The homeless man stood unsteadily in the church vestibule
reeking of cheap wine. In the chancel, the choir was singing a
glorious rendition of “O Holy Night.” It was Christmas Eve and the
pews were crowded with erstwhile parishioners home for the
holidays.
Before mass, he had approached us (as well as every other
churchgoer) in the parking lot, wishing us a Merry Christmas and a
blessed New Year before hitting us up for spare change. We
declined, as we always do, but naturally felt a bit guilty
afterwards. We were, after all, on our way to Christmas services.
“This guy knows where to find a soft touch,” I told the
wife.
We had seen him before at mass. I figured he came to
escape the cold and to imbibe the free wine given out at communion.
It seemed unlikely that he was a parishioner. As an
African-American he stood out somewhat. (There were a handful of
African-Americans in the congregation, but most of these were
recent immigrants from former Portuguese or Belgian colonies.) He
chomped the communion wafer as though it were a stale potato chip.
By the time it was his turn to take the communion wine, little
remained in the chalice, a fact which seemed to displease him
greatly.
Ironically, the subject of the Christmas homily concerned
our duty as Christians to provide for the poor and homeless. The
baby Jesus had been homeless and poor, said the priest. This gave
Him a greater insight into the sufferings of the least
fortunate.
As usual, I turned to the wife with my list of objections.
Homeless? Because there were no vacancies at the hotel? Sounds like
bad planning to me. As for being poor, since when are carpenters
destitute? Was Jesus’ father a particularly bad carpenter? Also, I
didn’t buy the faulty logic (argumentum
ad experientiam) that only persons with first-hand
experience of poverty can truly sympathize with the
needy.
The wife shushed me.
After the homily, the priest strode to the vestibule to
bless the crèche. Nearby the homeless man stood swaying back and
forth, his eyes yellow and rheumy. I waited, a bit hopefully, for
the wino to interrupt the celebrant’s blessings with a plea for
spare change for the homeless, but, alas, he remained silent and
respectful.
AFTER MASS on the way back to our cozy abode, there to
open our Christmas gifts, we discussed what to do about the
homeless fellow. Giving him spare change, of course, would only
facilitate his alcoholism. If parishioners truly wanted to do
something useful they would have to get the man treatment for his
alcoholism, after which we might possibly tackle other, more
pedestrian problems, like housing, job training, etc. This,
naturally, would depend on whether he truly wanted to cure his
alcoholism. Many drunks are perfectly content with their situation
and life, and the idea of life of sobriety would strike them as
horrible and one hardly worth living.
It wasn’t a very cheerful thought with which to start
Christmas day, but a common one here in the city.
