charity

Wednesday Witness: Checking the ‘Charity’ Box

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving already, and this Sunday, Advent kicks off. Christmas, it seems, is right around the corner, and the world is already in a rush.

It’s easy this time of year to get caught up in the holiday hustle and forget those around us who don’t have basic necessities, let alone comforts and niceties. It’s easy to mean well—to intend to give to charity, then run out time and money between now and New Year’s Eve and resolve to do better next time. And with so many gift trees, food drives, and red-kettle bell-ringers, it’s easy to give little something in passing and feel good that we “did our part.”

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Wednesday Witness: ‘You Can’t Save the World’

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This column is part of a new, weekly series on what the Lord is doing in my heart, specifically encouraging me to simplify my own life in order practice the virtue of charity and the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy. Come back each Wednesday to read the latest!

I’ve always been a big-hearted and emotional fellow. As a grade-schooler, I tried to intervene when those who were littler than me (not many) were being bullied. Invariably, I took a thumping myself. But I couldn’t help it: I hurt to see others hurt.

Whenever I got wound up about some injustice or suffering, real or imaginary, Dad would say, “You can’t save the world.”

What he taught me, instead, was how to stand up for myself, to treat others with respect, and to look out for my own—my family and close friends, those whom I could count on to help take care of me.

Dad was right: I can’t save the world. I can’t even save myself. Jesus is the sole Savior of the world, and—thanks be to God—it is accomplished (John 19:30).

But I don’t think our eternal salvation is what Dad meant.

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Wednesday Witness: At My Door

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This column is part of a new, weekly series on what the Lord is doing in my heart, specifically encouraging me to simplify my own life in order practice the virtue of charity and the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy. Come back each Wednesday to read the latest!

In last week’s column, I referenced a letter from St. Vincent de Paul, in which he describes our obligation to the poor person at the door. While I was on retreat, the phrase “at the door” stuck with me. We live in a mid-1980s neighborhood in Albertville—a curving, suburban street with split-level homes, mature trees, the barking of dogs, and the laughter of children. We have no beggars, no one camping in the park, no one asking for handouts.

We do, however, have two men with developmental disabilities. Both are about my age (one, a little older; one, a little younger). Both grew up in this neighborhood, and their natural sociability means they know everyone. Both have been friends with us as our family has grown up, until, one by one, my children have aged past them, despite being a generation younger.

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Wednesday Witness: All the Time in the World

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This column is the first in a new, weekly series on what the Lord is doing in my heart, specifically encouraging me to simplify my own life in order practice the virtue of charity and the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy more and more. Come back each Wednesday to read the latest!

In last Sunday’s gospel, blind Bartimaeus cries out to Jesus, who is passing by with His disciples and a large crowd. The detail that stuck out to me is that, when this beggar calls to the Lord, “Son of David, have pity on me!” many in the crowd rebuke him. These are people like you and me, who have found in Jesus someone we want to follow, maybe even dedicate our lives to. They have heard the Lord preach, seen Him work miracles, and shared in His ministry…and instead of lifting this poor man up and inviting him in, they tell him to pipe down, intending to pass him by.

But not Jesus. He has all the time in the world. He tells His followers to bring the man they have just rejected to Him. Bartimaeus doesn’t need their help, but springs to his feet—a bold move for a blind man—and rushes to the Lord. Jesus asks him what he wants, and he doesn’t ask for food or spare change. He asks BIG: “Master, I want to see.” 

And the Lord delivers even bigger: Not only does Bartimaeus see, but Jesus tells him, “Your faith has saved you.” God’s plan for Bartimaeus is bigger and more generous than even he can dream.

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So Easy to Love

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Jodi, Lily, and I are just back from visiting Gabriel, who is discerning religious life with the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal (CFRs) in New York City. He is currently living at St. Joseph’s Friary in Harlem. The friary and guest house span two well-worn brownstones on 142nd Street, surrounded by other tall rectangular brick homes of the same era, some operating as rundown rentals, some boarded and empty, and some renovated to fetch premium prices from professionals looking for their own little slice of Manhattan.

The friars are well-known among the lonely and the poor in the neighborhood, and not only by their long, gray habits and sandals. They live simply, own next to nothing, and rely on the unfailing love of God and the generosity of friends and strangers to provide them the means to live and minister. It is not an easy life, and yet they are men of great peace, joy, and laughter. They have walked these streets a long while now, sharing whatever they have with everyone they meet—especially the love of God for all His children.

On Thursday morning, we went with Gabe to the café the CFRs operate on the lower level of the guest house. Three days a week they open the shop to anyone for a cup of coffee and a sandwich, or whatever else the friars have in abundance that day, free of charge.

The regulars are an eclectic mix of literal neighbors who share walls with the friary, along with lonely locals, strays, squatters, and the truly homeless. Some have disabilities, mental health issues, or addictions. Most know each other, and they seem to accept each other as the friars receive all of them—as family. They received us in the same way.

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