On Saving the World

I’ve often taken solace in that phrase: “The poor will always be with us.” To me, it meant I should try to care for my neighbor, but humbly recognize that there are limits to my ability, and limits to what God expects of me. It gave me a peace in my efforts, of loving and caring for my neighbor. When others urged me to “Go there” or “Give to them,” I was able to say no, or put limits on my generosity --- I must save some for myself, and perhaps for others even more in need. I set myself as judge as to who was most in need, and who was most worthy of my love.

Then I read this prayer:


Lord, why did you tell me to love all men, my brothers?
I have tried, but I come back to you frightened…
Lord, I was so peaceful at home, I was so comfortably settled.
It was well furnished, and I felt cozy.
I was alone, I was at peace.
Sheltered from the wind, the rain, the mud.
I would have stayed unsullied in my ivory tower.
But, Lord, you have discovered a breach in my defenses,
You have forced me to open my door,
Like a squall of rain in the face, the cry of men has awakened me.
Like a gale of wind a friendship has shaken me,
As a ray of light slips in unnoticed, your grace has stirred me … and, rashly enough, I left my door ajar. Now, Lord, I am lost!
Outside men were lying in wait for me.
I did not know they were so near; in this house, in this street, in this office; my neighbor, my colleague, my friend.
As soon as I started to open the door I saw them, with outstretched hands, burning eyes, longing hearts, like beggars on church steps.

The first ones came in, Lord. There was after all some space in my heart.
I welcomed them. I would have cared for them and fondled them, my very own little lambs, my little flock.
You would have been pleased, Lord, I would have served and honored you in a proper, respectable way.
Till then, it was sensible …
But the next ones, Lord, the other men, I had not seen them; they were hidden behind the first ones.
There were more of them, they were wretched; they overpowered me without warning.
We had to crowd in, I had to find room for them.
Now they have come from all over, in successive waves, pushing one another, jostling one another.
They don’t come alone any longer but in groups, bound one to another.
They come bending under heavy loads; loads of injustice, of resentment and hate, of suffering and sin …
They drag the world behind them, with everything rusted, twisted, or badly adjusted.

Lord, they hurt me! They are in the way, they are everywhere.
They are too hungry, they are consuming me!
I can’t do anything any more; as they come in, they push the door, and the door opens wider …
Lord! My door is wide open!
I can’t stand it any more! It’s too much! It’s no kind of life! What about my job? My family? My peace? My liberty? And me?
Lord, I have lost everything, I don’t belong to myself any longer;
There’s no more room for me at home.

Don’t worry, God says, you have gained all.
While men came in to you,
I, your Father,
I, your God,
Slipped in among them.


- from The Oxford Book of Prayer (#222, by Michel Quoist)