Confirmed in Our Identity
While I’m reading through Veritatis Splendor for our moral theology class, an email pops up on my open laptop. I see it out of the corner of my eye. It’s from Sister Teresa and its title is “thoughts for our mission.” We get these emails from her here and there, usually arriving at just the time I need whatever message they contain. This particular email shared a snippet of her studies, speaking of the way we look to others to understand who we are. Ending with a quote from Martin Buber it read, “Man wishes to be confirmed in his being by man, and wishes to have a presence in the being of the other... secretly and bashfully, he watches for a ‘yes,’ which allows him to be and can come to him only from one person to another.” These words resonate in my heart as we head out on street ministry.
As Monika, Gabe, and I approach a small group hanging out on a mattress under a bridge on the very Western edge of the Pearl District, we ask the Holy Spirit to come, and for the help of the guardian angel of each person we will encounter. Getting closer, I see there are a couple more people than I had originally spotted, tucked out of view behind a beam. We are greeted by Trevor offering us a sweet smile and kind eyes under the hood of his sweatshirt, calling out ,“What’s up?” as if we were old friends and not meeting him for the first time. “Welcome” most accurately describes what I felt as I sat down by him as Gabe and Monika handed him a cup of coffee before entering into conversation with the others in the group.
Our conversation quickly shifts from “How has today been treating you?” to the physical hardships of Trevor’s reality and the weight on his heart. He shares, “I can’t keep living like this, I’m in so much pain; a while ago I woke up with my leg on fire, I was just trying to stay warm. But detoxing is Hell on Earth.” He begins to speak about his childhood, he is the youngest of four brothers, each with a different father. His own dad followed the path of each of the former and left him and his mom when he was 10 months old. He himself has twin daughters, the torment in his eyes palpable as he speaks about his separation from them. My mind flashes back to the email from the morning and realize that from the beginning, Trevor was not shown how to show up for himself, because he was not shown up for. He is unable to respect himself, because he was not treated with respect. He does not know how to love himself, because he didn’t receive the love that is so vital to our souls. He asks me about myself, and I sense his genuine care and presence at every word.
During a quiet moment I realize we have shared so much but haven’t yet exchanged names. “I’m Lindsay by the way,” reaching out my hand. Tears roll down his face as he reaches back toward me, “Trevor. Thank you for listening to me.” he says softly. He squeezes my hand and I put a hand on his shoulder as he sobs -we stay like this for minutes.
For an hour and a half we talk about the mercy of Jesus, Mother Mary’s love, and trusting hope that his current circumstances are not the end of the story. We pray together and his heart is so open, he really loves Jesus - and he is honest about his fears of what it would mean to change, to get sober. It catches me off guard when, as if in direct response to the musings of Sister’s Teresa’s email, he says “You remind me that I am loved. You remind me that I can’t let this be forever.” Smiling, I tell him that it’s all Jesus. My heart aches wanting for him to know how precious and loved he is, and it hits me that this afternoon, he has shown me those exact things about myself as well.
