The Shoeman
Dear Friends,
How often have we looked at others and formed an opinion, only to find out later how wrong we were. We judge others by the way they look, by the way they talk or by the way they dress. Occasionally, during the summer months, I have been asked by parishioners, “You should tell the people how they ought to dress when they come to Mass…” My answer is always the same, “I’m just happy that they have come.” Jesus often speaks about the Pharisees who were so concerned about the externals. I remember going to purchase a couple of CD’s at a popular book store. I went to the information counter and encountered a young girl with orange hair and earrings in very unusual places of her head. I formed my opinion then and there, “She’ll never know the first thing about the classical piece I was looking for.” How wrong I was. Not only did she know all about the CD, she was one of the most courteous sales people I had met in a long time.
Sometimes it is easy to misjudge people who may be sitting in the pew in front of us or right beside us. We don’t know what hurts they may be carrying. We are unaware of their cares and concerns. A genuine “hello”, “good morning” or a smile may be just what they need. For some, coming to Church on Sunday may be the only encounter with people that they have that week.
Let us be bearers of God’s love to those we meet this week. They may be the ones we work with, ride the metro with, or they might just be, as the following story relates, the one sitting right next to us at Mass. Can we ever show enough love to another?
The Shoeman (-Anonymous)
I showered and shaved/ I adjusted my tie
I got there and sat/ In a pew just in time.
Bowing my head in prayer/ As I closed my eyes.
I saw the shoe of the man next to me
Touching my own. I sighed.
With plenty of room on either side
I thought, “Why must our souls touch?”
It bothered me, his shoe touching mine
But it didn’t bother him much.
A prayer began, “Our Father,” I thought,
This man with the shoes has no pride.
They’re dusty, worn and scratched
Even worse, there are holes on the side!
“I thank you for blessings,” the prayer went on.
The shoe man said a quiet, “Amen.”
I tried to focus on the prayer
But my thoughts were on his shoes again.
Aren’t we supposed to look our best
When walking through that door?
Well. This certainly isn’t it, I thought,
Glancing toward the floor.
Then the prayer was ended/ And the song of praise began.
The shoe man was certainly loud
Sounding proud as he sang.
His voice lifted the rafters/ His hands were raised high.
The Lord could surely hear
The shoe man’s voice from the sky.
It was time for the offering
And what I threw in was steep.
I watched as the shoe man reached
Into his pockets so deep.
I saw what he pulled out/ What the shoe man put in
Then I heard a soft “clink”/ As when silver hits tin.
The sermon really bored me/ To tears, and that’s no lie
It was the same for the shoe man
For tears fell from his eyes.
At the end of the service/ As is the custom here
We must greet new visitors
And show them all good cheer.
But I felt moved somehow
And wanted to meet the shoe man
So after the closing prayer
I reached over and shook his hand.
He was old and his skin was dark
And his hair was truly a mess
But I thanked him for coming/ For being our guest.
He said, “My name’s Charlie,
I’m glad to meet you my friend.”
There were tears in his eyes
But he had a large, wide grin.
“Let me explain,” he said/ Wiping tears from his eyes.
“I’ve been coming here for months
And you’re the first to say, “Hi.”
I know that my appearance/ Is not like the rest
But I really do try/ To always look my best.”
“I always clean and polish my shoes
Before my very long walk/ But by the time I get here
They’re dirty and dusty, like chalk.”
My heart filled with pain/ And I swallowed to hide my tears
As he continued to apologize/ For daring to sit so near.
He said, “When I get here/ I know I must look a sight.
But I thought if I could touch you
Then maybe our souls might unite.”
I was silent for a moment/ Knowing whatever was said
Would pale in comparison
I spoke from my heart, not my head.
“Oh, you’ve touched me,” I said/ “and taught me, in part
That the best of any man, Is what is found in his heart.”
The rest, I thought/ This shoe man will never know
Like just how thankful I really am
That his dirty old shoe touched my soul.
REMEMBER IT’S NOT THE COVER OF THE BOOK THAT MATTERS, BUT WHAT’S INSIDE! LET’S NOT BE SO QUICK TO JUDGE OTHERS THIS WEEK!
Have a nice week!
-Fr. Martin