Remember the poor

I have about 3 hours worth of reading to do and my 8am class is quickly approaching. Before I can continue to dive into the books, I need to process something that is heavy on my heart.

At our Ash Wednesday service this morning, the departing charge was to "Go in peace. Remember the poor." I thought this was kind of a funny way to end a very beautiful and restoring worship service. Remember the poor. Is that it? Just remember them? Is that supposed to mean that it is okay that they are poor, as long as we remember them? I don't buy it.

I had the opportunity to fellowship with the poor on Monday night as I helped out at a freeze shelter for women. I was a last minute substitute, so I wasn't fully prepared to spend the night at the church, but they sounded desperate so I said yes. The night went fine, just a few problems but nothing serious. Until 7am. Most women who stay in the shelter understand the rules, including the one about being out of the building by 7am. They are all very grateful for the warm place to stay, even if it is on the hard tile of the church's fellowship hall. They don't want to ruin a good thing by breaking the rules. Evidently one woman was unaware of this rule and decided to hop in the shower at 6:55. At 7:02 I knocked on the door and told her I would give her 5 minutes to wrap up, but that we had to lock up asap. At 7:15 she was still in the shower, door locked. At 7:18 she was out of the shower, but I could hear the washing machine going. I asked if she was doing laundry and she said yes.

This is when crazy Becca emerged. I am beyond ashamed for what transpired next.

I had made it clear that we were now trespassing in the church and that we had to leave right then. She didn't want to listen to me, so the male volunteer who was there yelled at her and threatened to call the police. She then opened the door and let me come into the shower room. All of her clothes were in the middle of wash cycle. All of them. She was completely naked, standing there staring at me and looking for a solution. All I can think about is the fact that I have a quiz in my 8am class that I must be present for, therefore she must leave immediately. So I told her I could offer her some clean clothes from the closet. She declined and instead opened up the washing machine, took out some clothes and put them on. At this point I'm beginning to realize that this woman isn't mentally healthy and if Texas actually had funding for social services, she could be living in an institution that would nourish her. Instead she lives on the streets like trash. My heart sank as we walked out of the building, she dripping wet, me on the verge of tears.

I try to think about what it was like to be in her shoes. Humiliating. I kicked her out of the church with her ziplock baggie with toothpaste and a toothbrush, and an HEB bag full of her soaking wet clothes. Her sole possessions. I can imagine it was brutally cold to walk outside in wet clothes, with wet hair.

All because I had to make it class on time for a quiz that I later found out is only worth 2.5% of our overall grade. Shame on me.

My friend Brenna who attends Princeton Seminary and who is a brilliant theologian, once remarked how difficult it can be to sit in the classroom learning theory when we could be out in the world feeding the hungry. I struggled through three classes on Tuesday, thinking about that soaking wet woman. Wondering why I was in seminary. In my heart I know that I'm called to be here, but there are moments like Tuesday morning when I question that call. This uneasy feeling will likely linger for the remainder of my time here. I shall persevere and hold on to the faith that in the end it will be worth it. And I will remember the poor.