Seeing the Face of Christ
I will let you in on a little secret: I was terrified at the thought of myself working in a soup kitchen. I was not afraid of the people, or the work, or the place. In fact, even the thought of working in a soup kitchen was not an issue for me as long as someone else, anyone else was working in a soup kitchen. My fear was that of noblesse oblige, that I as a privileged citizen would deem to sacrifice my precious time and pity for those poor unfortunate needy people. Even though I have a viscerally disdainful attitude toward this perspective, I was worried that I would fall into the trap of being the sort of person who misses the dignity of a person in the process of assuaging personal guilt. So I avoided this sort of work. But it was Pat, a Secular Franciscan fraternity member who is as generous as she is wise, who transformed this fear into action. But I am getting ahead of myself.
As I walked toward the soup kitchen, a line from U2’s One swirled in my head as I soaked in the uncanny hush of an early morning New York City: Did you come to play Jesus to the lepers in your head? The old fears were allowing me to build up a handsome wall of excuses until I saw Pat waving brightly at me. She has a disarming way about her. All the old fears were promptly left outside the door as I was ushered into the kitchen to find an apron and gloves to prepare food for our guests.
Do you know how some people can see a process and join right in and help? Well, I cannot. I have the look of a doe caught in the headlights. I need a patient and slow explanation as if I am five years old. Pat tried her level best to explain how to systematically and rapidly assemble cheese sandwiches. And while I kept saying to myself, “You can do this, it is only a cheese sandwich,” the process of double slices of bread, cheese slices and repeat were as comedic as Lucy on the chocolate assembly line. I finished only by the help of others. And as I was finding the joy of working with others on these tasks, I was entirely unprepared for what would happened next.
Our guests came in, sat down, and we served them food. While this seems as ordinary as it gets, it was positively magical for me. I was among people who had no hidden agendas, no secrets, no shame, no pride. They were honest. And because of that honestly they had a humility that was rich. So caught up was I in this humility that I wept inside at the presence of Christ. Indeed, so profound was this experience that when I think of the face of Christ I think of these guests. And as I left the soup kitchen, I left as the leper but with the satisfaction of having embraced the humble love of Christ.