neighbors

Wednesday Witness: How Do I Love Me?

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…

The 19th-century poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning asked the question above in her Sonnet 43. This morning, I ask a different question: How do I love ME?

I am currently reading the book Happy Are You Poor by Father Thomas Dubay, SM. It is a hard, convicting read about taking seriously the Gospel’s words regarding wealth, poverty, possessions, and sharing with those in need. What has struck me hardest thus far is Father Dubay’s insistence on the actual words of Jesus—currently, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39, cf. Leviticus 19:18).

How do I love myself? Among other ways:

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Wednesday Witness: Digging Deeper the Right Way

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

Awhile back, Facebook served up to me an ad for sarcastic coffee mugs, including one that read “No One Cares. Work Harder.” I recognized it right away as that strain of humor that laments how soft we have become, how prone we are to excuses and taking the easy way out of tough situations—but it didn’t seem funny. 

See, I tend to think I need to handle whatever comes my way in order to measure up. I don’t want to fail or let anyone down, and I struggle to say no or ask for help. Reading that mug felt like the world’s weight settling on my shoulders: I’ll never be caught up. I’ll never retire. I’ll never rest.

Doing good work well is a virtue, but when our efforts become a relentless slog to do more, something changes. An old friend tells me that BUSY means Burdened Under Satan’s Yoke—because, as you’ll recall, Jesus says to take up His yoke, and we will find rest.

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Wednesday Witness: Belong, Believe, Behave

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Over the past week or so, I’ve found myself reflecting on a homily delivered by Father Richards some years ago. I have written about it before; the gist of the message was this:

  • People in a group or community often insist that those who want to join behave properly and believe correctly in order to belong (Behave, Believe, Belong).
  • People on the margins, however, need a place to belong, where they can come to believe, and learn to behave (Belong, Believe, Behave).

Belong, Believe, Behave is the natural order of things. From the moment we are born into a family, we need secure attachments to our parents to form healthy, ordered relationships and learn to navigate the world. But once we find our place in the world, we often lose sight of the fact that we ever weren’t a part of it.

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Wednesday Witness: Charity by the Numbers

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You’ve all heard the adage, “Bad things come in threes.” It seems to play out time and again—one thing leads to another and another. Of course, once the seed is planted, we look for three, and when we identify the third event, we restart the counter. Sure enough, three more catastrophes are coming if we wait long enough.

But I can’t dismiss the old wisdom entirely. In my time working with the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, I have yet to encounter a neighbor who wasn’t juggling multiple problems—a cluster of issues snowballing into a crisis.

Sometimes it’s bad luck. Sometimes, poor planning. Sometimes it’s a series of personal choices we wish they could take back. Sometimes it’s systemic—problems often seem to progress faster than solutions. And sometimes it’s generational poverty, addiction, and sin taking its toll, rippling out to touch everyone in an ever-widening circle.

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Wednesday Witness: At My Door

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

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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