And the king will answer them,
‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these
who are members of my family,
you did it to me.’
- Matthew 25:40 (NRSV)
Supposedly at the holiday season, we take time to reflect on and appreciate our blessings. One way that we express this is to share gifts with those we like and love. In fact, one of the laments of our age is that this gift-giving - reminiscent, for Christians, of the Ultimate Gift, God's sharing of His only begotten Son, born this day - is that it's been transformed into a time of rampant consumption and materialism virtually (if not totally) devoid of its seminal purpose. And yet, at any time and moment, we can change, we can choose to return to the purpose of this Christmas celebration: honoring the birth of Hope in human form.
Even those who are not believers or Christians can identify with this purpose: grateful reflection on the past accompanied by hopeful anticipation of the future. And it's in this universal spirit that I write today, to reflect on the meaning of this season, in this case through the lens of my relationship with a man named Jimmy.
Actually, I'm not 100% sure that his name really is Jimmy, but I've overheard others calling him that, so I've done so, too, and he's never corrected me (whether out of politeness or some other motivation). What I do know is that Jimmy is homeless and that I often see him on 34th Street on my way to and from Penn Station.
Of course, on any given day, one will encounter any number of homeless people on the streets of New York City, many of whom are begging for anything that passersby would care to share. In my recent experience, this seems to average about one such person per block. What makes Jimmy just like his peers is that he sits inconspicuously in front of a shuttered storefront with a small sign requesting donations. But what makes him stand out is that he has a companion, a small, tattered black, white and grey dog whose name I don't know (or, at least, remember). I've often asked myself what it means about me (and my character) that the primary reason that I noticed him was because of the dog. When I am totally honest with myself, much to my dismay, I suspect that this is so and it pains me. Most of his peers I don't recognize, but Jimmy I do, virtually exclusively because of his companion.
At least that was the case until one interaction about a month ago that literally rocked my world: I've made it a habit to donate a dollar to Jimmy each time I pass him and, most importantly while doing so, to acknowledge him/his humanity. (Certainly being homeless is a stressful life, but often even more painful is the reality that to so/too many of their fellow humans, these least among us are often effectively invisible or, if noticed at all, treated inhumanely/as 'less than.') One morning just before Thanksgiving, I decided to increase my gift in the spirit of the season and slipped him a five-dollar bill. He didn't seem to acknowledge the significantly increased donation, responding graciously and appreciatively as usual, but what he said almost stopped me in my tracks. When I wished him a Happy Thanksgiving and implored "God bless you, brother," he answered confidently and louder than usual that...
"He does, every day, and I appreciate it!"
I smiled, said "That's great!" and kept walking ... for a few steps at least until it hit me: What?!? Did a homeless guy just say to me that he feels blessed by God every day?!? Did I hear that right, that a guy who has nothing and is living on the cold, hard streets of New York City and depends on the kindness of strangers to live feels blessed by God ... and, even more, every day?!? At this point, I think that I actually stopped walking, as I remember being jostled by several fellow pedestrians, which I assume was as a result of my being lost in befuddlement....
I realize now that I was dealing with a thunderbolt to my worldview: as is so often the case in my experience, we meet God in the most unexpected of places ... and for me, on that day, it was in the person of Jimmy.
As I regained my equilibrium and began again to my destination, I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd just heard and witnessed (in the truest sense of this word). And, soon, it - the lesson - came to me: If Jimmy can feel blessed by God every day, what on earth do I have to complain about/how can I not feel even more blessed and grateful every moment of every day?!?
The next time I saw Jimmy, I thanked him for sharing something of great importance with me and, graciously as he accepted that day's donation, he looked up quizzically and said cheerfully, "You're welcome!" I was just about to explain when I decided on what I thought might be a better course, to wish God's blessings on him again, which then elicited the same response as before. "Thanks for that lesson, Jimmy!" I said as I walked on feeling renewed and supremely grateful. "You're welcome!" he again intoned cheerfully as I left and he welcomed his next benefactor.
As the Christmas holiday approached, I promised myself that I would stop and talk at greater length with Jimmy when I saw him to learn more about this kind soul whose honest, happy sharing had helped me gain a much better perspective on the vagaries and blessings of my life. Alas, the several days that I passed his usual spot, he and his companion weren't there. My heart sank a little bit each time. I had hoped that in exchange for a little insight into his worldview, I might be able to share a greater kindness, perhaps a larger donation or even the offer of a hot meal in a warm place. But this was not to be....
I come into Christmas this year greatly benefited by my association with Jimmy but as yet unable to share my gratitude with/express my gratitude to him. So I share it in this blog and hope that somehow, wherever he is on this thankfully more temperate Christmas Day, he'll know that someone is wishing him well and appreciative of him. And when I see him, of course, I intend to express this fully.
Until then, I share with you what Jimmy taught and returned to me: that happiness and fulfillment are a function of one's perspective and, especially, of one's gratitude; that God's abundance is ever present if we choose to be aware of and appreciate it; and that the real giver in our relationship was not me....
As I shared with my spiritual brothers at the Men's Breakfast at my church later that week, Jimmy gifted me with one of those life-altering moments of clarity that haunt, illumine and elevate. If he can feel so blessed, then surely I should (and, by extension, my troubles should be a distant, secondary consideration).
And, for the most part, I have been more aware of and appreciative for my blessings and less concerned by my inevitable and ceaseless challenges. To put a finer point on it, like Jay Z, I got 99 problems - as do we all - but I'm more focused on the reality of my too-innumerable-to-count blessings. And since Jimmy's gift of perspective, my challenges haven't lessened in number or magnitude, but my appreciation for the context in which I live - and especially the far more voluminous and meaningful extent of my God-given blessings - has certainly grown greatly.
Like so many, I was caught in the daily grind and more attuned to the challenges than the gifts. But now I'm giddily humbled by the abundance in my life and appropriately but not overly concerned with my burdens, which is as it should be. In sum, this Christmas, I'm truly in the Spirit of the Season, largely thanks to Jimmy.
So, Jimmy, my Brother, wherever you are tonight, I hope that you're feeling blessed and know that I realize just how blessed I am, especially by the gift of you in my life. And I'm most appreciative for your kindness not to point out that, distracted and misperceiving as I was, I was the one who, though I thought I was sharing God with you, was actually meeting Him/Her/It in you. Thank you for this gift of life, Jimmy. I hope to share something of such profound meaning with you someday. Until then, I'll keep appreciating my myriad blessings and keep paying them forward in your honor at Christmas and every day.
What if God was one of us, indeed. Just a stranger on a bus, as Joan Osborne sang a few years ago. Or, in my case, a homeless but generous soul named Jimmy....
No comments:
Post a Comment