10 Trinity Sq
Toronto, ON
M5G 1B1
416-598-4521
416-598-1432 (fax)
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Rental space available

Weddings at Holy Trinity

weekly services
Sun. 10:30 am, 2:00pm;
Wed. 12:15 pm

email:
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Nothing to Offer

SARA BOYLES
There she was. Nanny McPhee complete with her crazy coloured clothes, pocked face and protruding teeth but her words were wrong, all wrong. It was a bad dream. She had lost her housing. The nurse at the hospital wouldn't talk to her. Her brother had come and taken her furniture. She had lost her apartment. Would she get it back? The sign said the church opened at 9:30 (she was looking at the café sign) why wasn't it open? Did we have a telephone? Did we have some coffee? The only way was to commit suicide.

I was in a hurry. I wanted my morning coffee and some breakfast. I was headed to the coffee shop. I did not feel up to her barrage as much as her appearance intrigued me and made me smile. But she wasn't being funny. She was in serious trouble as she waited for her friend to sweep away the debris from the night (he had slept on the door ramp in a little shelter he had made for himself from cardboard and blankets). Her disarray was only enhanced by a young man who appeared from stage left with his dog and yellow sun glasses. His first action was to pop open his suitcase, pull out the dog food, and scatter some breakfast for his pet in one of the corners by the steps. All the time she talked on always concluding that suicide was the only way.

And I had nothing to say, nothing to offer, nothing to affirm her personhood. I only repeated, the church opened at 11 and yes, there was a telephone she could use. I kept suggesting that she call her housing worker. All the time I knew this answer was only to get me off the hook. I did not believe her housing worker (whom she couldn't remember the name of or the agency she worked for) would give her the time of day. I was unwilling to offer her comfort for her plight. I wanted my coffee. I felt a whole day would not make a dent in her situation.

And when I came out with my coffee and bagel I was aware that I wanted them all to be gone - the distraught woman, the old man with his sleeping bag and the young man with his dog. . I didn't want to share my bagel. I didn't even buy an extra coffee. But there she was, blended into the wall of # 6 with lifeless eyes, beyond even asking for help. I averted my eyes, steeled myself and scurried by. "Please don't stop me," I thought.

Today I need all the help I can get. I see her face, her spunk, the chaos of her life as I write. It is another gospel challenge. What am I willing to give up in order to find life more abundantly? What is my responsibility to deal with my own pain, the pain of others, the pain of the world? More importantly, how do I celebrate life itself in all of its vagaries and colours? I know the "right" answers but there is some place in me where they do not ring true.

I hate being complicit in the pain and feel inadequate in my response. I give her enough to keep her life barely going but not enough so that you can really live. I short change structures who offer support and want them to manage on a shoestring. I want them to do and be what I cannot. I seem to think that she can make a whole life without the tools or necessary encouragement. Our political action does count. Solidarity with those in need is our mission. In our hearts we need to hold the many stories of neglect and abuse as carefully as we hold the stories of beauty and success.

Wobbly balloon lady, you hang on by a thread. Your being challenges my presumptions. You made me smile even though you were in pain. You brought me colour and questions. In the middle of this one small scene you brought me some joy. Thank you.

Sara

November 30, 1999