You must relieve the lot of the poor, clothe the naked, visit the sick (Matthew 25:36), and bury the dead. Go to help the troubled and console the sorrowing. (Rule of St. Benedict 4. 14-19)
There’s all the trouble in the world, and there’s what you can do about it.
Not much.
You don’t know the name of the neighbor who suns himself on his back steps in the cool of the morning in his briefs, but you’ve seen him up close once. He was nearly naked and mostly drunk then too. You let him know his fence was on fire, and he did get up to throw some water on it, not another cigarette butt, so you probably don’t need to worry about him. That was the fence on his other side: not your problem. Lower the shades so the kids don’t get another visual of the bulging briefs over breakfast.
The friend down the street is going back to her maiden name after her husband left her on her own with two little girls. All you volunteered for was carpool, but she looked so worn out at the end of the week that you went back and handed her your lasagna. You made it from scratch: the meat filling, the ricotta layers, the tomato sauce. It took all afternoon to put together, and parting with it does still hurt some, but not as much as watching their lives splatter.
You never even met the woman who signed up to teach Sunday school and then just didn’t show, for whatever reason. You thought you were going to be the aide, sucker. Shouldn’a been there. Here’s the roster: now it’s on you. A dozen innocent, willing faces are counting on you to explain the gap between earth and heaven.
It’s a fine day for a picnic. Release your children into the park and let them run around while you listen to the regulars vent their grievances. They have everything the world has to offer, and no end of complaints. They’ve achieved the American Dream: a house inside the Loop, private schools, and two food allergies in every kitchen. They will rant as long as you will listen, but you’ve reached your outside limit. Time to hit the zoo and see some animals at feeding time.
Funny how all the kids’ legs give out as soon as they pass the zoo exit. They can run for hours, but they limp, cramp, blister and drag their feet when you try to hurry them through marijuana plaza on the corner of Cambridge and Fannin. If you could make the light before someone hustles you for cash, you’d be at the Metro Rail station across from Hermann Hospital.
Now there’s a wild sight: on the train platform, a girl wearing nothing but a hospital gown sits in one of the logo wheelchairs from a different hospital up the street. The I.V. line is still stuck in her vein, and the drip bag is still dangling from the rolling pole. Everyone else knows to walk around these impeding objects. Do you really have to stop and ask if she needs help?
Turns out she doesn’t. Her boyfriend comes over when he sees you talking to her and tells you so. He’s been working out a lot lately, from the look of those muscles. His tattoos proclaim something you don’t have time to read, because he’s too edgy to stand still in one place for long. The vibe you get from him is rage. She looks like she’s about to slump out of the wheelchair, and she can barely nod her head: yes. When he circles back around, lights up a joint and hands it to her, she can still reach for it, though. Maybe you’re witnessing an exchange of loving devotion. Or maybe he’s the one who put her in the hospital, and now he’s retrieving his property, along with a couple of items of equipment that they do not give away when they discharge patients.
You stopped, so a bright, competent intern stops too. Yes, the boyfriend does look like an explosion about to happen. Yes, the escaped girl does look like a wreck. One of you keep an eye on him, and one of you put in a call to the hospital with the missing wheelchair and the absentee patient. Wait till half a dozen EMS guys his own size are carefully closing in. Someone with backup is talking him into letting her get lifted into an ambulance.
Mom! What’s for dinner?
Not lasagna, actually. Maybe scrounge night again. Be glad you have a dad who’s happy to see you when he comes home.
Fall into bed. You’ve done what you could. It’s all a human being can do. Let God spell you on holding the universe together.
Domestic Violence Hotline U.S.A.
