I’ve often wondered what God must think about the
terrible suffering and indescribable loneliness that is everywhere on the
earth. When I was about sixteen, I went to visit my grandparents in Toronto.
While I was there, I visited the downtown core for the first time. Being a
country girl, this was extraordinary! So many buildings close together and
practically touching the sky. The number of people walking around was astounding!
I had never seen so many people in one place before, except for that time when
I visited New York City on a class trip the year before. All I remember from
the streets of NYC was the necessity of watching the classmate in front of you,
desperately trying to avoid getting jostled and carried away by the surging
tide of humanity. In Toronto, there was just enough space between the living
and moving bodies to take in your surroundings. I did that and was amazed.
On the streets of
Toronto, I saw, for the first time, men sitting on street corners. They were
literally surrounded by thousands upon thousands of indifferent faces every day.
All those moving faces were blank and completely focused on where they had to
go, the next deadline that was due, how long their lunch break was, or how much
longer before heading home to who-knows-what. But those men sitting on the
street corners were begging for change, playing guitars or saxophones in order
to attract loose coins from a busy person’s pocket, or carrying placards that explained
their need for food, money, or something to help them survive. No matter who
they were or what they were doing to get their money, there was always
something I noticed. A deeper plea emanated from their eyes, which held a piece
of the person’s soul. Their plea was for someone to take notice. Yeah, they
wanted money for something. But deep down, perhaps deeper than they realized,
was a cry for one person out of the thousands to look them straight in the
eyes, to nod their head, maybe to smile. Something to show that poor person
(literally poor) that they were a somebody. Anything to make braving the
elements for the purpose of survival worthwhile.
I read Mother Theresa’s
book Loving Jesus once. It was
sitting on my Mom’s side table and I picked it up. Couldn’t put it down after
that! When reading it, I felt that same tug in my heart that I felt when I saw
those men on the street corners of Toronto. Mother Theresa wrote of people sick
with AIDS on the streets of Calcutta. Everyone knows the story of AIDS victims.
This disease destroys a person. Utter pain from every possible spot on their
body. A complete and total physical suffering. In India, these people are left
to die on the streets as outcasts. First, they die from the loneliness
of abandonment; then, the physical disease consumes their bodies.
One of the stories she
recounts is of when she found such a man on the streets and brought him into
her house. He was more dead than alive, completely covered in sores. Mother
Theresa looked into this man’s eyes and told him: “I see Christ in you.” She
then proceeded to bathe him with love, anoint his sores and bandage him with
tenderness, lay him down in a corner of a room filled with other "Christs", and
tuck him into bed like a mother’s child. Before she could leave, the man
reached weakly for her arm and smiled a real smile back at her. He whispered to
her: “Because you found Christ in me, I can find meaning in my suffering. Now I can find Christ in me!” He died that
night, but with the knowledge that one small woman cared enough to take care of
the least wanted person in society.
A couple years ago, I
was walking downtown on my way to Mass. I passed a homeless man sitting beside
the entrance to the church begging for spare change. I didn’t have any money to
give, but I didn’t want to walk straight by him without acknowledging him.
Besides, somehow I felt that it would be hypocritical of me to walk into a church
without showing such a person that I do care. I simply looked into his eyes and
nodded my head, smiling at him as I would any person trying to get my
attention. I walked by him and into the church. After Mass, the same man was
sitting by the entrance begging for money. But when he saw me, he called out to
me. I admit this made me slightly apprehensive; however, I acknowledged that I
heard him. Before I could assure him I didn’t have any money to give, he held
out a paper for me.
“Here, miss” he said.
“I wrote this. I thought you might like it.” The homeless stranger had written
a poem, and he gave it to the person who noticed him.
Perhaps I flatter
myself. Maybe he had gone to a printing office, photocopying two hundred pages
of his poem. Perhaps he had handed them out to 199 people and I just happened
to be the last person who passed him that day. Maybe every person walking into
the church had smiled at him, maybe even shook his hand and told him to have a
good day. I’ll never know. But I did smile.
Funny how those smiles
can easily make someone’s day. Walking to the shopping mall on another busy
afternoon, I passed the usual group of homeless smokers sitting on the sidewalk
and begging for change. Grubby, some scrawny and unhealthy-looking, they all
huddle in a group until people walk by. Then they all hold out their cups or
one person will boldly walk up and ask for bus fare. I mentally prepared for
this, walking by them without really paying attention. Besides, I was one of a
crowd and nobody was making eye-contact. If I looked ahead, at the people
driving by on the opposite side, at the business around me, anywhere but at
this group of beggars, I would not be noticed by them.
Suddenly, an older man
called out from the crowd. “We just want a smile from you, miss!” He said it
with a grandfather-like expression on his face, as if knowing perfectly well what
had gone through my head. I looked up, caught off guard, and gave him a genuine
smile before continuing on my way. He nodded his head and smiled back, then
reached his cup out to the next person. Funny how these things happen. Just a
smile!
But what about God’s
eyes? In the beginning there was light and darkness, land and water, birds and
fish, animals of all kinds with the same number of tiny colourful insects
covering the space of the earth, and man. God rested on the seventh day,
acknowledging that the world was good. If I were to sit back and rest on the
seventh day of my week, what would I see? I walk down the street by my house
and see homelessness, alcoholism and drug abuse, crowded buses full of people
with their noses either in their cell phones or buried deep within their inner
thoughts and problems. All very important, of course! I see emptiness and
frustration. People are running late, others are running away. People are going
to work long hours in an office, others are rushing home from those long hours
to take care of ungrateful spouses and children with running noses, maybe even sitting in front of a television screen.
One day I was waiting
for a bus in a station crowded with people. One girl and her boyfriend caught
my attention. This girl was perhaps no more than seventeen. Both she and her
boyfriend had their hair done up in a strange style that looked more like a
mess than anything. But it is a style, and I won`t judge them. For some reason,
I was drawn to the girl. Her boyfriend was speaking sharply; then ignored her
completely. The girl was glancing skittishly around her, standing close to the
young man. The girl’s arms were bare, but covered in scars and fresh scratches.
I knew what that meant. I had a friend who cut her arms up. It would stop the
pain that her soul caused her. When the girl sat down in the bus, I happened to
look into her eyes. They were empty.
What if I walked down
the halls of my university? I see posters that degrade human dignity at all
stages of life; I hear stories of people who do not understand what life holds
for them and cannot understand living any of it much longer; I watch as lonely
soul after lonely soul walks past hundreds of people who do not see them. They
say God is always with us. So that means He walks beside me down those halls. He sees
them. He hears them. Does He cry?
Did Superman have a lot
of friends? Maybe if he had a facebook page, he would have had millions of
viewers “like” his page. Maybe he would even have over 1000 friends on that
page. But a facebook friend is not really a friend.
Not someone who will stand by you when you laugh and when you cry, who will
study silently with you and help you get a good grade, then go out and laugh
until both your sides hurt. I know people who are extremely excited to get 667
friends simply because it prevents them from having an unlucky number sitting on their page. But in reality, that is, once out of a virtual world, how many of
those friends are close? How many of those people do you really get to invest
time in and learn their stories? Friendship is about sharing, giving something
of yourself to the other. It isn’t about numbers. I think we have forgotten
that.
But back to Superman,
if he were to exist, what makes him super? Saving people from physical
calamities only to return them to a lonely world is not very heroic, at least
in my understanding. Although it may be important. I see heroism in men and
women who invest their time in making friendships that last. Friendships that
teach others how to love and be loved. Friendships that erode the loneliness of
our culture. These people are supermen and superwomen.
I heard a story of a
woman who was struggling with the embarrassment of having her young child fuss,
and sometimes cry, throughout Mass. You know those buildings with high, arched stone ceilings that collect the echoes of the voices below and bounce
them around against everyone’s ear drums? For some reason, babies love these
buildings. They can shout and make funny sounds and listen to the magnificence
of their voice. Their voices are suddenly powerful and interesting, which is
fascinating to a child but traumatizing to a poor mother who suffers from the
annoyed glances of people who do not understand children. It was just such a
situation, where the child fussed more during Mass because he was sure everyone
could hear him. An older lady saw this mother struggling. After Mass she handed
the mother a note, smiled gently, then left the building. The mother didn’t get
a chance to read the note until her child was strapped safely in the back car
seat of her van.
Thank
you for bringing your child with you today. He is the future.
I don’t know if these
women ever met each other again. But that mother was proud of her child and no
longer worried about what people thought. After all, her kid was just being a
kid. At least one woman had understood.
The world needs more
little deeds to be shown that bring love, joy and peace to everyone. Let the
ripple effect take place. Touch all your friends with love, then they can touch
all their friends, and so on. It will spread. One person at a time. In order
for this to happen, despite feeling the need to cover God’s eyes from the lack of
goodness in His creation, I think He has
to be able to see in order to guide our world back to
the good that it started out with (and which still exists).
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