Every time I cycle back from Focus, or ballet, or CG, or anything that ends at night, as I huff and puff my way up the hill I pass the Castle Street Methodist Church.
On my first day back in Cambridge for second term, Auntie Sarah and I noticed a sweet felt nativity scene in the window display of the church - tender Mary and peaceful Joseph and the shepherds and wise men and stable animals and angels over a slumbering baby Jesus.
Last week when I cycled back, I noticed the church window again. There was a peaceful slumberer in its windows, but it wasn't baby Jesus. It was a homeless person, booted feet sticking out from the edge of a light blue fleece blanket.
To some extent we all are homeless people looking for our home in God, all broken, people battered by the world looking for rest in his almighty arms.
“The church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.” ― Abigail Van Buren
On my first Saturday afternoon back in Cambridge, I went for a Foodcycle Lunch at St Paul's Church. Foodcycle is a group that recycles unwanted food from supermarkets (which throw away tonnes of edible but un-eye-appealing food) and uses the meals it creates from the unwanted food to provide a free lunch to homeless and other vulnerable people.
I got there early, walked in - and then walked out. I couldn't see anyone I knew there felt embarrassed about my privelege and didn't know how to connect with a strata of society that I'd never had real contact with. I sat outside for a little while, reprimanded my cowardice, and went back in and sat down at a table.
I sat next to a man called Terry who has only been homeless for 15 months. But that is a long time when you realise it means 15 months of sleeping on church floors rather than beds (he avoids the homeless shelters because he says many of the homeless in there are drug addicts and he doesn't want to get mixed up in that) and 15 months of days not having proper activity to fill your time, it seems an age. He told me about his sister who has Alzheimer's but no one to care for her (he tried to, but couldn't handle her which was one reason why he ended up homeless), he told me about how he used to like Indian food but it got too much for his stomach so now he likes Chinese food, he asked about politics in Singapore, and told me the origin of the phrase 'rule of thumb'. He was interesting, amiable, and asked for second helpings of soup, although he didn't eat his veggies in the main course, and hid them under his napkin, telling me 'I'm a meat-eater'. Before he left, he said, "I'm going to have to go now, but before I go I have to ask you one question: Do I look like Sean Connery?"
I didn't know who Sean Connery was so I told him "Yes, if you want to, and no if you don't!" To which he laughed and left.
Then I got talking to a woman who seemed a little mentally unsound, because she kept going on about how angry she was at vets, "the scourge of this earth" she called them, because they had been unable to save her two Yorkshire Terriers. I felt really sad listening to her, because could tell she had so much anger, bitterness and sadness wrapped up inside her like a painful pulsating ball. I tried to tell her that the vets would have done what they thought best for the dogs, but she silenced me and told me about how she couldn't stop crying after they died, how they were 'only this big', and how she bought them individual coats to wear when they were outside so they wouldn't get cold. When I had to leave she said 'Thank you for listening,' and gave me a hug, and maybe that's all she needed Even though I couldn't untangle her hurt, hopefully just speaking about t would make her grief a little more manageable.
“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.”
― Leo Buscaglia
When I went for the Celidh a week ago, as I was parking my bicycle, a man came up to me and said, 'Please don't judge me, but I'm in a very bad place, and my leg is ___ing painful, it's got two screws, do you have any cash to spare?' I told him I'd have a look after I locked my bike, and then realised as I rummaged in my purse that all I had were coins, really nothing. I gave the coins to him anyway and felt useless, and told him I was so sorry I couldn't help more, but would he like to come inside the church where it was warm and there was somewhere for him to sit down?
After the Ceilidh, I came out with Tim and Andre and saw the same man, sitting down with a pizza which we found out that the church women had bought him. I went over and asked how his leg was feeling, he told me it still hurt badly, and that someone had stolen his shoe. I could see his foot, which was swollen and rough, and asked if he had anywhere to stay that night. He didn't, because you needed money to get into a homeless shelter (I don't understand that logic), and so Tim gave him some money, and also tried to give him his shoe but he was a size too small.
I had to leave then, but Tim said he would go back to him, and the next day I found out that Tim had gotten him to a hospital to have his leg looked at and to give him some place to rest and recover.
'I pray that you will understand the words of Jesus, “Love one another as I have loved you.” Ask yourself “How has he loved me? Do I really love others in the same way?” ' -Mother Theresa
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