In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus told a parable about a fig tree planted in a vineyard which year after year bore no fruit. Finally, the owner was tired of waiting and called upon the gardener to cut it down because it was a waste of space. But the gardener knew that the tree just needed time, patience, and love to heal. 

We are all a mixture of grain and weeds, and like the fig tree we need time to heal and bear fruit. The cold of a fall evening had already taken its grip on the city when I arrived downtown. As I walked by the men’s shelter that through the years has become insufficient to house the homeless, I once again paused to look at the large sign painted on the side of the building, “RIP Steveo.” 

A young man emerged from a hovel he had constructed of cardboard and said, “That’s Steve, he was murdered at this spot about 5 years ago.” 

Advertisement

“Yes, I said, I remember it well, and I remember praying with his friends on this very spot.” 

In the distance I saw a young woman sitting on the ground alone and as I approached I realized I knew her. “What are you doing out so late Maria, where are you sleeping tonight?” 

She looked downtrodden and replied, “I can’t believe it. I have raised my children all my life and here I am on the street now. Wait, I am glad you talked to me, I have been on the street so long that I am used to it, but I do have a place tonight, my mother said I could sleep there.” 

As she took off, I made my way to the more violent part of downtown, and on the way I passed the local pizza shop whose owner I knew through my friend Tracey, who escaped the claws of drugs many years ago. 

Advertisement

“Tracey is still asking about you,” I told him, “She told me you always treat the street people well.” 

“I am not just a pizza shop man,” he laughed, “I am the resident psychiatrist, and they tell me everything when they eat the pizza. After all, you have got to be good, you never know what people have been through in their lives that brought them to where they are today.” 

As I reached the more dangerous part of downtown area, the usual crowd swarmed around the doors of a church, some lighting up their drugs, some dealing drugs, and others already in a state of stupor. 

In the distance I saw a tall man standing alone against the church wall and holding a beer in his hand while clutching another bottle to his chest. Clearly drunk and seeing my clerical collar he decided to harangue me about something or other. However he was incoherent and it was difficult to understand his words, and I could only guess what he was saying. 

This situation is one I have encountered often, and it is the one where I feel most vulnerable. One wrong response can send the person into a rage, and ignoring them is equally dangerous. I thought he said something like, “What you teach is wrong.”  But I could not be sure. I decided to smile, but then again that too can be seen as a hostile response, which I found out many years before with another man who shouted, “Are you laughing at me?” 

Fortunately, after a minute of just listening and nodding, the man I was with this evening gave up on me and decided to walk away. I walked to the street where I always meet with two of the prostitutes who have their regular corner. It has been about five years now since we first met, and as always, they bowed their heads and asked for a blessing. 

Advertisement

Slowly they are revealing more of their lives, but I have to gain more of their trust before they open their hearts and hopes to me. Pope Francis said, “An evangelizing community gets involved by word and deed in people’s daily lives. It stands by people at every step of the way no matter how difficult or lengthy this may prove to be. Evangelization consists mostly of patience. It cares for the grain and does not get impatient with the weeds.” 

As always, I ended the evening by visiting the doorway where my friend Chilly died, and I said a prayer to her to guide me in my ministry.