O Wretched Man That I Am

I have a confession to make. I am the person at your office who takes the last cup of coffee, then leaves the empty pot smoldering on the burner without starting a fresh one. I occasionally ride my bike without my helmet on, and I never walk it across crosswalks. I ate all the good candy from my kid’s Halloween stash and I let them watch too much TV when their mother is not home.

And why, you may ask, is he confessing to these grave moral indiscretions?

A few months ago, moved by I know not what, I was talking to the pastor at my church and I asked him if there was anything we could do for the needy, the “least of these” we like to call them around the pews. The hungry, the thirsty, the disenchanted, the sick, the naked, even the prisoners. Not to mention all those disenfranchised souls voting for Ron Paul and the destitute masses that continue to watch Lost with the naïve belief that they will be rewarded with a meaningful and satisfying ending.

Ours is a good pastor, always at the ready for such queries, and he welcomed me into various activities and programs that our fine church was organizing to help those folks in need. Which brings me to my next confession: I participated in exactly none of these.

There is a phrase that has been playing in the back of my mind ever since that conversation. O wretched man that I am.

I don’t want to sound preachy. Church talk often makes me squirm in my seat and roll my eyes, even when I subscribe to it. So if that doesn’t work for you, if the thought of a higher power turns you off, use whatever moral compass you like. Intuition, institution, Cosmopolitan, the Bill of Rights, ABC, CBS, NBC, CNN, TMZ, the autobiography of Mr. T, or any other initials you want.

But by whatever measure you want to use, if you take a moment to think about what the city of Burbank is doing for the area’s homeless and needy, you will see that it is anything but wretched. From the last minute opening of the winter shelter at the armory last year, to the renewal and expansion of that shelter this year, to the city council’s continued efforts to provide assistance to transient and low income families. While our representatives in Washington D.C. are handing out billion dollar bailout checks to major banks, insurance companies and car manufacturers, our local city council is looking straight into the eyes of those directly effected by homelessness and trying to make a difference at the individual level. They are doing something right despite some well-meaning resistance.

Globally some 30,000 children die everyday from malnutrition and poverty, entirely preventable diseases and conditions. Too much to think about? Locally some 524 individuals and families just lost their homes 15 miles up the road in Sylmar. We can argue the causes of homelessness and poverty, blaming the left, the right, predatory mortgage lenders, brush fires or just plain old poor personal decision-making.

But if we ignore it, it won’t go away. If we throw money at it without personal accountability, we only perpetuate the problem. Something tells me that if we seek the peace in our city, we’ll have peace elsewhere in our lives. The word peace often refers to completeness, soundness, welfare, health, safety and right relationship with each other. Our individual peace and welfare are bound to our city and to our community’s well being. The facts of poverty will not change until they become personal for us. And what do you get out of this? Nothing you can count. At least nothing that you can measure in dollars.

Is it easier to pity a fool, or pity a person in need? Religious or not, deep down we all know that giving to others, helping those in need, is good and right. I know that in the present economy none of this is easy. Not on a national level, a city level, and not at the home level. But that does not change the face of poverty and homelessness. These we will always have with us, as a wise man once said. That is a call to help, not an excuse to ignore.

Maybe it’s just that the holiday season always makes me feel like doing more unto others than I’ve done unto them in the previous 11 months of the year. Or maybe one or two of the things I’ve learned at church are starting to sink in despite my best efforts to resist them. But this holiday season I am going to try to remember to start a fresh pot of coffee whenever I take that last cup.

© 2008 Patrick Caneday