Nativity Catholic Church
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Getting in Your Face
Something in Deacon John’s homily grabbed at me the moment it leapt from his lips…and it did so all four times I listened to it that particular Sunday! While the content and challenge of his reflections upon the parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man were engaging, I couldn’t keep from wandering back in my memory to an encounter I had many years ago with a “poor man,” who like the very name “Lazarus,” represented more than just himself (the name “Lazarus” really means “everyone”). This encounter was as “in your face” as it gets, taking place on the nighttime streets of Chicago. I was out for the evening with a bunch of friends (some of whom were visiting the city for the first time), making our way from shop to shop, stopping for a great dinner, and then hitting a few “watering holes” to round out our entertainment. As we exited the lobby of an old hotel near Water Tower Place, one of the many homeless street people of Chicago was waiting outside the doors—ready to sell us the latest edition of “Streetwise,” a tiny wisp of a newspaper that is published with the intent of allowing the homeless to acquire money from passersby for a “product” rather than simply asking for a no-strings handout. The purveyors of “Streetwise” are officially licensed by the city, and they are expected to follow a rigid conduct code in approaching would-be buyers. On this particular night, however, the code of conduct was tossed to the side like a day-old Chicago beef sandwich, and my exchange with the homeless man was anything but pleasant. It was downright aggravating and insulting—both in what was coming out of his mouth…and what was gushing forth from mine! Normally, I am always respectful in my encounters with the homeless, whether I choose to offer some help or not. I’ve never been one to simply “look away,” taking on that classic big-city way of staring off into space as though no one else in the world exists. However, on this night, I surrendered my better senses after the wrong buttons were pushed by this individual. Our exchange was heated, and my traveling companions tried to jump in on the verbal tussle, but at least I had enough sense to wave them off and leave full responsibility (or should I say “irresponsibility”) to myself. In no uncertain terms, the two of us were locked in a eruptive “in your face” shouting match, the likes of which took me about a half hour to decompress from as our strolling band eventually made our way to less disruptive distractions. As Deacon John reminded me that particular Sunday, the Rich Man did everything possible to keep poor, suffering, and oozing-skinned Lazarus out of sight—that is, until he made his way to the great chasm that was to separate them for all eternity. Only then does the Rich Man cry out for an “in your face” meeting with Lazarus, or to be more specific, a “finger-to-burning-lips” encounter, in the hopes of some reprieve from his flaming torment. How easy it is for us to evade any “in your face” encounters with the poor—no matter the nature of their poverty. It’s easy for us to bloviate about the homeless, terrorists, the working poor, undocumented immigrants (yes, the ones trimming our hedges and tacking on our new shingles), and a host of other “undesirables” when we never allow them to get directly “in our faces.” Distance is our weapon, or security system—and any breach of that system might spell disaster for us. But if no one in need ever has the chance to get “in our face,” then I am surely convinced they’ll never have a chance to get “in our hearts”! Why is it that a trip to the prison to share the Good News with a death-row inmate, or a tutoring session with migrant workers in Apopka, or serving a meal at The Coalition for the Homeless, or singing show tunes with nursing home residents, or listening to an intake session with a newcomer to Pathways to Care, or sticking around long enough to pass out the Thanksgiving baskets to our sisters in need, or a mission immersion to the Dominican Republic or Catholic Heart Workcamp—why is that these encounters, and so many others, often result in deepening true compassion? I suggest it is because we allow those in need to get “in our faces” (and we in theirs)—and when that happens, hearts begin to soften and change. Real, meaningful, direct encounter with poverty and suffering is still the most potent means by which to change our way of seeing…and loving. How presumptuous of us to expect to be in the “heart” of Jesus when we continue to spin strategies for staying away from the “faces” of those whom he looked at directly and loved deeply every day of his life. Until the day that we allow the many “undesirables,” all those “Lazaruses” who populate each of our lives (whether they be the “poor” on the streets, across the ocean, or tucked neatly inside our own family circle) to get “in our face,” they’ll never have access to our hearts. The “punishment” for the Rich Man was really an “extended” version of what he daily experienced in his life on earth with Lazarus—distance, separation, and out-of-sight security. Sometimes, as it did for me so many years ago on the streets of Chicago, getting “in the face” of poverty and despair can turn ugly—but it can also be the bridge for spanning the “chasm” that will only grow wider with neglect.
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