Grandma and the transient

Catholic New Times, Jan 4, 2004 by William Moloney

At the faculty of education as a young priest in the 80s, I got a dream assignment.

Prior to my work in schools, I had often experienced transients arriving at my parish off the province-wide 401 highway. They would show up at inopportune and busy times, and we would give them a meal ticket and send them on their way.

I often wondered if they really experienced Christ. Now I was going to find out. When I headed home for the Christmas holiday, I would visit a number of Catholic rectories acting as a transient in need of support.

My attire was an old, ripped pair of track pants, a dirty t-shirt, a filthy toque and an old barn coat straight from the farm. I had not showered for five days and had doused myself with an ounce or two of beer.

At 10 a.m. I rang a rectory doorbell and waited. The secretary answered. I told her that I was heading home for Christmas to be with my family. I said I hadn't eaten for awhile and asked for food. She asked me to wait outside and closed the door.

After a few minutes, a retired priest came to the door. I told him my story. He said the parish had a policy not to give out money. He would however, prepare some food for me. I was invited into the rectory and asked to take a seat in the waiting area.

I could clearly see the secretary through the office window. She was typing. During my wait she never looked up once, nor spoke to me. Above her on the wall was a picture of Jesus knocking on the garden wall. I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if I had been wearing my clerics.

Eventually, the elder priest returned with two peanut butter sandwiches, a piece of cake and a banana. As he opened the door for my exit, he pulled out his wallet and handed me a two-dollar bill for a coffee. He wished me a safe journey and said he would pray for me. Driving away, I felt a little guilty. However, the food tasted good.

At the second parish, the door opened and the secretary stopped short when she saw me. I asked to speak to the "Father." In reply, she literally looked me up and down and said in a firm voice, "May I help you?" It was immediately obvious that I would not be speaking to a priest in that parish. I told her my story. She said they did not give handouts. The parish did however, support a men's hostel downtown, and she quickly gave me directions. Business-like described her.

At another parish, the new secretary panicked and said she did not know the parish's policy. No problem. I just left.

It was at the fourth parish that I met "Grandma." I had been passed off by the pastor to the housekeeper. Grandma welcomed me and asked me to be seated. She asked me my name. She was the first to ask that question all day. I said my name was Bill. She said, "Bill, now that's a fine name. I understand you are heading home for Christmas to be with your family. Isn't that marvelous. Everyone should be with his or her family for Christmas. Now you wait here and I'll bring you something to eat. You just sit and relax." Needless to say, the lump was growing in my throat.

I sat quietly, feeling guilty. Meanwhile, both the secretary and caretaker went through the summer kitchen. Neither spoke. Within ten minutes, Grandma returned carrying a tray. There was a huge steaming cup of coffee, two toasted sausage sandwiches and some Christmas desserts.

The lump was growing. The tears were welling. Grandma told me to take my time and enjoy my meal and went back inside. The tears started to flow. I had to leave, but that would be a waste of good food. I wolfed down my meal. It was delicious. Grandma had outdone herself.

As I was about to leave, Grandma returned and put her hand on my shoulder. She was the first to touch me all day. Grandma spoke; "Bill, I said it is important to be with family at Christmas. It's also important to receive a present at Christmas."

She reached into her apron and pulled out a gift-wrapped package and an envelope with my name written by a shaky hand. Grandma told me this was my Christmas present. She made me promise I would not open the present or card till Christmas Day. By now the tears were flowing freely. Grandma said I could stay as long as I wanted; if I needed a nap, I could sleep on the couch. When I declined, Grandma wished me a Merry Christmas. She went inside and I left as quickly as I could. I truly felt I'd experienced the love of Christ through Grandma.

When the day arrived, the first present I opened was Grandma's, a pair of home-knit socks. In the card there was a simple nativity scene, a Christmas blessing and a wrinkled two-dollar bill. Again the tears began to flow. My Christmas experience was blessed indeed that year because people had performed simple acts of Christian charity in the name of Jesus.

Ft. Bill Moloney is the pastor of St. Joseph's Roman Catholic church in Bracebridge, Ont.