I walk through this underpass (overpass?) on the way
to my internship. Passing through one
day, the slogan that usually boasts luxury condos flashed into my head. Something like this. (The photo program on my computer tried to label the plastic bag as a face: "nameless.")
I am not brave.
I am not generous with smiles to or interactions with
strangers. I am under the impression
that I act as expected, or at least have convinced myself that I must
abide by the norms of Big City living.
When in Rome.
Most especially, I am fearful of beginning contact with
strangers whom I would come into regular contact
with. That is, the strangers who sift
through my garbage cans, collecting
cans with carts, pedaling a shopping cart or large trash bag. He is not so much of a stranger anymore; I
recognize his gait as I look on from my second story window.
I am most scared of commitment.
If I meet you today, then I have to maintain a relationship
with you
for so many months,
every time I see you,
because I will know your name,
because your face will become familiar,
and then I will be a part of your story
and you a part of mine.
And I cannot risk that kind of relationship.
Also, I have bags of excuses:
I am female,
I am alone,
I am a student with lots of loans,
it is evening,
I will pray for you,
I have given my time of service.
I will give to a charity instead.
During Lent I stopped.
Others stop.
One day I will stop.
I was so fortunate to participate in the Jesuit Volunteer
Corps and Amate House programs after graduating (experiences I loved). However,
if I had any delusions that these experiences would check off any boxes in my
life: “service hours,” “selfless time,” “generous years,” I would be mistaken. I am empty again.
I have felt myself as a cup, carrying a portion of love,
generosity, and selflessness: poured into (Thank you, God) and with need to be poured
out.
This cup of generosity is no container to be filled to a specific
quota, capped, and added as a trophy to my shelf, as I dust my hands and
recline in my seat to admire.
Rather, these rhythms of filling and emptying confirm its
shape and purpose,
time and time again:
echoing like a habit over time
that somehow slips into and reminds the thing of its essence:
you are a cup.
Consider Harold, hungry on the street; you give him a
sandwich. Around the corner is Joe. The sandwich you gave Harold in no way
satisfies the pangs in Joe’s stomach.
It is no universal stomach we feed.
There are many individual stomachs.
“I do not agree with the big way of doing things. To us what
matters is an individual. To get to love the person we must come in close
contact with him. If we wait till we get the numbers, then we will be lost in
the numbers. And we will never be able to show that love and respect for the
person.”
Mother Teresa
2 Corinthians 4:7
“But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, to show that
the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.”
