We Are Not Trying to Change the World
The
first thing that I discover as a new member of the St. Vincent de Paul Society
is that if I want to help the poor and expect to be thanked for it, then I am
working for the wrong charity.
Everyone
in the group is a volunteer. We have no executive director, no volunteer
coordinator, and no recognition dinner at the end of the year. We do have an
elected president, a vice-president, and a secretary, each of whom carry the
responsibility of filling out and archiving the mountain of paperwork involved
in running a nonprofit. These additional burdens are considerable, and no one
expects the officers to stand at the door at closing time to shake our hands in
gratitude as we leave for the day.
What’s
more, the people we help are not usually having the best day of their lives
when we meet them. They walk through our door seeking assistance with an
eviction notice, a utility shut-off, or a prescription medicine they can’t
afford, and they are more likely to be angry at the situation they find
themselves in rather than bursting with gratitude.
Saint
Vincent de Paul himself understood well the loss of dignity that needy people
suffer, and he admonished his followers like this:
“Don’t make the poor ask for what God, their Father, wants
them to have. We should apologize if they have to ask for what they need.”
The
gentleman is blue collar, anxious, obviously unused to asking for help. He
questions me quietly so that no one else in the store will overhear.
“Do
you give clothes to people who need them? It’s not for me, it’s for my cousin.”
“Your
cousin has to come down and ask for himself,” I tell him.
“He
works five in the morning until seven. He just got the job and can’t miss, but
he only has one pair of pants.” I must look a little skeptical at this claim.
He hesitates
but then explains. “He just got out of prison. It was his second time.” A
shrug. “Anyway, I told his parole officer that he could live with me until he
got on his feet. He’s family; if I don’t give him a chance, who will? They
taught him to hang drywall in there. This is the first decent job he’s ever
had, but he doesn’t get paid until next Friday. I gave him some of my pants but
he’s six foot three and skinny as a rail. No way he can fit in my stuff. You
know anything about drywall? The dust? His pants stand up by themselves when he
takes them off. There’s no time to wash and dry them.”
On
the clothes racks we find sweatpants, shirts, socks, and a winter coat. As I
bag the clothes, he asks, “Can I rake your leaves? I’d like to do something to
help you folks out. I’ll make sure my cousin comes in to thank you when he gets
a day off, but let me do something today.”
I
tell him it isn’t necessary, but he asks again, and then another time after I
hand him the bag. I refuse again just as my coworker Jim walks by us.
Jim,
overhearing the offer, is more perceptive than I. “I’ll get you a rake,” he
tells him. “Thanks very much, it would be a great help.”
The
man rakes every leaf into a tidy pile. When he comes back inside, he is no
longer anxious or uneasy. He shakes our hands, gathers up his small bag of
clothing and walks out.
This
man raking the leaves at the St. Vinnie’s thrift shop is confirmation of a
niggling suspicion I have about the place. Gradually, over the first few months
that I work there, it starts to become uneasily clear to me that we are not
trying to change the world. We aren’t trying to change poor people either.
The
only thing it seems we are trying to change is ourselves.
-Excerpted from Thrift Store Saints: Meeting Jesus 25¢ at a
Time, written by Jane Knuth
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