It was a gorgeous autumn...
Illustration
It was a gorgeous autumn morning -- warm and brilliant -- as I stepped out of the rectory on my way to offer morning mass in the parish church. Just then one of the city's garbage trucks went past. A middle-aged black man was standing on the back platform, holding the metal support with both hands. He saw me, removed his cap, and bowed with a most gracious, good-morning greeting. I waved and then the truck disappeared around the corner of the nearby school.
I didn't know that man and he didn't know me but he was friendly because of my position as pastor of the church. He looked so sad; it bothered me. I wish the truck would have stopped so I could have brought a smile to his face by telling him he was as good or better than
I wanted him to have a high opinion of himself and I wanted him to know his work was important, even though it meant hanging on to that old truck and being splashed with smelly garbage. How will he know he has personal dignity, that the job does not make the person, that he is precious in the sight of the Lord?
I hope he will read or hear his preacher explain today's passage from Sirach that God "knows no favorites ... He hears the cry of the oppressed."
The fresh beauty of autumn was everywhere, but as I prayed that morning I could only remember the sad face of the friendly man, being bounced about the streets on the back of a garbage truck.
I didn't know that man and he didn't know me but he was friendly because of my position as pastor of the church. He looked so sad; it bothered me. I wish the truck would have stopped so I could have brought a smile to his face by telling him he was as good or better than
I wanted him to have a high opinion of himself and I wanted him to know his work was important, even though it meant hanging on to that old truck and being splashed with smelly garbage. How will he know he has personal dignity, that the job does not make the person, that he is precious in the sight of the Lord?
I hope he will read or hear his preacher explain today's passage from Sirach that God "knows no favorites ... He hears the cry of the oppressed."
The fresh beauty of autumn was everywhere, but as I prayed that morning I could only remember the sad face of the friendly man, being bounced about the streets on the back of a garbage truck.
