[SB] Sabbath Blessing

[Molly Wolf]

The Store

There are two grocery stores (Loblaws and its downscale sibling No Frills) 
that carry my older son's favourite brand of very sharp cheddar cheese, of 
which we were fresh out. And I was in the general vicinity, on my way back 
from having tea with a friend, so it made sense to stop by the No Frills 
store over on Bagot Street, just north of downtown.

It's a store very much in keeping with the neighbourhood, which is not 
respectable. It's an area of small brick and frame houses, mostly mid- or 
late-19th century, mostly still ungentrified, because there are too many 
social problems, too much trouble with drink and drugs -- self-medication 
for the hurting, fuel for the addicts' inner fire.  With the occasional 
startling exception, the neighbourhood lacks the handsome classical 
limestone buildings that grace the prosperous south end of town. The people 
who built these houses were (I gather) mostly Irish and French, two groups 
that Anglo Canadians (especially old-style Eastern Ontario Anglos) have 
never had much use for. It's always been working class and rather tough; it 
does have some students, being cheap and within walking distance of the 
university, but most of the middle-aged faces I see there are not smooth 
and prosperous. There's a lot of wear and tear on many of those faces, and 
the bodies beneath the faces are mostly not healthy and fit. Healthy-fit is 
for other places. There's not much respect for people and neighbourhoods 
like this, not in this town, not anywhere, really.

I like the area for its compact streetscapes, its beautiful tall elems, its 
variety, and the deep, soft colour of the old brickwork. I like the people 
too, what I've seen of them. I find more smiles here than I do on the 
"right" side of town. I don't know if I could cope with the problems, if I 
lived here; I have a fair sense of my limitations and how this district 
could overwhelm me. But I do like stopping by, picking up some groceries, 
and paying the area and its people my respects.

I got my cheese and a bag of clementine oranges, some bananas, some soy 
milk, and lined up at the cash of my favourite cashier here, a woman named 
Mary; she's my age, give or take, but the years sit more heavily on her 
face than they do on mine. Her hair, unashamedly bottle-blonde and 
gorgeously styled, proclaims her feminine self-respect.  We chatted as she 
puts through my order.

On the wall there was a sign announcing the results of the Smile campaign, 
a pre-Christmas fundraiser for the Boys' and Girls' Club of Kingston. The 
store raised nearly $3493. Has the campaign ended? I asked. I'd really like 
to add $7 to get the fund up to a tidy $3500. But it ended a couple of 
weeks ago, Mary told me. Everyone who contributed wrote his or her name on 
a "smile" card (the smile was a sideways banana), and they put the cards up 
on the store's windows. We ran out of space, Mary said. There were so many 
cards, we couldn't put them all up.

I walked away reminded (it happens often) of the astonishing generosity of 
the poor. It's because they *know* the pinch of poverty; they know how much 
it matters when you're cut off from small treats and mercies.  It's one 
thing to have compassion -- to regard someone else's suffering with sorrow 
and the desire to help. That's good, but it's not the same as empathy: 
knowing how it feels because you've been there yourself.

Is that why God chose to take on human flesh among people like these? God 
could have chosen to belong elsewhere, with the rich and powerful, or the 
cultured and learned, or the beautiful and successful -- but Jesus was born 
to people like those in this neighbourhood, the marginalized, the 
looked-down-on, the problematic.  God chose to come among the least of us, 
because the least of us are not least to God; they are in fact dearly 
beloved children. God respects the poor, understanding why and how they 
miss the mark, but knowing that they are so generous precisely because they 
know how it feels.

God is so generous because God knows how we feel; God knows, from personal 
experience, what it is to hunger and thirst, to mourn, to be broken. God's 
been there, done that. Before the Incarnation, God could be merciful and 
compassionate -- but it's always different when you've actually had the 
experience. Could that be true for God too? I don't know. I mean to ask, 
though, when I get the chance.

******************

I'm about to hit some sacred cows, and they moo so badly. -- Phyllis 
Tickle, aka The Divine Miz T.