I would be here just for 12 days, to say Mass for the parishioners. I knew when I came that I would probably not be able to go out into the neighborhood to walk, since St. Elizabeth’s is on the edge of a ghetto, and a North American walking on the streets of the ghetto might be dangerous, and would certainly bring out all kinds of folks asking for handouts.

When I arrived I asked the housekeeper, Ms Inez, if I could go for a walk in the neighborhood.  She advised against it – just as I had presumed and for the same reasons as I had thought.  The Rectory itself is comfortable, with AC in my guestroom – thank the Lord – and a TV with cable in the community room (with “fuzzy” reception), along with a much needed large fan.  I had brought plenty of serious and light reading with me, and would spend my time here as a sort of study/prayerful retreat.

The first night the neighbors played music very loudly, and the dogs barked a lot – many of the nearby houses on the edge of the ghetto have guard dogs, as does our rectory – three mangy looking mutts – but they keep a watchful guard at night.  That’s their job.

I got an interrupted sleep that first night.  The remainder of the nights there were not as bad as that first night.  The days were hot and humid, to say the least.  All of the windows are barred and shuttered.  Actually, there are no windows, just bars and metal shutters.

During my first day indoors I began to look out, wishing I could go for a walk – my usual daily exercise.  Thank goodness for some exercise equipment in the community room – a stationary bike, and a treadmill.  But I still felt almost caged in, stuck inside on a beautiful sunny day.  This feeling would stay with me for the whole time, even when some of the local folks and the local Passionists from a nearby town would take me out for awhile.  I still felt like I was caged in.  And helpless to do anything about it.

My weekend Masses for a congregation of about 80, and my weekday Masses for 5 or 6 Jamaicans, were prayerful and uplifting, with lots of singing  The parishioners are friendly and very appreciative of my being here to serve them.   My 12 days here are worth that.

Ms Inez is the house sitter who used to be the cook.  She is a wonderful lady, 82 years young, and very wise.  She’s always willing to give an opinion when asked, and has a humble sense of humor.  She also runs interference for me, after a weekday morning Mass a young mother from the neighborhood came up to me outside of the Church (she was not at the Mass), and asked for some money.  Ms Inez was there, and she told the lady we have no money to give her.  After we came back into the rectory she explained that this young woman was lazy, wouldn’t work, and only wanted a handout.  “We don’t do handouts here.”

Ms Inez also explained that Fr. Leary – an 82 year old Passionist living in our parish in Mandeville (the hills of central Jamaica) who visits Kingston frequently – walks wherever he wants to in the ghetto, but seldom if ever gives out money.  He will help a family if they need a sink, or a couch, or a new roof.  He doesn’t give them money for those things, he somehow buys them himself and makes sure they are delivered and/or installed.  He’s been doing this for years now. And he does it because he loves the poor people – it’s a simple as that.  But he’s not naïve.  He knows what he’s doing.   Ms Inez suggested I not try it!  Don’t worry, I won’t!

That’s how I learned a few things about our parish here in Kingston.  Watch and listen, and ask questions.

As I reflect on the ghetto here, and see the poor, and listen to the music many nights as I awaken to the barking of the neighborhood dogs, and learn how the parish deals with the poor, I become aware of the evils of this “structural poverty.”  Many of these poor would work if there were jobs – not all of them, but many of them.  Many of them do work at menial, underpaying jobs and are still stuck in their poverty.  They send their kids to school – that seems important to many of them.  But the whole Island of Jamaica is still stuck with international debt from the 1970’s that drains much of their monies that could otherwise be spent on creating jobs.
These poor are not evil,  they are not the bad guys.  Some are lazy, not all.  They are people as stuck in their culture of poverty as I am in this caged house.  I can feel their helplessness.  I have also felt their resentment and their inhospitable stares as we  have driven through the streets around here.  I know they look upon me as a rich North American.  And that is what I am, compared to them.

So What?

Does this tell me anything about myself and our North American Culture of which I am so much a part.  I am not a member of a culture of poverty.  I don’t suffer from their problems or their vices.  But my own middle income culture has its own problems and vices, greed and envy, too busy for God, lack of appreciation for our blessings.  And what about a growing unease with our own American health system, our education system, our political situation, our tight job market, our unemployment and underemployment, and the seeming downward mobility of middle income Americans?  And what about the worry, anxiety, and dread that this can cause so many middle income Americans?  Can I feel the same compassion for Americans as I feel for Jamaicans.  Is there any message of hope for Americans, or for Jamaicans?  Or in the very least can I assure people that God stands with us, even in the midst of the darkness we go through. After all, God’s own Son went through a lot of darkness, and much suffering, and even death to let us know that God is on our side, even in the midst of our questioning and our struggles.

I believe that God wants us to flourish.  God doesn’t want us to be hungry or naked or sick, jobless or worried or hopeless.  But when we find ourselves there, God does not abandon us, and will give us the strength and patience to make it, and to do so as loving, compassionate people, not just caught up with our own struggles, but able to help others when we are able to.

(  Sept 8th…I should mention that our Fr. Bertram Chin passed away the day after I left Kingston… May he rest in peace.  And may God bless his parishioners who mourn his passing.)