They pressed into service a passer-by, Simon, a Cyrenian, who was coming in from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to carry his cross. (Mark 15: 21)
I've always had the very strong desire to save the world—to be the hero, to be a savior, to have a whole chapter about Annie in a history book fifty years from now because I was so important that everyone must know about me. But if there’s anything I've learned this year, it’s that I was not sent to Chicago to be a hero or a savior, and I definitely won’t be in any history books because of anything I did this year. If anything, this year has taught me that I need to be a little humbler. I wasn't put here to save the impoverished community in south Chicago, much like Simon wasn't sent to be a savior to Jesus. Simon’s purpose was to help Jesus carry out his mission. His job was to help carry the cross. That’s my job. I will never, ever as hard as I try, come even close to solving all the problems that my clients face, but I can walk with them, humbly, and help carry their crosses.I assume that we all, at some point this year, have felt incompetent in some way or another. I often worry that I’m not being the support that my clients need, the friend that my housemates need, that I simply don’t know enough to be in this field of work, that I need to change myself and work harder to accommodate the needs of others. I believe it was Simon himself, or maybe Bill Cosby, who said, “I don’t know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody.” I’m not perfect. I’m simply incapable of being what everyone in my life needs. I don’t know what Simon thought or felt when he carried the cross, but I imagine he probably didn't feel quite like he was up to par for his particular role. Peter was probably the more obvious and logical choice. My boss has actually told me that I was not really the most qualified Amatian she interviewed. But she thought that I would get more out of working at St. Sabina—out of my comfort zone—than the person who was the far more qualified and obvious choice. Simon walked into the picture as a nobody, like I walked into St. Sabina. I doubt that the impact I make this year will have any remarkable lasting value. But I recognize that, like Simon, what I do—while seemingly insignificant—does matter.
A couple months into working at St. Sabina, I took an elderly woman back to my desk to assess her for access to our food pantry. As we walked down the hallway, she complained about how long she had been waiting, how no one in social services actually cares about anyone, that we just do it for the money. “Hmm...” I thought. I don’t ever recall any time during my undergrad or in my time spent researching social work, anyone making any claim that I would ever make much money. As she yelled at me that she had been waiting in our lobby for two hours, which I knew was impossible because we had only been open for 45 minutes, my frustration started to get the better of me. She dictated to me how I felt about my clients and my motives for working in social services. At some point, my tolerance gave out. “Ma’am, I volunteer here full time. I don’t do it for money. I’m here because I care about you and everyone else here. I don’t appreciate you telling me that I don’t care about you.” She replied, “You’re young—you don’t know. You've never suffered. You don’t know anything I've been through.” “You’re right,” I said. “I have NO idea what you've been through. But I still care about you.” She stared at me, shocked, then proceeded to tell me her about her previous experiences with other social services agencies, in which she wasn't treated with much respect or dignity. An hour later, I had heard all about her late husband, her daughters, and her son who was absolutely her whole world and could do no wrong. As she left my cubicle, she was hugging me, kissing my face, and telling me that I’m smart and that the world needs more people like me. I didn't feel that I had contributed any meaningful words to our hour-long conversation, but that didn't matter. She just wanted someone to listen to her. She needed to take a load off her heart, to have someone else to help carry her cross.
I clearly remember a time when Dave and I were at Mass at St. Sabina. Father Pfleger spoke some simple words that always find their way to the front of my mind when my insecurities being to overwhelm me. “Your purpose is greater than your pain.” I came here knowing that this year would not be about my comfort; it’s about walking humbly beside my clients and helping them to carry their burdens. This purpose is far greater than any pain or discomfort I have or will experience this year. As a detailed reminder to myself, I keep the Litany of Humility taped above my sink. It reads:
O Jesus! Meek and humble of heart, Hear me. From the desire of being esteemed, deliver me, Jesus. From the desire of being loved, from the desire of being extolled, from the desire of being honored, from the desire of being praised, from the desire of being preferred to others, from the desire of being consulted, from the desire of being approved. From the fear of being humiliated, deliver me, Jesus. From the fear of being despised, from the fear of suffering rebukes, from the fear of being ridiculed, from the fear of being wronged, from the fear of being suspected. That others may be loved more than I, Jesus, grant me to the grace to desire it. That others may be esteemed more than I, that, in the opinions of the world, others may increase and I may decrease, that others may be chosen and I set aside, that others may be praised and I unnoticed, that others may be preferred to me in everything, that others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should. And may the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit be glorified in all places through the Immaculate Virgin Mary. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment