He had a mother too...

St John Fisher and St Thomas More. Monday 22nd June, 2020

I was forwarded part of an interview held with Pope Francis recently. He was reflecting on the opportunities offered by the pandemic. In the passage I read he spoke of the poor 'being disconnected from Society' and how poverty is 'often hidden'. He believed that this was the moment 'to see the poor'.

There were two particular references which struck a direct chord and remembrance with me. He quoted 'Notes from Underground' the novel by Dostoyevsky in which a remark was made concerning the ill treatment of the body of a poor man. 'He had a Mother too'. My own Mother constantly quoted that phrase. Whenever we saw a person begging or perhaps behaving drunkenly or in a peculiar manner she would, as often as not, ask the person if she could help or give a donation always with eye to eye contact and a conversation. If I or my brothers froze or looked the other way or acted as if embarrassed she would say two things to us. First 'he had a Mother'. Second 'there but for the grace of God go I'.

The other reference made by the Pope was to a story told him by a Roman policeman. The policeman had approached a man on the street during lockdown. He told him it was illegal to be out and that he should go home. The reply came: 'I have no home, I live in the street'.

This latter remark reminded me of something I had just read in Raynor Winn's 'The Salt Path'. She records this conversation with 'a large man and his tiny wife and child...'

"So how come you've got so much time? I wish I had that much".

"We're homeless. We lost our home and we've nowhere to go, so just walking seemed a good idea".

It came out of my mouth without a thought. The truth. But as the man reached out and pulled his child towards him and the wife winced and looked away, I knew I wouldn't be saying it again. He called for the bill and was gone in moments.

Sometimes things, concepts, people, situations frighten me so I walk by on the other side, blot it out, pretend they do not exist because I do not want to see or know.

I feel ashamed as I write this. Fear stalks, helplessness and horror abounds, pretence is safer. I hope that all those I've ever ignored or looked through or simply blanked or not even noticed will forgive me.

As the Pope and my Mother noted 'He had a Mother too'.