Broken Open

There have been a few BREAKTHROUGH moments in caring for the poor, the sick, and the dying that have changed me.  One of them was caring for my first hospice patient.  I had never experienced the process of dying - up close and over an extended period of time.  This first patient was alert and oriented when I began my pastoral visits with him.  As time went on, he weakened and became a wisp of a man - thin as dandelion stems.

People did not visit him - except his sister.  He had AIDS.  I remember the isolation.  All sorts of signs, precautions, and instructions were taped up outside his hospital door.  The staff would not allow you in unless you suited up.  By the time I had finished garbing, I felt like an Apollo Astronaut on some terrestrial mission.  The distance that this "professional safety suit" put between me and this dying person, this fellow human, was shattering.

It reminded me of the scene in Franco Zeffirelli's BROTHER SON SISTER MOON when Francesco sees himself in the mirror.  He is all clad in his huge and impressive armor.  The sons of Assisi are heading of to the crusades to fight the infidel - the OTHER.  Upon catching a glimpse of himself he whispers, "This mask is my death mask".

The horror and recognition in his voice and on his face was what I felt in my heart.  I could not believe how empty it felt to walk into the room and try to "BE" with this dying soul.  There was so much latex, paper, and plastic covering me, I wondered if my presence was even palpable.

The other moment of revelation and BROKEN-OPENNESS came when I was feeding a crowd of homeless men and women one Easter Sunday morning.  Glinda and I had loaded up our pick up with huge urns of coffee, boxes of donated pastries, bread, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and hardboiled easter eggs.

We drove to several stops in Philadelphia that I knew of from my weekly stops with bread.  There were spots where families lived, women stayed, and men congregated.  On our way to deliver the leftovers to the St. John's Hospice (a friend  worked here - he is an Orthodox Priest and brother in the Order of Saint Basil Major) a huge crowd of homeless saw the white Nissan and shouted: "There is that bread guy".

They all ran at full-speed toward the truck.  Looking at this ocean of people charging the truck - through my rear view mirror - was harrowing.  They were dirty, unkempt, loud, hungry and when they got up close - very smelly.  None of this was new.  What was new was, this mob was out of control.

I recognized a few faces in the crowd.  The sea of people became an ocean of unruly arms and faces pushing and reaching into the trucking, grabbing and pulling at food.  Then it happened.

One of the men - a huge guy - jumped into the bed of the truck and raised a bat over his head.  He said: "you better knock it off and line up, or your gonna get this."  It stopped.  Instantly.  He stayed up on the back of that truck, while we passed out food and drink and offered a simple, "Christ is Risen" to each man and woman there.  I could not thank him enough for showing us the deep compassion he did that day.  He was me, at a different place and time.

These incidents cut me in half.  Both of them.  They reminded me of the connectedness we share.  We are really no different from each other.  There are some veils and costumes we allow ourselves to wear to keep us safe.  Get rid of them and our hearts all cry out for love, community, and safety.  They cry out for God.

Ciao!

+Tom