Taking It Personally by Cheryl Davis

Advent has come and gone for another year.   For me, it was a season full of meaning and wonder:   from the soaring melodies of Rutter’s Magnificat to the joyous strains of carolers and big band music, from serving dessert to serving communion, from quiet reflection to noisy parties, full of energy and life.  There were births, baptisms and December weddings.  There were beautiful sermons, a story about a Christmas mouse named Willard, gifts given and received and time spent with precious friends and family. 

But there were also stark reminders that all was not calm, all was not bright.  Dozens of crosses on the lawn . . . news of broken relationships . . . divisions among races, political parties and nations.  Heartache for those caught in the throes of addiction or grieving another senseless, violent death.  The decision to escalate our military presence in Afghanistan yet again.  Bitter debates about health care reform.

Another reminder came on my shift to serve at the Salvation Army soup kitchen, just before Christmas.  It was a busy, cold night and we had served almost everyone.   With noticeable sadness, my friend on the line mentioned he wouldn’t be able to be with his family again this year . . . maybe next Christmas he said, his voice trailing off.

I was about to close the window for the serving line when a rather agitated woman appeared.  She was a black woman, probably in her late 50s or so, with unkempt hair and a certain wildness in her eyes.  I started to dish up the turkey, green beans and sweet potatoes for her.  She began cursing and made it clear she wanted only the sweet potatoes and lots of them.  Of course, I did as she requested and asked if she would like any salad on the side.  This question sent her into a rage and she began screaming and swearing loud enough to bring the security folks to her side.  Eventually they were able to calm her down, but she was clearly not in her right mind.

Cliff came by to apologize for the woman’s behavior, saying not to take it personally.  He wondered if I would continue coming downtown to serve.  I assured him I under-stood and did not take the woman’s outburst personally;  I told him I’d certainly be back.

But now that I’ve had some time to reflect on this experience, I’ve come to a different conclusion.  I do need to take this personally - in the sense that it is unacceptable for a severely mentally ill woman to be homeless and wandering the streets of Louisville in the dead of winter.  In the sense that homelessness and soup lines and violence are unacceptable for all God’s children.  I pray that I will take it personally, because how I treat “the least of these” matters more than I ever imagined.  And ultimately, I pray that we all take it personally, as this surely is God’s longing and hope for the world: 

Here on earth, may God’s kingdom come.   On earth as in heaven,

may God’s will be done.