The day finally came when I had to push past my fear. A girl (who had come out of that scene) went with me. We opened the door, showed our ID’s, walked across the smoky, dark, loud room and sat down at the bar.
I felt myself take a physical step backward. The thing she held in her hand—the Bible, meant to be the beautiful story of a God who so loves His creation that he has come to free us from oppression—took the form of a weapon. A hidden sword, pulled to slay . . . something . . . to slay what? Me? A doctrine? An ideology? Who or what is the enemy here?
A thin, fragile-looking women lay on each one. A volunteer sat next to one bed, holding a nebulizer to a woman’s nose and mouth, helping her to breathe. Another volunteer massaged the hands and arms of a woman who lay completely still. Another combed the tangled hair of a frail and tiny lady.
We rode the train past mountains of garbage, the waste of millions that for the “least of these” is home. We visited Sonagachi, the Red Light District of Kolkata, where over 10,000 women live as prostitutes
Tommy is a beautiful man. Long, flowing blond hair. Tanned skin that covers tight muscles. He rides a motorcycle, so he has on black leather chaps. Yes, the ladies of the neighborhood call him Fabio. Some of them even hire him to mow their yards, so they can peak out the curtains and watch!
When the time came to open the Free Toy Store, William said, “I want to help.” We told him, “Everything is taken care of. It’s okay. You don’t need to do anything but sit and rest.” Gruffly, he said, “No. I have to do this.”
Then a toothless, crazy lady who sits on the front row and is usually on some other planet suddenly raised her hand and yelled over the din of voices. “Are we talking about turkeys? I can bring a turkey?!”—And I lost it! Everything was out of my control—the Thanksgiving Dinner AND my emotions.
He resists my scoldings when he requests sugary sweet masala chai and tells me that “He’ll eat whatever the hell he wants to. He’s a grown man, and “ain’t nobody gonna tell him what he can and can’t eat.”
I have watched brother turn against brother in this season, Christians saying all manner of evil against one another, using the extreme soundbites of “heretic” and “apostate” to identify who is “in” and who is “out” due to their political leanings. The claim in both camps being that “God is on our side.”
I have a special affection for Toby, because somewhere in those early days of giving him free muffins he began to call me, “Mom.” This is one of the precious joys we have in the Joe’s Community. Family relationships have developed all over the place.
the next piece of information that got back to me on the community grapevine was: THEY ALL TOOK TURNS SLEEPING WITH HER THAT NIGHT!!!
The Food Pantry at Joe’s is an amazing experience every week. As we give out the groceries, we often get to hear people’s stories, sometimes weep with them, and many times pray with them. Volunteers serve in all these ways, and then carry the groceries out to a car, stroller or shopping cart—whatever means of transport they have.
I turned to little Jewel (who is nine) and told her she had to stay in the car. Her eyes were wide and full of tears.
Little Mary was a prostitute—not the street-walker type—well maybe sometimes, but not the leopard skin, mini-skirt and high heels type. For Mary, sex was a currency, as is the case for so many women living in poverty.
While I hear Churchians talking about how “the poor are poor because they make poor choices,” I daily watch single mothers working at the drudgery of minimum wage jobs that just cannot pay the bills, and daily facing the temptation to dance (and more) in the strip clubs on our street
The policeman stepped out of his car, and the young man who had called breathlessly rattled his complaint. “These guys are gonna beat me! They threatened to hit me! I didn’t do nothing to them, but they’re gonna kill me! Some of them are Juggalos and some of them are Crips. They’re gonna kill me!”
In my mind, I started yelling at God, “You can’t send me people like this, and then not give me some way to help them! What do I do?!”
The morning of the Thanksgiving Dinner, David met me at the door of my car, a big grin on his face. He said, “Come and see our flower planter! It’s finished and I think it’s beautiful!”
I looked up from wiping the counter to see a man standing on the front sidewalk, arms outstretched with a thermos jug gripped tightly in his hands. He was shaking from head to toe. Several of us ran to the front door to meet him. He just stood there mumbling incoherently and trembling, holding out his thermos. It was empty.
Amazing revelation to me this morning