yesterday's gospel

I wanted to post this yesterday, but by the time I remembered, the day was over. Today has been equally full--and (God be praised) I am catching up a tad on some of the little grinding tasks that have been hanging over my head. It almost looks as though I will be able to ... catch up! (Not really; there is that 500 page translation project that I've basically shelved for months, and then our "Christmas rush" starts.)

Anyway, yesterday's Gospel began with the scene of Jesus being criticized for welcoming sinners and eating with them. And he responded with the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin. And I remembered a day, over twenty years ago, when this Gospel entered very concretely into my life.

I was stationed in Alexandria, VA, and assigned to door-to-door book visitations. Cold calls, in sales language. We would each carry about thirty pounds of books in our leather satchels, attempting to bring a selection that would be appropriate for the people in that area. Two of us that day were visiting the area around Andrews Air Force Base. We visited mainly the businesses in the zone, since even then people just weren't home during the week. At one shop, the proprietor was not interested in anything, but he directed us to an out-of-the way stair, telling us that there were people there who might want to see our books. We thanked him for letting us know about those others, and made our way up the steps. There was a door at the top of the staircase, and the sign indicated that it was a health club. One of us knocked, and before long the door was opened by a woman--she seemed "older" to me, but since I was 28 at the time, she may have been all of forty--in a kind of corset-style apparel. The man downstairs was probably laughing his head off at having directed us to a brothel. Put on the spot, I used my "quick getaway" line: "We have Catholic books for sale. Would you like to see some?" The woman (herself clearly taken aback at finding two young nuns at the door) answered thoughtfully, "Not for me, but let me see if the others are interested." And off she went. My companion was so scandalized she wanted to leave then and there, but that struck me as dereliction of duty. If Jesus could spend time with prostitutes and tax collectors, so could we. And sure enough, within a minute or so, a younger woman (likewise in her professional attire) came to see what books we had. And she chose a small book of psalms.

I don't know if we were able to distribute any other books that day. I think it was one of those days when we brought home 29 pounds of books. But the one little book that mattered most found a person who needed it.

I have often prayed for that woman, probably my own age, wondering how she used that little prayerbook. Did she still have it? Did she manage to find a better life for herself, one in keeping with her human dignity? (Because that creep in the downstairs shop was demeaning her as much as we in sending us up those stairs.) What happened to him? Has he ever repented? And what of the men of Andrews Air Force Base--the primary source of clientele for that zone?

There's still a lot to pray over, after twenty years.