One of my favorite passages from the writings of Servant of God Catherine de Hueck Doherty relays the time her parents hosted a tea for Russian dignitaries. Her father was a Russian diplomat and there were several hundred invited guests at their home. Catherine recalled that she was nine at the time and was permitted to attend, the social dressed to the nines and serving cakes. A butler interrupted a conversation between her father and one of his prestigious guests with the announcement: "Christ is at the door." Everything came to a standstill while her parents rushed to serve the man she described as a hobo. They set down the finest linen and china and although she recounted that they had 14 servants in the house, her mother and father personally did the serving. She described this episode as an excellent lesson in Christianity, watching her parents put their faith in action.
I think of this from time because of a homeless man who has "resided" in our neighborhood for years. Every so often he disappears, presumably for treatment because when he returns, he comes back more coherent and in new clothing. However, before long, he is once again rambling to himself, walking down the middle of a dangerous 4 lane avenue with his clothing in tatters. It is miraculous that he has not been hit by a car.
I thought of him as pretty much harmless and it didn't cost anything to smile and say hello. One day he approached me with a handful of 20 dollar bills, trying to put the money in my hand, but I insisted that I couldn't take it. Some time later, it occurred to me that perhaps he wanted me to buy something for him, but it didn't happen again. On one of my jogs, I tripped on the sidewalk in front of him and as I narrowly averted a fall he called out: "Watch out Boo!". It was the clearest thing I'd ever heard him say.
One Saturday afternoon in August, I came out of the house to find him on the next door neighbor's step. He motioned me over and asked me if I could give him something to eat. I was on my way somewhere which he seemed to realize because he said "not now, when you come back." You could barely hear his voice, it was so faint. I thought of what I could bring him back to eat. Maybe a hot turkey and mashed potato dinner? I'd been burned before by some of my homeless pals that would ask me for something and then have vanished when I returned with it. I decided I would just make him a PBJ and give him a drink and a cream donut since his dentition was so poor.
Unfortunately, he took this as an invitation, to what I shudder to think. He was caught trying to open my front door. I came outside to tell him that he couldn't do things like that and he made a lewd gesture to me. I quickly regretted that I gave him anything from our house. A few days later, I came home from a jog to find him on our doorstep. He flew off the step and came at me, and I asked him to please back away. Fortunately, my burly neighbor was coming home too and he told him to let me get in the house. I had never known him to act this way and I wasn't sure what to do.
That evening, he was on our doorstep after dinner. My husband went outside to talk to him. He told him:
"The woman who lives here is my wife. She doesn't like strange men to talk to her and I don't want you to bother her anymore. If there is anything you need, you ask me and I'll make sure you get it but you can't come onto her like that again." He nodded, got up off the step and left.
A few days later, there he was again, this time with a quart of beer. My husband wasn't home and I needed to go out but I was trapped. I tried to remember how Catherine had described the man who came to her parents' door, but he wasn't drinking and he didn't try to get physical with anyone. Would Christ behave that way? I wanted to be kind, but I also wanted to be safe and I had my daughter to think about as well.
I hated to do it, but I called the police. I explained he had previously tried to open my door and I didn't want any harm to come to him but I didn't feel safe, especially since he was drinking. The cops never came but thankfully he left on his own.
I've made many homeless friends over the years. There was Tom-Tom, who I "met" the week before Christmas one evening as I was walking home from work. I heard him call out to someone "if you don't come now, I'm leaving!" and suddenly a large black dog wearing a sweater came tearing around the corner. I smiled and he said "Merry Christmas!" and went on his way. I couldn't stop thinking about him and then suddenly a few days later there he was, standing outside of a convenience store, feeding his dog part of his sandwich. I walked back to that neighborhood a few times until I saw him again. I introduced myself and asked him about the dog. Her name was Queenie and he dressed her in ladies t-shirts and sweaters fastened with a scrunchy. I asked him if he needed anything and he told me if I could get some treats for Queenie and men's pants for him, he'd be grateful. He didn't want money. For two years, I checked in on Tom-Tom and Queenie and then one day I just didn't see them anymore. He once told me how violent people could get on the streets and he showed me a scar on his face that was a souvenir from a knife fight he'd been in. He said Queenie was the peacemaker and that together they had prevented a lot of fights. I still look for him but part of me doesn't want to know what happened.
Then there is Nate. Nate is also now MIA. I met Nate at the ACME when I was pregnant with my youngest. He approached me as I was wheeling my cart to my car and offered to help me "to ensure a healthy pregnancy." Anytime I saw him, I would ask him if he wouldn't mind carrying my bags, even when I really didn't need help. One time I had walked to the store and bought more than I could manage to carry home. Nate came to the rescue and I always made his help worth his while with a tip of $20 or more.
One day I asked Nate where he lived and he told me he mostly stayed at an old abandoned house. I asked him if he'd given any thought to getting some help with job skills and a place to live and he said he didn't know how to go about it. I did a little investigating and discovered a place on Bainbridge Street that gave homeless men who committed to sobriety a safe place to live and a job until they could manage on their own. I sent Nate there and they told him if he could get clean they could help him. When Nate told me this he seemed hopeful. He said he was ready to make a change. Then I didn't see him for a long time and I feared the worst. Just as I was about to give up hope, he reappeared to tell me that he now had a job at the ACME and that since he was clean, his sister allowed him to move in with her again. He told me the agency I referred him to had helped him and that he had me to thank. As much as I enjoyed hearing this I assured Nate that I was just the catalyst, that he had done all the heavy lifting. When my son struggled with addiction, it was often Nate who would counsel me.
I haven't seen Nate in at least two years. No one at the ACME seems to know where he is and I'm hoping that neither COVID nor heroin have claimed him. In all the time I knew him, Nate was never inappropriate with me and I never felt unsafe around him. He also never asked me for anything. I gave him money because he helped me and because it was the right thing to do. And then I'd like to think that I gave him his dignity, with God's help.
The same unfortunately cannot be said about our neighborhood friend and I'm still trying to figure out how to help him without him knowing that the help came from me. He needs shoes and a winter coat and most likely psych medication. I saw him a few days ago wrapped in a filthy down blanket and wearing slides with holes in his socks. The neighborhood hoagie shop had given him a sandwich and a Tastykake pie which he threw at a passing car for coming too close to him (as he stomped down the street instead of using the sidewalk). He has tried to approach me on a few occasions but I never allow him to get him in my physical space. How can I be Christlike and safe at the same time?
The truth is that I have never felt closer to Jesus than when ministering in my own very small way to the least of our brethren who have no place to lay their heads. I was thinking about how one day my buddy tried to hand me a bottle of water that someone else had given him. This was before he became inappropriate. He had nothing, but what he had, he was willing to give to me out of his extreme poverty. Lord have mercy.
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