A BUS RIDE TO THE STAR MARKET

That story in the bible about the lady touching the hem of Jesus' robe, its one of the ones that really gets me.

Dave has a story, it reminds me of something shameful in my life. Just a moment I relive often enough.

I was raised in suburbia all my life. I’d never taken a bus or public transportation anywhere.

About 20 years ago my kids, 5 and 7, and I had occasion to take the bus to the zoo. Our start was from their grandma’s house, in a rough part of town.

When we got on the bus and were looking for a spot to sit, I saw all the folks on the bus---mostly low income inner city sorts of people—and I was way out of my comfort zone.

I’ve never thought of myself as racist, class conscious,  snobby, or whatever.
I grew up in Detroit, during the riots, cried when MLK was shot, thought myself to be pretty liberated, enlightened, tolerant and respectful of all peoples no matter their station in life.
I spied a cop sitting about the middle of the bus.

“Here kids, we’ll be safe here “ I said, and herded the kids into the seat in front of the cop.

There probably isn’t a month go by that I don’t replay that little episode in my head.

Here, 20 years later and having been about a step away from being homeless myself, I have to think that I wouldn’t feel so detached from humanity.

At least I wouldn’t ANNOUNCE it!

THE STAR MARKET

The people Jesus loved were shopping at the Star Market yesterday.
An old lead-colored man standing next to me at the checkout
breathed so heavily I had to step back a few steps.

Even after his bags were packed he still stood, breathing hard and
hawking into his hand. The feeble, the lame, I could hardly look at them:
shuffling through the aisles, they smelled of decay, as if the Star Market
had declared a day off for the able-bodied, and I had wandered in
with the rest of them — sour milk, bad meat —
looking for cereal and spring water.

Jesus must have been a saint, I said to myself, looking for my lost car
in the parking lot later, stumbling among the people who would have
been lowered into rooms by ropes, who would have crept
out of caves or crawled from the corners of public baths on their hands
and knees begging for mercy.

If I touch only the hem of his garment, one woman thought,
could I bear the look on his face when he wheels around?

- Marie Howe -
(from "The Kingdom of Ordinary Time")