sense. That’s not to say that most people aren’t generous: we give and receive gifts for birthdays, going out of our way to do something nice on that special day, and for Christmas, most of us “exchange gifts” with people we love. This is a wonderful practice of building relationships.

At the same time, however, I have to wonder why “exchange gifts” is not seen for what it is, an oxymoron. The very essence of gift is that it is freely given love from one to another without any expectation of return. To “exchange” gifts or to have any expectation of a mutual return is not giving a gift, it is an economy of friendship; it is a transaction, albeit well-intentioned and often fruitful.

With birthdays and Christmas, special holidays and end-of-the-year celebrations, there is, like it or not, an expectation placed on each of us to engage in this exchange to some extent. And while it’s not necessarily bad because it shows people affection and is a great way to build relationships, I wonder if that can even be considered “gift” at all. If it is owed to them, that sounds more like justice than it does gift.

Jesus speaks to this in the Gospel of Luke:

When you hold a lunch or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or your wealthy neighbors, in case they may invite you back and you have repayment. Rather, when you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous. (Lk 14:12-14)

There is a sense here that a true gift is something given freely without any strings attached. It is an end in itself. The giver gives simply out of love and the receiver is not compelled to do anything but receive graciously. Is this the case when we give gifts? For me, I often receive a wonderful present and wonder, “How am I going to match this on so-and-so’s birthday?” Worse yet, I have been disappointed at the present someone has given me because I put so much more money and effort into their present than they did into mine. Such an attitude, I believe, completely undermines the whole purpose of gift in the first place.

Such is the case, returning to the Triduum, of Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection. It is gift in the truest sense, freely given love that requires absolutely nothing in return. I think that our often-distorted view of gift exchange detracts from the beauty of his sacrifice. When we enter this Holy Liturgy, we can sometimes feel overwhelmed with guilt because it is our sins that made Jesus do this and feel compelled to help Jesus carry the cross to take away His pain; we despair in the fact that we are unworthy to receive such a sacrifice or how incapable we are of returning it; sometimes, we futilely attempt to “make up” for our sins anyway. Our first response is to return the favor that Jesus has done for us in his sacrifice, but this is absurd. He did not do it because we deserved it or because He was looking for something in return. He did not do it only for those that would be thankful. Jesus’ sacrifice is a gift. It is freely given, unmerited favor, and it requires nothing from us in return because that is the very essence of gift.

And so, this evening as we enter into this most holy Triduum, all that is ours to do is to be thankful. Jesus is offering us a gift of great love. Graciously accept it knowing that there is nothing that we could possibly do to return the favor, and that we’re not expected to even try. What a joyous occasion it is! May you have a blessed Easter knowing this!

 2 Comments

 Posted on April 17, 2014 by

 Prayer

     , , , , , , ,

A Missed Opportunity

After a particularly heady reflection on the Trinity in the spirituality of St. Bonaventure, I thought that I’d bring it back down to earth with St. Francis in this post. In contrast to Bonaventure’s inward journey, that of the soul and intellect being moved by the great mysteries of the transcendent God, Francis’ journey was of a poor traveller:

He wanted the attitude of traveller and stranger to characterize the friars minor. He envisioned them as pilgrims on the way to the heavenly kingdom. The historic Christ, after all, came to this world as a pilgrim. His starting point was heaven. Then He tarried, like the very poor, long enough to carry out the will of His heavenly Father, and, having atoned for sin and merited the grace of the Holy Spirit, He returned to His Father by an ascension. Francis knew that the whole meaning of the kerygma was to participate in this humiliation and exaltation of Christ.

(Sergius Wroblewski, OFM, Bonaventure: Theology of Prayer)

As a poor traveller, the object of one’s contemplation is less of the transcendent forms of heaven and more of the immanent, mundane realities of the world.  As followers in the way of St. Francis, we Franciscans find great meaning in the dirty, the chaotic, and the less-than-ideal because that is the road traveled by Jesus. Basilicas are wonderful, but so are bus stops.

In this way, you will find with the Franciscans almost no attempt to present a false air of perfection, to hide our flaws (although it might be nice if some friars did sometimes!) There is a recognition in our spirituality that the only thing potentially “holier” about us than lay people is that we embrace the fact that we are not complete, recognize that we are in need of God, and seek to journey in the way of Christ. Despite what some may think about the “holy brothers in the monastery,” we do not spend every waking moment in pious practices or talking about Jesus; we watch television, talk about sports, and even fight. But that’s the beauty of it: even in, or should I say especially in, the mundane conversations, petty conflicts, dirty situations, and dry moments, we attempt to identify ourselves with the humble struggle of Jesus’ life.

I was reminded of this recently in the two areas of greatest conflict in friar communities: kitchens and bathrooms. (I’ve said before, no fights are had over theology, but there is a weekly conflict over dishes.) Needing a fork, I opened the drawer only to find that all of the silverware had been indiscriminately thrown every which way. Utter chaos. Infuriating laziness. “Really people??” There are only so many messes you can clean in one day, I told myself. I’ll give them the opportunity to fix it. If it’s not fixed by the time I’m done eating, I’ll fix it, but I’m not dealing with this now. Closing the drawer, another friar looks at me and says, “If you’re not a part of the solution you’re a part of the problem.” I nearly smacked him in the face. Why is it my responsibility to clean up everyone else’s mess, especially given the fact that I do so in almost every other case.

Fast forward a few weeks, and low and behold, we have a bathroom issue. Issue is not strong enough. We have a toilet atrocity. Let’s leave it at that. Nope. Not dealing with this (insert pun). Whoever did this can come back and clean it up later, I’ll find another bathroom. A few hours later, the mess was cleaned and nothing further was ever mentioned.

Do you know what my spiritual director had the audacity to say about these two events, particularly the toilet? “You really missed an opportunity to love.” Come again? His point was that, very simply, I was too focused on how I had been wronged to notice how a brother may have needed me.

I could have helped a brother that was likely sick (confirmed later that he was); I could have provided a clean bathroom for the next person so that they wouldn’t have to deal with the frustration of a dirty bathroom too; I could have experienced humility in swallowing my pride and doing something that “I shouldn’t have to do”. Instead, I chose to leave the mess, use the other bathroom, and leave a statement to whoever did this that I’m not your maid; doing things for people that can easily do them themselves but refuse to do so is not love, it’s enabling rude and inconsiderate behavior.

I wonder, though, if that’s the only message being sent. I wonder if my sick brother that day got that message, or if, after returning to the bathroom in his weakened state a few hours later he got a different one: “We’re all in this alone so don’t expect any help from me.” Ouch.

Obviously, I do not advocate a community based on submission or abuse of those willing to care for the others. If a problem was recurring and it was clear that the person was less needy than lazy, direct confrontation would probably have been the best way to love. That being said, we can never forget that we are in this together. I know that my brothers unjustly deal with the burdens I unknowingly place on them. Couldn’t I put up with their’s as well, doing what “I shouldn’t have to do” simply because I’m taking a burden away from them?

Ultimately, how can we say that we walk the journey with Christ if we are unwilling to participate in the burdens he faced? If we love only those who treat us well and do only what is ours to do, we miss a real opportunity to experience Christ in the way of St. Francis. God is found in basilicas, for sure, but don’t miss the opportunity to see him in the mundane situations all around us.

 2 Comments

 Posted on April 11, 2014 by

 Fraternity, Prayer

     , , , , , , ,

A Retreat With Saint Bonaventure

My little cabin in the "woods"

My little cabin in the “woods”

This past weekend I left the world for a while. Like hermitage retreats in the past (one during postulancy and two during novitiate) I disconnected from technology, quieted my life, and spent the weekend in prayer and reflection. Unlike previous hermitage weekends, I did this one entirely on my own. No one was there to find the location or pay for the cabin (although they would have); no one was there to tell me when to leave or when to get up for prayer; no one was there to cook for me or clean up when I was done. In reality, no one told me that I had to go on a personal retreat in the first place; this one was entirely on my own initiative. And what an experience that was.

Don’t get me wrong: I love community life and have no desire to live the life of a hermit. But given the nature of formation so far, being “encouraged” to try this and that, being carted off on one trip after another, being thrown into classes, workshops, discussions, and faith sharing sessions on a regular basis, there is something positively fulfilling and extraordinarily liberating about taking control of my own formation. There was a sense of ownership in this retreat, having spent my own money; a sense of intentionality in choosing to go do something beyond requirements; a sense of confirmation in my own vocation after such a personal, intimate experience.

What, then, does one temporary professed Franciscan friar do with such liberation? I spent the weekend with one of the great doctors of the Church, St. Bonaventure. Living shortly after the time of Francis, Bonaventure acted for as the Minister General (world leader) of the Franciscans before becoming a Cardinal, and represents the beginning of the vast Franciscan intellectual tradition that largely shaped the high middle ages. Despite all of this, I knew very little about him or his theology prior to this weekend, and decided that he could be my guide.

In some ways, it definitely felt a lot like studying for my philosophy and theology courses at Catholic University given the difficulty of some of his works and the incredible intellect that he packs into each page. The difference was, unlike studying for school, I was able to spend as much time as I needed with each concept because I had no overall “objective” to complete other than to pray in the way of someone gone before me. When something troubled me, I took time to pray about it, to think deeply about its implications before moving on. When something appeared not to produce spiritual fruit, I moved on to something else, not worrying that I was missing something that might be on a test.

Space certainly does not allow for me to explain all of these concepts that tied my brain in a knot, nor do I feel like I even have a good enough grasp of his spirituality to even try, but I would like to offer two points of particular importance. (I realize that this is not for a general audience, but there is an aspect of my nurturing my own understanding in attempting to express it. I completely understand if you choose to stop reading at this point. In some ways I actually recommend it!)

The first is the way in which Bonaventure viewed the Trinity. One of the great detriments I’m finding with common spirituality is that we often talk about and pray to “God,” a homogenous, single-faceted being. In our Christian tradition, however, God consists of three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Unlike many others in the west that wondered how one God could be three persons, Bonaventure focused on the individuality of the three persons and asked how they could be one. These are two sides of the same coin for sure, but the nuance here is significant. That difference, as I understand it, is twofold: it emphasizes union over division (how to come together rather than split apart) and it calls the believer to a particular focus on each facet of God’s greatest, even a particular relationship with each person. God is at once father, brother, and spouse; each a different person, each requiring a different response. (This is something worth taking to prayer.)

There is quite obviously a flaw to this analogy, as in the case of all analogies: God is not male and so cannot be “Father,” “brother,” or “Son,” in the complete sense that we understand these terms. The point is the relationship, one of begetting or giving birth to another, followed by emanation. In less human terms, Bonaventure uses the analogy of speech: one is the speaker, one is the word being spoken, and one is the diffusion of that speech or the rhetoric. Which is first? Which is most important? Which actually creates, redeems, or sanctifies? Well, all of them, really. Clearly one cannot be speaking without the word spoken, which naturally diffuses, and the word cannot be spoken or diffused without a speaker. They are all simultaneous and yet distinct, individually incomplete and yet each containing the fullness of God.

If you think you’re still with me, here’s an excerpt from “The Journey of the Mind to God” in which he contemplates the mystery of the Trinity, the conundrums of the relationship:

You wonder how communicability can be found together with self-containment, consubstantiality with plurality, alikeness with distinct personality, coequality with sequence, coeternity with begetting, mutual indwelling with emission… For in Christ there is personal union together with trinity of substance and duality of nature; there is full accord coexisting with plurality of wills, joint predication of God and man with plurality of properties, joint adoration with plurality of rank, joint exaltation with plurality of eminence, and joint dominion with plurality of powers. (Chapter 6)

This presents itself with a very interesting question: if Jesus is “begotten” of the Father, the Word spoken of the first, uncreated, unmoved, always existing speaker, when did this happen (keep in mind that the Church believes Jesus to be coeternal with the Father)? The only possible answer to this question is that it has always been happening. The very nature of the first person of the Trinity is to create, to beget from itself; for this to be true, the first person must have always been begetting the second person, forever being disseminated in the third person. There can never be a moment in which God the Father is not creating through the Son and in the Holy Spirit, past, present, or future.

The key to this whole discussion is that Bonaventure believes God’s very nature to be creative and diffusive Love. Pure, perfect love cannot help but to beget of itself something to be loved, and can only be perfected if it has someone to share it with. To say that God is love is not just some hallmark catchphrase but a highly Trinitarian theology: God is by God’s very nature self-contained overflowing love (sit with that one for a little while).

Thus, Creation is but an outpouring of that very nature, a model for the Trinity itself. Isaiah provides the perfect image of this Franciscan understanding:

Yet just as from the heavens the rain and snow come down and do not return there till they have watered the earth, making it fertile and fruitful, giving seed to the one who sows and bread to the one who eats, so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but shall do what pleases me, achieving the end for which I sent it. (55:10-11)

The Creation of the world was an act of God the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit, and outpouring of God’s very nature to create, diffuse, and return. Self-contained overflowing love. As created being ourselves, we are taking part in this outpouring of God, this emanation of Love; we ourselves are an outpouring of this Love that must return to God one day.

If you made it this far, I thank and commend you, and hope that it may be inspiration for your own prayer as it has been for mine. I do not suggest quoting anything I have said as it is a humble friar’s first encounter with Bonaventure and no doubt lacks precision in language.

 3 Comments

 Posted on April 7, 2014 by

 Prayer, Theology

     , , , , , , , ,

Breaking In The Habit

Blog at WordPress.com.