Burning Furnace of Charity

Last week, my friend Karina (who sometimes goes by Tahiti) invited us to have lunch with her on Sunday in her room in Boys Town. (Her room is the usual bedroom with a small toilet area behind a wall.) Karina insisted that we do nothing - she wanted to provide lunch and drinks and tortillas. Erin, Kim and I showed up on Sunday afternoon, not really knowing what to expect. We were very warmly greeted by Karina at the door. A couple of friends had been eating with her, but they left shortly after we got there to make space for us in this very tiny room. One of them went for tortillas, but Karina forgot the cokes. So, she left Erin, Kim and I in her room while she went to buy drinks. It was only a few minutes, but it felt like an awkward eternity as the three of us sat in the room behind a plexiglass door. A few men (Americans and others) walked and drove by rather slowly, looking in the room as though they were window shopping. Each time a customer drove or walked by, my first reaction was to look away very quickly. I didn't want to make eye contact so as to invite unwanted attention. It occured to me in that moment what Karina and so many others are forced to do each and every day and night - as a woman, they are forced to ignore their most natural instinct to look away. They have to make eye contact with perfect strangers if they want to eat and pay rent and provide for their children who often live hours away. What would I have to turn off inside of me just to make eye contact with these customers? What kind of robot would I become? And suddenly, the blank stares that I find on the faces of most of the girls in Boys Town made perfect sense to me. These precious ones for whom Jesus died stand in their doorways with blank stares as cars pass by ever so slowly.

It was strange to think that maybe those men who passed by actually thought I was a prostitute. I guess some people might have wondered what Jesus was really up to when he partied with sinners. Jesus didn't seem to be too concerned about his reputation; I guess I shouldn't be either. It's all fine and good when it's clear to everyone that you're just doing something nice for people who can't do nice things for themselves. But when people wonder if you're "one of them," that's a whole other mental ball game.