Today's Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

An Inch of Kindness

By Jeanne Carey

It was the Sunday after Christmas and the seven o'clock Mass

was beginning. Chilled latecomers hurried up the side steps and

the rear seats were filling up with stragglers, who welcomed the

warmth of the radiators that backed the last pews.

The assistant pastor had begun the age-old celebration and

the parishioners were very quiet, hardly participating. Each was

in his or her own world. Christmas was two days ago and it had

taken its toll. Even the children were still. It was a time of

rest from the season's whirl, and all were inclined to sit back

and rest. As Father began his sermon, he looked over a most

subdued crowd. He began with a pleasant introduction about the

holiday time and its true meaning. Then he carried his sermon a

little further and talked about charity and love and being good to

others all the time. He said we couldn't go wrong by being nice.

It was a talk we had all heard before, and we each felt smugly

that we had done our part. Then there was a pause, and Father

added a new thought for his flock to contemplate, and we were

startled and roused from our reveries.

He talked about the vagrants, the " trolls, " the bums and the

homeless that were walking the streets of the city and giving

testimony to the new poverty. In quiet tones he said that they

needed care most of all. Some of us squirmed in our seats and

exchanged glances. It was

obvious we had some reservations about his statements. Most of us

were thinking about the influx of wanderers into the city.

Vagrants inhabited the parks, the shopping malls and the downtown

area. Most of the petty crime seemed to be blamed on them, and

they certainly weren't viewed with charity.

Mrs. Scupp was terrified by their looks and grimy appearance.

Last week a dingy stubble-faced man with a blanket wrapped around

him had asked her for money. Startled and scared, she dropped all

her packages as she squealed, " No. " He stooped and helped her

pick up her gifts. Then she did find some money in her purse and

gave it to him. The experience had unnerved her, and now she

shuddered at the thought of repeating it.

Joe Walden's puffy face twisted with a grimace. Yeah, sure,

he thought. Show these people an inch of kindness and they'll

ruin your business. At first he hadn't complained about the

groups playing violins and guitars in front of his store and

asking for donations for their entertainment. But prospective

buyers were uncomfortable and passed the shop by. His sales had

dropped, and he blamed the street people. What was this priest

suggesting? He snorted to himself.

Margaret was so horrified by the ragged-looking bunch down in

the grocery store parking lot that she hated to go shopping there,

and she cringed at the thought of even being near the homeless.

But the store was the closest place to home, so she went at noon

when there were plenty of other shoppers.

Al sat back in his pew and was lost in this part of the

message. He was deeply involved in reviewing his career as a cop

and how it applied. It was his job to round up those that

disturbed the peace or interfered with others. The terrible

antagonism aroused between the citizens and these wanderers had

led to many arrests and " move on " orders. Were they justified?

One thought came to mind. Is there a little extra I could do? Al

pulled his head into the warmth of his coat, stuck his hands into

his pockets and dismissed the thoughts.

The priest continued with the sermon, touching on many sore

spots. He ended by asking people to be kinder to the less

fortunate, to be fair, and to treat everybody the way Christ would

treat them. He left the pulpit to continue Mass, leaving

everybody in a ruffled mood.

The Mass continued, and at the same time a noise assaulted

the solemnity. A cross between a groan and a whistle, it sounded

again and again. A snicker ran through the church. It was a

snore . . . a mighty one. Anxious looks at the altar proved that

Father was unaffected by the noise, but others were. A lady in

front with a big red hat was turning one way and then the other,

seeking its originator. Three children were giggling. Their

father tried to quiet them and at the same time scanned the

congregation. Halfway up the middle aisle, to the right, was a

hunched-up figure covered with a blanket - the source of the

noise. Each time a chord was struck, the gray covering vibrated

as the snore escaped its confines.

The snorer was obviously not a member of the church. Maybe

he was one of those wanderers on his way south, or somebody who

came in from the cold. Maybe he was a bum. One thing was

certain, his snoring was offensive. People coughed nervously and

then waited for the next sound.

" Do you think he had a nice Christmas, too, Mommie? "

Whispers and hugs identified a little girl in a new pink jacket.

" God loves him too, doesn't he? " Another flurry followed as

her father, nodding, picked her up in his arms. She rested her

chin over his shoulder and was looking at the inert man. The

people moved in their seats. This was a member of the poor that

the sermon was about. What an uncomfortable thought!

Father was saying the final prayers when the little girl

spoke to her father in a stage whisper that carried from one end

of the church to the other. " Daddy, can't we share our Christmas

with him? Can I have some money? I won't wake him up. Promise. "

There was quiet rustling and movement as she crossed the aisle and

laid some bills on the blanket. Al rose to his feet and did the

same. Joe Walden strode up with his offering. As Father

finished the Mass, other bills were dropped on the sleeping

figure. He watched Mrs. Scupp gingerly place a five-dollar bill

on the gray blanket that was now heaped with money. Margaret met

Father 's grin as she left her offering.

It was a strange crowd who greeted Father after

services. The man in the blanket had made an impression, and

while few words were said, everyone greeted the priest with a

special heartiness. It comes with the satisfaction of giving, he

thought privately.

When Father returned to the empty church and walked up

the aisle to the man, he saw the green bills nestled in the folds

of the gray blanket. There was more money on the floor around the

man. Father gently shook him. The snoring man raised his

head and looked vacantly at the priest for a moment. " Oh, I fell

asleep, I guess. What's this? " The money cascaded around him as

he rose and dropped the blanket. The priest looked with surprise

into the face of , a fireman and paramedic he had

known for years. " Gee, Father , I'm awfully sorry. " As Chris

gently scooped up and counted the wealth, Father explained

what had happened. Then told his story.

His department had received three calls for fires down in the

lagoon and along the railroad tracks. He had been out all night.

The last call included a girl who was about to give birth. She

was one of those who had sought the warmth of a fire that got out

of hand. Before she could be taken to the hospital, he delivered

her baby, a boy. went to the hospital and stayed longer

than he expected. It had been a long night, and he had stopped to

make early-morning Mass before going home to sleep.

There was $600.60 altogether. Father said, " Suppose we

divide it. I'll use my share for the soup kitchen and you take

the rest for the new mother. She's going to need it. Now, let's

get some breakfast. And fold up that blanket - I don't really

think the parishioners want to know who the man in the gray

blanket was. "