So today I had a traditional YAV experience in that I met face-on the overwhelming effects of poverty and I had no idea how to deal with it but to be totally emotionally steamrolled. I helped hand out food from church to lots of homeless folks under the I-10 underpass near St. Charles Street.
I've been attending a church that is (gasp!) not Presbyterian. This is for myriad reasons, most of which include a visceral reaction to and against church and spiritual-y things lately. I've almost had to get up and run out of church services several times over before finding the place I'm currently attending. It's been a strange phenomena that I'll probably try to tease out more in detail at some point for all you faithful readers out there, but for now I'll just say I've been attending a Metropolitan Community Church (MCC for short, goobers) that is progressive, the most friendly and welcoming place I've ever been, and mostly geared toward the queer community.
We had a potluck lunch today and they have started the tradition of boxing the leftovers and taking them around town to those who need/want it. Here's where I'll say that the single-handedly largest reason in this weird world that I'm still a Christian is the idea that God's love is for everyone, regardless of anything. And God is especially in it for the downtrodden and oppressed. This is exactly counter to our capitalist society that gives each person a value (i.e. rich person = very valuable, homeless person = no money, no contribution, totally useless, only saps resources). Therefore, no matter how many doubts I have about God's existence, the Bible's sometimes crazy misogynistic admonitions, and religion acting purely as a safety blanket, this crazy idea that every single fucking person in the world having the same enormous worth is too beautiful and perfect for me to resist. 'Cause it's all about me, goobs.
Anyways, I can't stop thinking about this one woman who drove up in a small SUV and beckoned me to her window. I was standing there next to the opened back of my friend Bob's (who is the Chief of Finances for the Loew's hotel downtown so we obviously stood out a wee tad) car, talking with other people who had seen us handing out drinks and styrofoam boxes. I walked over, slowly realizing that this woman was a hoarder. Like straight out of the A&E show. There was shit strapped to the top of her car, boxes and bags and other crazy things, and inside her car the only open air was where she was sitting (with a jittery dog in her lap) and about a square foot of airspace from the top of all the shit in her passenger seat to the roof of the car. The rest of it to the very back of the car was totally crammed with trash bags, and an inordinate amount of stuff. I asked her if she would like something to eat and she said she did. Then she beckoned me closer and I could sense that something was way off.
"I seem to have soiled myself earlier. I was wondering if you have a spare pair of pants?" She was holding her dog in her lap and I made no other reaction to this than but to sincerely apologize that we didn't have any pants but that I would look for napkins and anything else that I could find to help. As providence, or God, or coincidence would have it, Bob has prostate cancer and had adult diapers in his backseat. I put one in a plastic bag beneath her napkins and handed it to her through the window. Then she drove away.
I've been driving around the city on various trips today - coming home from church, to help a friend moveand I remember her face and I'll fall into tears. Last night, I went to a bar for the Saints game, went to an Ani Difranco concert, and spend several more hours at a bar on Frenchman listening to a band and getting drunk. The contrast is stark and is not lost on me. This woman has, to my knowledge, no feasible connections to getting help. I have a family, a strong support network, loving friends, and expectations for me that I will succeed and live a long and prosperous life. This woman has serious emotional and mental issues and is driving around New Orleans with soiled pants and a car full of garbage. Coming face to face with your privilege is a tough thing. It happens to me pretty much every single day, so don't think this is my first time meeting someone without all of my fancy conveniences.
I don't really have a point to this story except to say love each other and be grateful for your ties in life to people who can and would help if a real shitstorm ever blew over all of your life structures. I'm thankful for a God that says she is worth loving too.
Because she is.
