My Friend Caitlin, a True Story

It was a cold Jersey day.   It was my Sabbath, and I wanted to head over to daily Mass at the city’s Cathedral.  I decided to wrap up in a blanket to shield myself from the wind over the 12 minute trek to the center of town, and keep what warmth I could from being stolen away by the frozen air’s thieving grasp.

It was a cold Jersey day.

Upon entering the Cathedral, I saw Caitlin, a friend of mine who was homeless.  She was something around 40, and beginning to get the leathery and dry skin that many homeless attain over time.  Maybe that’s what it really meant to be weathered.  Her skin, I mean.

Caitlin liked talked about all kinds of things.  I don’t know if she remembered some of the stuff she said, but she also was either able to comprehend things that I couldn’t make connections to, or wasn’t able to comprehend what others were saying.  I think she had some form of Turret’s, but I’m no doctor.

She also would say very deep things from time to time.  She was good to listen to and kept me grounded.

We walked around the Cathedral that day and she showed me the Bible pages and talked about how her family made them.  I didn’t know if I believed her, but I didn’t care if she was lying.  We were just happy to have one another’s company, and it wasn’t about lying.  It was just about hanging out with one another.  Caitlin has a spirit of joy and happiness, and whatever she was sharing with her words, whether it was real or not real, I think she transferred some joy and sunshine through those words and into my lungs.

We sat by one another for Mass, each of us in our blankets, and the most I can remember about that day was when Mass came to a close and Caitlin said, “Well that was a good sermon about minerals!”

I had to laugh.  That was Caitlin!

As we were walking out together, a man nervously approached us with a $20 bill in his hand.  He looked at me nervously, as if he’d never done this before and said, “do you need this?”  I felt honored that he would even ask.  Or that I could be put into the category of these beautiful homeless people that I’d met there.  I hoped I was as open and welcoming as they were.

“Oh, thank you,” I replied, “but I’m not homeless.”

He got extra nervous at that and wondered if I felt insulted, continuing with sorries and clarifications and justifications.

“No problem,” I said, trying to make him know it was okay, “Caitlin is homeless, though.  She could use it.”

Caitlin and I stood there together, and I don’t know what it was, but the man looked at Caitlin, kept his $20, and nervously left.  I don’t know if it registered to Caitlin what had just happened, because she was just as full of sunshine as she always was.  She seemed to not notice, even. 

I don’t know fully what that meant, but sometimes I jump to conclusions.

Was it because the man thought Caitlin was “too crazy”?

Was I offered the money because he felt I was less scary?

Did I smell better?

Was he too nervous and assumed neither of us were homeless, if I wasn’t?

I still don’t know fully what that meant.

But, sometimes I still jump to conclusions.

I haven't lived in Jersey since 2009.  I don't know where Caitlin is nowadays, and I'm not sure I ever knew exactly before.  But, maybe you'll see her sometime.  You won't be afraid, I hope. 

The Loving Eyes and Gentle Lines

I had a map once.  It was so nicely folded and easy to follow.  I was told the path was narrow, but it looked well-traveled to me.  I followed it for awhile, I think.

I looked for You in those crowds, but I hardly recognized You, Jesus.  But I found You—at least that’s what the map said.

Why such a sharp sword in that grip, Jesus?  I’d never seen You dressed like that before.  You sliced through crowds of people, demanding one was lesser than the other, because of their heritage.  You spat on political opposition and complained about the poor as if they were worthless.  Why did you do that, You broke my heart.

You yelled a lot that day.  Some of us hid, and we winced.  You scared us.

“No, Beloved,” I heard, “turn around.”

“Where, Jesus?  Where are You in this crowd?”

“Here I am, my Beloved.  I’m behind the crowd.  Do you see me?  I’m waiting here for you.  Let’s keep walking together.  I’ve got a great map with Me.”

“There You are, Lord, I see you!” I said. 

“Yes, here I am!”, said the humble man in the back with His loving eyes and gentle lines. I approached Him cautiously.  “Oh I’ve got wonderful things for you, Beloved,” He said with pride, as the crows feet around His eyes increased while His smile danced across His face,

“Oh, have I got wonderful things for you.” 

He pulled out His map.  It looked confusing.  I couldn’t understand it very well.  “Let’s find our way, what do you think, my Beloved?”  The word fell off His lips like a sweet morning rain.

"Yes," I said, watching the other Jesus figure, now seemingly a puppet following the crowd's gestures. "Yes, I would like that!"

We walked together, and left the puppet Jesus swinging his sword and shouting his cruelties.

I breathed a sigh of relief.  We smiled and took in the evening air.

The Man with the Two Cigarettes, a True Story

One Sunday, we were doing our weekly church collection.

The Pastor was such a genuine, honest man.  He was not interested in being the Pastor, or the guy who got to tell everyone why they weren't good enough.  He always used to say about collections, "give what you can.  If you can't give financially, touch the collection jar and give it a prayer that we can make the heating bill this month.  If you can give in prayer, that's just as valuable!"

It was always so refreshing to hear him say that.  We were a poor church and we knew it.  But, it felt nice to be affirmed that our service to others and to the church was a gift, too.

An unknown white man joined us for church that day.  I don't think I'd seen him before.  He looked like he'd seen better days.  His face shone with hope that we'd accept him.  His being was screaming, "I just want to make things right".  I tried to look at him with all the warmth I could muster, but any look I gave only faced his back.

At the end of the collection, sitting nicely on top of the crumpled bills and the lose silver and bronze circles were two unused cigarettes.

"What on earth?  This man is crazy!  Why would he give us two cigarettes?", they'd exclaim.

The man's face said it all.  It's all he had to give, or give up.  He wasn't out of his mind, he was purposeful in his bidding.  The insecurity in his posture and his eyes said he was hoping for a different response and realized the church didn't understand.

"Here, here are your two cigarettes back," they said.  He protested.  He didn't want them, he was giving them away.  Were they an offering?  Were they a silent promise?  Were they the sole penny he had to give, the greatest sacrifice of all?

They shook their heads. "What in Christ's name is that man thinking?"

We kind of stood there, unable to speak because we were new to the church and our words would be drowned.  Most of all, we knew they wouldn't understand and would argue with us about "those crazy fiends".  I think our hearts broke silently that day.

The man was given back his cigarettes.

With a sad look on his face, knowing he was misunderstood,

He took his two cigarettes, and walked back out into the wind, his coat swallowing his face and identity, and I think it blew him away, that wind, because we never did see him again.

Evening Avenue... a nice place to be.

Hello, all!

I've finally decided to do what I've wanted to do for a very long time.  Write.

I think it's going to be a good thing.  Complex. Confusing. Counter-society.  You may even be a little uncomfortable in things sometimes--I certainly will.  I will be looking to express as much as I can the wonders of this life and challenging us to grow in deeper love and understanding of our Essential Good Who makes Himself known to us.  Please, whatever your beliefs--know you are welcome here, and I'd love to hear yours, too.  Your voice is so important, and I'd love to hear it in general.

Please, though, as always, remember that each of us is a person complete with trials, pasts, and dreams, and I hope you can join me in trying to welcome everyone to this place.  I hope to meet each of you with love and care, and I hope to meet this world in my words with genuineness, openness, and willingness to be shown....and with great passion and desire to deepen our understanding of life itself, challenging what we know and what we don't.

Ya dig?