The Social in social justice

Photo by Matt Collamer on Unsplash

Last week, I was asked to write an article for the national social justice newsletter for the Society of St. Vincent de Paul. I share it here, for reflection purposes, as it sort of ties in with my previous moodling.

The Social in Social Justice 

As a volunteer for the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, I have never questioned the need for social justice for those living under the poverty line. It’s clear with every home visit that there are people in need, but our faith teaches us that if God’s justice truly lived in our land, no one would be struggling to survive. No one would have to choose between food or a roof overhead, and society’s fears about unemployment, crime, addictions, loneliness, and mental health issues would simply cease to be. Instead, we live in a world where the gap between rich and poor continues to grow, and where racism, sexism, homo- and transphobia continue to take their toll on peoples’ mental health and well-being, especially during this pandemic. 

But even with the corona virus raging, SSVP volunteers continue to think, talk and act toward making social justice a reality. Those who are able in these days continue to deliver groceries and furniture to our sisters and brothers in need while trying to follow the protocols set by our health experts and other community leaders. We continue to engage in advocacy for those who live on the margins by contacting officials who hold power when it comes to improving public policy, and participating in fundraising where possible to increase our capacity for outreach. 

But sometimes I wonder if we’re maybe missing something. I don’t question the need for social justice, I just wonder where the Social part of it is when it comes to really connecting with the marginalized during this pandemic. I wonder, is it enough to make a few phone calls and deliver some groceries? Is a load of furniture really the most important thing for that family of migrants? And even before covid, when Ray used to come to the Clothing Room every week for another pair of mittens because “somebody stole my last pair, and I know I’m only supposed to come once every ninety days, but my hands are cold, and I have a buddy who also needs mittens, and it’s really good to see you, Maria,” was it really mittens that he needed most? 

The Social in social justice is about creating social change for the common good of all, but isn’t it also about building human connection? As a volunteer, I find it easy to focus on the need for justice, the things that we can do to improve the lives of those who are struggling to make ends meet, or to find a job, or to get out of situational domestic violence. 

Providing material things is relatively easy. But often it’s the immaterial that is the deeper need -- the need for community, the need to be seen as a valuable and valued member of society. I guess what I’m wondering about is whether all this doing we are doing doesn’t also need an equally large side order of being during this pandemic. How can we be available for more than just the time it takes to drop things on the doorstep when we are told that we have to keep social distance and it’s cold outside? How, when making contact with someone in need, can we listen more, to offer not just material, but also emotional and spiritual support even when we can’t be so physically present? How do we build up the family of God in a time of pandemic? 

I suspect that while many of the brothers and sisters we serve through our work for the Society of St. Vincent de Paul appreciate the goods we deliver to them, what they really crave is eye contact, a listening ear, some cheerful conversation, and perhaps a heartfelt prayer that things finally go right in their world, a prayer that mentions them, their loved ones, and their needs, and gives them an extra helping of hope. 

 As for Ray, I saw him on the street the other day, and I have no doubt that he was looking for my smile far more than those mittens. It gets lonely on the street sometimes. He was delighted to have a socially-distanced chat when I asked him how he was doing, what was new, and whether he likes living in his sister’s basement. His eyes teared up when I told him that whenever he comes to mind, I pray for him. 

For me, that’s the Social in social justice – a ministry of presence to let the people we serve know that we see, hear, and truly care about them, COVID-19 protocols notwithstanding.

Lessons from a man who was captured by pirates

My role as a volunteer for the Society of St. Vincent de Paul led me in a new direction last week. A grade six class invited me to speak to them about the Society and what we do. One of our volunteer coordinators supplied me with a lesson plan focussing on the Society's work with the poor, but unfortunately there was little reference to St. Vincent himself or how the Society began. I decided to do a bit of research, and found a story too good to keep to myself.

I've always been a sucker for saint stories. When I was a child, my parents bought us four little square books filled with the lives of the saints, and I read them over and over. The people in their pages were so strange, and so heroic! I don't remember reading about St. Vincent de Paul in those little books, but he was probably there. After all, anyone who survives being captured by pirates definitely belongs in saintlore!

Vincent de Paul was born in France in 1581, to a middle class farm family near Paris, and was ordained a Catholic priest in 1600. In 1605, while he was sailing along the coast of France in order to collect an inheritance, the ship on which he was travelling was captured by Turkish pirates. Of course, Captain Jack Sparrow of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies wouldn't last a minute next to the pirates of Vincent's era. They killed everyone who wouldn't provide them a fine ransom or fetch a good price when sold as a slave.

Vincent, being young and strong, was taken to be a slave in Tunisia. After six years of hard labour under different owners, his singing in the fields captured the attention of his new master's wife, and her interest in Vincent created the opportunity he needed to convert his French master back to the Christian faith he had abandoned. The two eventually escaped back to France.

I strongly suspect that had Vincent collected his inheritance without incident, we never would have heard of him at all. However, when he returned to France, his experiences as a slave opened his eyes to the plight of the poor, and he used every opportunity to bring the needs of the oppressed before France's wealthy elite. The rest of his life was spent ministering to the poor and building hospitals, orphanages, schools and housing for them. He took a special interest in galley slaves, insisting that they be fed more than black bread and water and be treated more humanely. He started seminaries and convents to train those who were attracted to his mission of serving the poor, and he wrote over 13,000 letters of appeal and spiritual encouragement. After reading everything that Vincent did, I find it hard to imagine that he ever slept! During the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648) that devastated so much of Europe, he was Paris' Mother Theresa, rescuing people from the gutters. Hardly an ordinary middle class citizen.

Yet it's so darn easy to be an ordinary middle class citizen if you've never known anything else. My needs and those of my family are met, we have good health, a warm home, plentiful food, and enough work that we can provide for ourselves. It's easy, in a middle class world, to close our eyes and believe that poverty doesn't exist, that no one falls through the cracks, that injustice has no home in our wealthy oil-rich province. But it's only a matter of opening them to see the illusion break apart. Homeless people warm themselves in the malls. Immigrants clean our office towers late into the night. The un- and under-employed keep the Food Bank hopping. Those with chronic illness or mental health issues, and people who have simply made poor choices, perhaps because they were never taught how to make good ones, fall through the cracks at regular intervals. We often hear of their "crimes" on the nightly news.

But is it a crime to be sick? To be uneducated? To have to flee a country where civil war threatens life? To have a disability? To be a misfit? Vincent de Paul understood first-hand how simple misfortune can change a life, and 350 years after his death, he has provided us with the inspiration and opportunity to follow in his footsteps. One of his disciples, Frederic Ozanam, started the Society of St. Vincent de Paul in 1833 during a cholera epidemic... but that's another moodling for another day. There's no shortage of inspirational stories when it comes to the Society, and I suppose many middle class people like me could be examples, too.

I used to be one of those people who was scared of the poor. If a panhandler came up to me on the street, I felt afraid. I suspect my fear was because I might be inadequate in my response. Perhaps it grew out of a sense of guilt that I lived a comfortable middle class life while some of these guys were dumpster diving in my back alley.

As a friend of mine likes to say, "Guilt is only good for about ten seconds. Then you have to do something with it." Volunteering with the Society of St. Vincent de Paul is a definite antidote to guilt... and fear. It has brought me into regular contact with those I once avoided out of discomfort. I used to be afraid that the poor would ask more of me than I am able to give, but I've since learned that, with the help of the Society, I have an unending supply of what our inner city folks most need: respect, compassion, and the ability to help them find solutions, at least for one day, sometimes for more. My work at the clothing room has given me a strong desire to live simply, sustainably, and in solidarity with the poor. I've learned that abundance is meant to be shared, not hoarded. I've learned that fear and guilt can only be overcome by action, by stretching myself. And I've learned that every person deserves attention and compassion because God loves us equally, no matter our status in the world's eyes.

That's quite a load of good lessons from a man who was captured by pirates!

The forgiveness of the poor

You will find out that Charity is a heavy burden to carry, heavier than the kettle of soup and the full basket. But you will keep your gentleness and your smile.  It is not enough to give soup and bread. This the rich can do. You are the servant of the poor, always smiling and good-humored. They are your masters, terribly sensitive and exacting masters, you will see, and the uglier and the dirtier they will be, the more unjust and insulting, the more love you must give them. It is only for your love alone that the poor will forgive you the bread you give to them.

These words are attributed to St. Vincent de Paul, a man who spent his life serving the poor. I'm one of his unofficial disciples one day a week. I help out in the clothing room at the Distribution Centre of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul (SSVP) on Thursdays, sorting clothes, signing in "shoppers," and offering assistance to those who come to look for free clothing.

The Society of St. Vincent de Paul has been operating in Edmonton for about ten years. Comprised of a group of volunteers coming mainly from conferences operating out of different Catholic parishes across the city, the Society’s priority is to assist those living below the poverty line by providing basic necessities for life. People in need can call the Society’s hotline, and volunteers pay a visit to determine what is required by the individual or family. Furniture, appliances, food and clothing are gathered from donations received at the Distribution Centre, and are delivered to people who require assistance. Because clothing is usually an issue of personal preference, the 500 sq ft clothing room operates Monday to Saturday from ten to noon.

Life in the clothing room never fails to be interesting. All different kinds of people come in to "shop without paying," everyone from homeless Dave, who tells me he sleeps in the bushes somewhere in the river valley, to a few well-dressed women from Sherwood Park who heard there was “free shopping” and came to see if they could pick up some toys or games for their grandchildren for nothing (we tried to explain to them that our mission is to help the truly needy, but they wouldn't listen, they were so focused on the "bargains!") We meet a lot of immigrants who are experiencing their first winter in Canada and need warm clothing. One family from Mexico had to be encouraged to only take one winter coat per person – they were under the impression that once winter arrived, they would need several heavy layers each.

Often, people who come to the clothing room are looking for specific items. Ted, another homeless fellow, came to me one day asking for a pair of men’s jeans, size 34. To say that he was grateful when I managed to find him a pair is an understatement. There was a young woman looking at baby clothes at the opposite end of the room, but Ted said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll put these on right now.” He hid behind a clothing rack and emerged a minute later, emptying stubby cigarettes from the pockets of his old jeans as he handed them to me. “If you give these a wash,” he said, “someone else might like them.” As I folded them over my arm to take them to the laundry bin, thirty-nine cents in change jingled to the floor. I picked it up to give it back to Ted, and he took it and slipped it into our donations box. “For the poor,” he said.

Tanya came in once, telling me how she had been evicted from her apartment because she had fallen ill and couldn’t work to pay rent. Just recovering from surgery, she needed new clothing so she could get back to her catering job. We found several black pants and white tops, and she took two pairs of flat shoes, saying, “I hope these don’t give me blisters.”

Then there are the four sisters. They seem to alternate their visits, coming in pairs every two weeks, going through our racks and picking out the high quality ladies wear, mostly. They have each registered with four or more children, and we wonder: are they supplying their families and running their own clothing shop on the side, or are they outfitting friends and neighbours as well? Perhaps they don’t have access to laundry facilities? Their English isn’t good enough for us to know. Dave, the river valley homeless fellow mentioned earlier, often comes in at least once a week in the winter asking for gloves or mitts. We don’t know whether he loses them, sells them, or gives them to his drinking buddies, and we’ll never know unless he tells us, as we don’t want to be so nosey that he feels unwelcome.

Clients who come to the clothing room are asked to register, which means having a file card made up with their name, address and phone number if applicable, and the day’s date, so we can try to ensure that they don’t come in more than once every thirty days. For the homeless, we make exceptions to the 30-day rule, understanding that they have nowhere to wash clothing, but other, better-dressed customers who come in before their 30 days have passed are asked to return later so that everyone has fair access. The registration card system has its difficulties: we have caught a client or two abusing the system by posing as someone else. Today we wondered how many cards Chris has in our file. He gave me a name that I couldn't find, so I made him a new card. It took another volunteer whispering in my ear to make me realize I had made a card for him once before. Either he was taking advantage of my ignorance and hoping I wouldn't recognize him or he has a personality disorder, we half-joked at lunch. Generally, though, the people who come in are honest, and grateful for the service we provide.

At times, though, we wonder whether we are doing the right thing. Should people be given something for nothing? Are we creating another dependency? A parish priest in the inner city suggests that we should be charging a minimal fee for each item that goes out our door, but that would prove a bit of a nightmare for two volunteers faced with thirty customers who each have twenty or more items stuffed into bags, all heading out the doors of our tiny space within minutes of each other. My thought on the matter is that our storage space is often filled to the rafters with so many bags of donated clothing (a sign of Alberta's affluenza, which is a huge issue in itself!), so who are we to withhold abundance from those who need it? Christ favoured the poor throughout his ministry and did not judge them, and we try our best to follow his way... but still...

There are three things that keep me volunteering every week. The first is that the poverty line is a fine one. The family breadwinner could lose his job, a family member could fall sick, mental illness could strike, and it could be me or someone I know coming to the clothing room for assistance, or calling SSVP for help to furnish a new apartment when it’s discovered that the old one is infested with bedbugs, which are on the rise in Edmonton these days.

The second thing is the smiles and stories that our clients sometimes share. When the Kenyan woman (who seemed to have three different identities until her English improved enough for me to understand her) tells me about her life, I am more aware of our blessings in Canada, and our need to do more to help our brothers and sisters who are new immigrants.  When the homeless guys come in to kibbitz and get yet another pair of gloves or a dry pair of socks, they're sure to leave smiles behind them.

And the third thing has to do with what Vincent de Paul says in the quote above. As an affluent person with a roof over my head and more clothing and food than necessary in my closets and cupboards, I need the forgiveness of my inner-city brothers and sisters. I feel powerless and helpless to make things better for them a lot of the time. But sometimes, quite rarely, in a moment of shared humanity, I feel their forgiveness. It seems to come with their smiles.