"Big Kev" (on the right) is our bouncer on trips into the Tenderloin, while Donncha (on the left) is our Irish missionary, fishing for some rosaries for these guys on the sidewalk. We feed them lunch, and then pray with them, and they want both kinds of food to keep body and soul together.
Today is the first-year anniversary of my mother’s death, so please say a prayer for her soul. I lit a candle at the shrine of Our Lady of Fatima for her this morning, not least because she it was who taught us little kids all about those great events in 1917, and how to pray the rosary.
The dead are the poorest of the poor because “you can’t take it with you.” In the end, we all die naked and alone, as we see in Christ on the Cross. How not to dread death, then? St. Vincent de Paul, the great apostle to the poor, said that he who serves the poor in this life will not fear death when it comes for him. That’s been my experience too. So yesterday, to prepare for my mother’s death anniversary, I joined the holy women (and one man) of our parish who prepare 300 sandwiches every Sunday. At 3pm we took these sandwiches, along with large tubs of hot chocolate, lemonade, water, as well as shirts, coats, socks, shoes, and gloves to those living on the streets of America’s wealthiest city. Every time I spend some time with these people, I lose my fear of death. I am filled with human warmth and joy. The poor are marvelous people, brilliant in their simplicity. Most of them speak Spanish, and of our group I’m the only Spanish speaker, so I had an immediate connection with them. Most are also Catholic, and they were delighted to find a priest who could hear their confession and give them a blessing.
The dead are the poorest of the poor because “you can’t take it with you.” In the end, we all die naked and alone, as we see in Christ on the Cross. How not to dread death, then? St. Vincent de Paul, the great apostle to the poor, said that he who serves the poor in this life will not fear death when it comes for him. That’s been my experience too. So yesterday, to prepare for my mother’s death anniversary, I joined the holy women (and one man) of our parish who prepare 300 sandwiches every Sunday. At 3pm we took these sandwiches, along with large tubs of hot chocolate, lemonade, water, as well as shirts, coats, socks, shoes, and gloves to those living on the streets of America’s wealthiest city. Every time I spend some time with these people, I lose my fear of death. I am filled with human warmth and joy. The poor are marvelous people, brilliant in their simplicity. Most of them speak Spanish, and of our group I’m the only Spanish speaker, so I had an immediate connection with them. Most are also Catholic, and they were delighted to find a priest who could hear their confession and give them a blessing.
Jesus said "the poor you will always have with you," but the government thinks otherwise, according to the advertisement at this bus stop, where two men are buying heroin.
Opioids have laid this poor man out. Above him, on the horizon, is the tallest building in San Francisco, the Salesforce Tower, symbol of the powerful Woke Capital that runs our City. There is much suffering among the street dwellers, but there is much simple joy as well. Most of them do not suffer the smoldering resentment that afflicts so many of us in America today. Drugs are the main enemy, and many are hopelessly addicted. But even in their addiction, most know that there is a God, and we are not He. They all gladly take holy cards and rosaries, not ashamed of religion. One guy was shooting up when we arrived, but as soon as he saw us he threw his needle on the sidewalk and rushed over for a sandwich and a prayer. He is addicted, but he also knows where freedom lies, even if he has not the strength to grasp that freedom.
When I was nine, my mother would take me on visits to the poor of our small town. We didn’t have homeless living in the streets those days, but there were many elderly shut-ins. I began to visit these elderly poor myself, listening to their stories, and that was the beginning of my priestly vocation. If you feel depressed or isolated or stressed out or angry, go to the poor. God will heal you through them. Find Jesus by serving the poor, by talking with them, by touching the Body of Christ in them. “The poor are marvelous people,” Mother Teresa would say. The poor will heal your soul and bring you much joy, if only you can find the time to serve them.
When I was nine, my mother would take me on visits to the poor of our small town. We didn’t have homeless living in the streets those days, but there were many elderly shut-ins. I began to visit these elderly poor myself, listening to their stories, and that was the beginning of my priestly vocation. If you feel depressed or isolated or stressed out or angry, go to the poor. God will heal you through them. Find Jesus by serving the poor, by talking with them, by touching the Body of Christ in them. “The poor are marvelous people,” Mother Teresa would say. The poor will heal your soul and bring you much joy, if only you can find the time to serve them.
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