I'm not Catholic, I'm homeless

Dr. Edith Breburda

It changed- suddenly! At least I think it did. Was it not custom that every parish has had additional confession time before Christmas? And did not the Priest today at Advent Mass complain that the world forgot the real reason for the season. He assured that in his parish it will be different. He would make sure they are celebrating Christmas as the arrival of the long-expected Savior. After Communion, he announced that his parish will be closed from the Birthday of Jesus until First of January. Not sure what he meant. Will there be no Mass in between? I travel through, so I will be only joining his little Church on the West Coast for the weekend.

I studied the bulletin. On Saturday, I am two minutes late for the usual confession time because I am traveling. The priest was gone. At home, in the old Basilica downtown, they have their usual confession time Friday, as always, after Mass. As if a surgeon would sterilize his instruments after surgery. But on that Friday, I come to the Basilica only to find five people sitting in front of the confession chair, waiting for the priest, who did not come. 

The people were confused. They told me that they drove downtown just for confession. Some went to the Parish office, but nobody seems to care. “No confession-blame the priest, not me,” said the man at the office.

But there was still a man sitting and waiting. I went to him and asked if he was waiting for confession. He said, “Confession? What is that?” 

I smiled and asked him if he was Catholic. He was in his 40s, Hispanic, with a plastic Rosary hanging around his neck. He said after a while. “I’m not Catholic, I’m homeless.” I was tempted to say “The two are not mutually exclusive.”

He asked what confession is. I thought to myself, I have to explain this sacrament in two sentences. “In confession,” I told him, you go to a Catholic priest, who will forgive you your sins in the name of Jesus.”

The man seems to remember. He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “But right now, I have no time to go to confession and to get my sins forgiven. I need to get something to eat.”

He caught me on this one. I did not have a penny with me—as usual. “I’m sorry,” I answered him. “I want to immigrate in this country and I have no work permission as legal immigrant. I haven’t earned any money for a very long time.

Now he smiled. “You don’t have to give me something,” he declared. “Even if you would have money. You certainly don’t have to give it to me.“Where do you sleep?” he asked.

“My brother took me in,” I told him.

He was obviously relieved. He sighed loudly and replied, “This is very good. I’ll pray for you, that everything goes well with your immigration.” Now we both smiled. I went to spend some more time in church. When I turned, the homeless man was gone. 

I treasure his prayers more than anything else. As it says in Psalm 34, The Lord Hears the Cry of the Poor!

Merry Christmas to all of you!!