An Advent Memory

I have yet to post about Joseph's fourth birthday (Nov. 28th) but I promise pictures, and soon.  I am presently horizontal on the living room couch waiting for this wave of nausea to pass.  I lost my breakfast about 45 minutes ago thanks to a round of over-zealous teeth brushing.  As I lie here I am thinking about writing Christmas cards (not going to happen) and hoping that I can type this post before my computer's reserve battery power runs out.  (I don't think that Joseph is yet skilled enough to both fetch the computer cord and plug in both ends.)  I did manage a successful St. Nicholas' Day and the kids were delighted with a collection of new books, puzzles and one sweater.  Jacob asked me last night if I am St. Nicholas. I responded by throwing the question back at him:  "What do you think?"  He replied, "Maybe, maybe not."  To which I answered, "Maybe, maybe not."  We left it at that.

However, I am not going to write about any recent news; instead, I am going to write about a story from 12 years ago that makes me laugh each time it comes to mind.  I know that there is at least one reader who will hopefully recall this Advent story as she was there with me.  I hope she doesn't remember it too differently.

Twelve years ago I was travelling with the National Evangelisation Team and we were in Vancouver, BC.  Specifically, I am remembering a day on which we weren't giving any retreats.  Instead, we somehow found ourselves at a soup kitchen in the downtown eastside.  Now, anyone who knows anything about the downtown eastside of Vancouver should immediately understand that this story should prove interesting.  I do believe that the downtown eastside has been, at times, quarantined for Hepatitis outbreaks, paramedics have refused to answer certain calls there and the place teems with drugs, prostitution and homelessness.  In such a place where sin abounds so does grace; however, I have no stories of particular grace for you today. As we travelled in our 12 passenger van trying to find a sufficiently large parking spot I remember seeing a young girl with a teddy bear in hand selling herself on the side of the road.  I also recall a man leading another man by a leash attached to a studded collar around his neck.  I am trying to remember whose idea it was to bring a team of naive 18 year olds and 20 somethings to this area on our day off.  Was it the head office or was it me and my fellow team leader?  Who knows.  What matters is that we found a parking spot and followed directions to a local soup kitchen that was run by a group of religious brothers, I think - my memory once again grows foggy.

The first thing that struck me about this soup kitchen was that the large and imposing front door had no handle, just a lock and a doorbell.  Clearly access could be denied.  We were allowed in and led to a labyrinth of rooms behind the main dining hall where we were instructed to chop celery and carrots for soup.  I have a blurry memory of a rotund 40ish man leading us around the place (I think that he was called Brother something or other) and then turning to me and my co-leader and asking us what we wanted to do other than chop veggies.  I imagine that my non-verbalised thoughts were something like, "Do you have any fruit?  Stay in the kitchen?  Remain hidden?"  Luckily my co-leader, Alex, was far more proactive and less embarrassed when it came to the Gospel.  "We'd love to sing a few Christmas carols while the men eat their lunches!"  I tried to smile enthusiastically as my eyes grew wide.  So, we chopped veggies and tuned guitars and then the brother asked us if we would also be willing to decorate the hall before the men arrived.  This was something to which I could enthusiastically agree.

Brief snippets of hanging glass balls with scotch tape above the tables remain with me to this day.  Who came up with the idea of hanging glass balls with scotch tape does not remain with me.  Scotch tape is a wonderful aid in the wrapping of gifts and the fixing of books but its strength is put to the test when it comes to glass balls and gravity.

Eventually lunch rolled around and we found ourselves parked in a corner with a couple of guitars, some Catholic Books of Worship (CBWs) and a mixed group of overly-happy teenagers and world-weary 20 somethings.  Alex had chosen a few Advent songs ( I do recall that he was a stickler when it came to not singing Christmas carols during Advent) and we embarked upon them.  Things were going fairly well until we began on a classic CBW song (my mind is drawing a completely blank) whose first few verses are sung to the same tune but then abruptly changes to an entirely different tune with which none of us seemed familiar.  We hit the awkward and unpractised verse and one by one our voices began to die out while Alex ploughed ahead bravely leading us with his guitar.  I tried not to make eye contact with any of my teammates as I knew that I would be reduced to a fit of laughter that wouldn't go over well with the group of surly looking men gathered before us.  I should mention that the clientele hadn't looked too pleased when they arrived to see yet another group of clean-cut do-gooders setting up shop with their guitars.  However, I made the mistake of briefly looking at a fellow teammate - this began the laughter.  I can still see my teammate Jason, now Fr. Jason of the Diocese of Dallas, holding his CBW bravely outward, rocking back and forth on his toes and then letting out a Texas-sized guffaw.

It was at this point that the scotch tape gave out.  As our liturgical attempts petered out in giggles, guffaws and one girl running into the kitchen and toward the bathroom, the glass balls that we had so skillfully hung up began to fall.  And smash.  On the tables where the men were eating.  I remember thinking that I couldn't have written a better screenplay.  It is these sorts of incidents that prove to me that God has an awesome sense of humour.

As the glass balls fell to their ruin, the heads of the soup-eating men began to lift one by one from their bowls.  By this point we were standing music-less in the corner with our CBWs wilting in our hands.  I imagine that some of us must have smiled - and felt very clean and over-privileged.  Somehow we found our way from our pathetic stage to the tables where we probably should have started out.  We sat down with the men and talked with them and attempted some sort of cleanup.  In fact, I have no real ending to this story.  I ended up sitting with a guy who had found himself on the streets after a round of firings from the tech sector in Ottawa.  He told me about his wife, his kids and his hopes to get his life back together.  I wished him the best and counted my blessings.  Lunch eventually drew to a close, the men shuffled back out to the streets and we cleaned up as best we could.

I don't know if our presence added anything to those mens' lives that day.  Probably not.  I sure hope that no glass fell in any soup bowls.  If anything, that day has gone down as a fabulous memory in a sad place and a reminder that scotch tape has specific uses that don't include hanging glass ornaments.  Also, don't worry if you screw up Advent - most things can be chalked up to experience and cooked into a really good story one day.  Happy memories usually include broken glass and lots of scotch tape.