UNA MILAGRO, A MIRACLE

   If you are at all like me, you have probably experienced miracles in your life. It could be the birth of a child, as it was with Ben, almost 37 years ago. I definitely felt I was in a thin place between the eternal world and the corporal world, for what is more corporal than having a dripping wet baby come out of one's body?

 

  It was a miracle marrying Rick, whom I had known and dated since the young age of 16. To stand beside him under the Butternut tree behind my parents' home, speak the words of the service we wrote ourselves, and see our relatives and friends nearby? That was a miracle at the young, but wise age of 21!

 

  At the Lady's Mass last Saturday, Rick and I were sitting calmly in a pew near the front, listening to Scripture readings. Half-way through the Mass, a door banged and a man stumped down the center aisle. He walked heavily and sat down, as if the front pew could not contain his exhaustion. A red turban circled his head, and I thought it might have been a tablecloth at one time. He wore many clothes, for, if you are a homeless person, you carry your wardrobe with you so it will not be stolen. Something torn encased his hands, in threads like gloves that had given up on life. Many of us were probably thinking, "Who is this guy? Is he dangerous?" But instead, Rick heard inside, "Hello, brother."

  An older lady in denim overalls walked up from the back, sat behind him, and put her hand on his left shoulder. The warm hand said, "Welcome, welcome."

  Soon, he went up and knelt in front of the altar. Fr. Kingsley came down, laid his hands on this man's shoulders, and spoke softly to him. We could not hear, but I imagine he was giving him a blessing.

 

 When the unhoused man arose, tears streamed down his face as he sat again in the pew. Soon, it was time for the Eucharist

 (or "Eudachrist" as Ben used to call it). As I walked up the aisle, I put my hand on the man's shoulder, patted him, and said, "Welcome!" I did this twice, and he turned his tear-stained face to me. What a look. What a face! What had he seen, suffered, and endured? It was all there in his pain-filled eyes.

  I thought, "There, but for the grace of God, sat a person who could have been me. Sleeping on the streets, begging for money and food." Many of us are one pay-check away from being homeless. Even teachers, I saw on FB, who may be earning $72,000 per year, are sleeping in their cars as they cannot afford rent in a place like California. Hard to believe, isn't it?

 

  Something happened at Mass, something I can barely circle with words. It was Una Milagro, a miracle. That this sad, wounded man came into Mass late: that people reached out to touch him; that Fr. Kingsley blessed him with grace; and that he--a marginalized man--was taken in, welcomed, and became part of our faith community. God was there. God worked through our priest and all of us. I hope he comes back. I hope he knows that he is always welcome, and that when he returns to his shelter, tent, or sleeping bag, 

his heart is warmed and lit within like a candle in the darkness.