Do it for the least of these
From Sojourners Magazine, September-October 2006, Page 43
By Tobias Winright
When I lived in Des Moines, Iowa, I attended Friday evening Mass at the Bishop Dingman House of the Des Moines Catholic Worker. Many of my students at nearby Simpson College also showed up for worship, as well as to help serve meals, clean the house, and join in war protests during the week. There were usually 20 or so present at Mass, including the poor and not-so-poor, African Americans, Latinos, children and grandparents, college students, and high-school dropouts. For a while there was even a black cat that sat purring in front of the coffee table-turned altar.
One night an inebriated man came in from the street, sat down, and loudly and nonsensically interrupted everything as we tried to make our way through the order of worship. Because Mass tended to be informal and open to anyone's contribution and participation, we tried to keep things going. But when it got to the point where the service could no longer continue, Father Frank Cordaro paused and gently escorted the man to the kitchen, where he was given a seat and a warm meal. The rest of us were stunned. When Father Frank returned he said to us, "Don't you hate it when Jesus does that?" Of course, in asking this he was echoing Dorothy Day, who was deeply influenced by St. Benedict, who reminded his monks that "everyone was to be received as Christ."
* * * * * * * * *
The New Testament is the basis for this idea of receiving others as Christ. It came straight from Jesus, when he said, "To the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me."
This is grand in the theoretical sense. I have rosy visions of Mother Teresa gathering the dying and caring for them as she would care for Jesus. I can see myself along side, also offering kindness to the poor, the hungry, the motherless, the prisoner...
I'm not so holy in person, not so able to see Jesus in the faces that I look into, not so kind or so loving as I wish I were.
By Tobias Winright
When I lived in Des Moines, Iowa, I attended Friday evening Mass at the Bishop Dingman House of the Des Moines Catholic Worker. Many of my students at nearby Simpson College also showed up for worship, as well as to help serve meals, clean the house, and join in war protests during the week. There were usually 20 or so present at Mass, including the poor and not-so-poor, African Americans, Latinos, children and grandparents, college students, and high-school dropouts. For a while there was even a black cat that sat purring in front of the coffee table-turned altar.
One night an inebriated man came in from the street, sat down, and loudly and nonsensically interrupted everything as we tried to make our way through the order of worship. Because Mass tended to be informal and open to anyone's contribution and participation, we tried to keep things going. But when it got to the point where the service could no longer continue, Father Frank Cordaro paused and gently escorted the man to the kitchen, where he was given a seat and a warm meal. The rest of us were stunned. When Father Frank returned he said to us, "Don't you hate it when Jesus does that?" Of course, in asking this he was echoing Dorothy Day, who was deeply influenced by St. Benedict, who reminded his monks that "everyone was to be received as Christ."
* * * * * * * * *
The New Testament is the basis for this idea of receiving others as Christ. It came straight from Jesus, when he said, "To the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me."
This is grand in the theoretical sense. I have rosy visions of Mother Teresa gathering the dying and caring for them as she would care for Jesus. I can see myself along side, also offering kindness to the poor, the hungry, the motherless, the prisoner...
I'm not so holy in person, not so able to see Jesus in the faces that I look into, not so kind or so loving as I wish I were.
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