HOLY THURSDAY:
IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED
IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED
Pat and Mike – late 40’s – every Thursday evening – volunteering at the Catholic Shelter on the Bowery – New York City, Manhattan – from 5:30 till 10:30 P.M. They have been doing this for the past four and a half years.
They would walk up from Wall Street where both worked for different firms – same kind of work – paper – lots of paper. And it was supposed to be a digital paperless world.
They would meet outside Pat’s office building and walk up together the mile plus walk – their exercise for the day – chatting as they walked about their day, their families, this and that. Then they would serve at the shelter – help feed Bowery guys – all men – and then get on the subway near Broadway and head home at 9:30 P.M.
Their wives thought it was great to know their husbands were making this sacrifice. It was real. It was not talk. It helped folks. Their wives thought this was part of the Catholic faith they hoped their kids would pick up by example – knowing their dads were volunteering to help the homeless.
That Thursday – it was Holy Thursday – both said as they walked – “Too bad we’re at the Catholic Shelter tonight. We’re missing the Holy Thursday Services back in our churches in Brooklyn.”
Two blocks away from the shelter they saw him – in an alley – laying there – sort of shivering in the cold – in a T-shirt – and the weather was a bit chilly that late afternoon in New York City.
They stopped and then headed for the guy in a dirty T-shirt, sneakers, and tan stained pants.
“Buddy are you hungry?”
“Starving,” came a muted moan.
“Okay, come with us.” They helped the guy up and it was like a Marx Brothers comedy. In fact Pat and Mike started to laugh as they had him in the middle – with his arms draped over each of the their shoulders and they sort of carried him the next two blocks to the shelter.
Shower. The guy really needed a shower. Wooh! The Phew!
They got him in the front door of the shelter. It was semi-packed with all kinds of guys their age, younger, and some older – many in need of a shave – some playing cards – some playing pool – some sitting all alone – on the five couches scattered around the room. Guys who don’t know guys don’t crowd couches.
The other volunteers were all busy getting ready for supper in the back section of the first floor of the shelter. The fold up tables were all set up. Pat and Mike would usually be the ones to place paper plates, paper napkins, Styrofoam cups and plastic silverware on the big long rectangular tables. 3 guys in aprons were cooking and stirring big pots. One yelled, “It’s spaghetti night, Pat and Mike. Don’t you wish you were Italian?”
Mike said, “We got ourselves a starving customer here – but first we’ll get him to his bed and a good shower.”
Three guys sitting there started clapping. They had got a whiff of the man they had brought in and could tell his tan pants needed to be discarded as soon as possible.
They found out the man’s name was Jack – just Jack – and that was enough for a passport into the shelter for the night.
Pat and Mike – with much difficulty – got Jack up to the third floor – using the stairs. There was no elevator.
They brought Jack to his bed and said, “Sit down here for a moment.”
Then Pat and Mike headed for a closet and got him donated underwear, socks, shoes, and a suit.
Then they brought him to a shower and Jack went for it. In fact, you could hear him say a few times from the other side of the curtain, “Good…. Good…. Good! I needed this.”
The water and the soap and the shower rehumanized Jack.
He came back to the bed in his towel and Pat and Mike turned away so he could get dressed.
When they turned around he was sitting on the edge of the bed in pants, a fresh shirt, a tie, and a suit jacket. No socks yet.
Pat bent down and dried Jack’s feet with a clean towel. Then he put socks on Jack. Mike had taken his sneakers and got a size match with a decent pair of donated shoes. Then he bent down and put shoes on Jack.
Jack looked good.
Pat said, “We dumped all your clothes in the garbage over there. They’re history. Now let’s get something to eat.” Before dumping the tan pants, Pat had checked the pockets. Nothing. Not even a dirty handkerchief. The man had nothing but a name and now a new suit.
They helped Jack down the stairs – but he moved much better than on the way up.
Downstairs once again they introduced Jack to some of the regulars – and one or two shook his hand, “Nice suit. Jack. Nice suit.”
This got the first real smile out of Jack so far.
Then Pat and Mike helped prepare the tables for supper and then brought out the bread and water and butter and parmesan cheese.
The chef yelled – ringing a big bell, “Supper’s ready!”
All the men moved or shuffled towards the 53 available seats. That was the count that night.
Some of the men knew to pause – for a prayer. About a dozen guys watched. They had not been here before or were out of it.
Dinner went from 7 till 8 P.M.
Pat and Mike – in aprons and smiles – as well as 6 other guys served lots of spaghetti – lots of bread – lots of comments.
This was important to these volunteers. You could tell it made them feel worthwhile. Even though they had stressful work all day, Thursday evenings at the shelter was their best work of the week.
From time to time Pat and Mike would stop to interact with Jack – making sure he was okay – as well as chatting with a few of the other regulars.
More than half took seconds. For some – probably Jack as well – this might have been their only meal of the day. Others knew of soup kitchens in the area as well.
At 8 guys drifted back to the card tables, a TV set that had a basketball game on, or the pool table. Some drifted upstairs to their beds.
Pat and Mike and the rest of the crew were cleaned up by 9 PM and they would sit and chat and kid with the guys till it was time to get home themselves.
They noticed Jack had slipped upstairs on his own – so they went up at 9:20 to say good-bye and good night – and surprise – Jack was in bed crying – with a rosary in his hands. He told them one of the other men had given him a rosary. They shook his hand and said, “We got to get home to our families.”
Jack said, “Thanks guys. Thanks!” Then he added, “I hope my family back in Denver are okay tonight.”
Pat and Mike said, “We do too.”
And they headed downstairs – said goodbye to two of the staff who were there for the night – and headed for the subway and home.
As they were sitting in the subway car, Pat said to Mike, “Did it hit you?”
“Hit what?”
“Did it hit you that we really didn’t miss the Holy Thursday Mass tonight? We had everything but the wine.”
They would walk up from Wall Street where both worked for different firms – same kind of work – paper – lots of paper. And it was supposed to be a digital paperless world.
They would meet outside Pat’s office building and walk up together the mile plus walk – their exercise for the day – chatting as they walked about their day, their families, this and that. Then they would serve at the shelter – help feed Bowery guys – all men – and then get on the subway near Broadway and head home at 9:30 P.M.
Their wives thought it was great to know their husbands were making this sacrifice. It was real. It was not talk. It helped folks. Their wives thought this was part of the Catholic faith they hoped their kids would pick up by example – knowing their dads were volunteering to help the homeless.
That Thursday – it was Holy Thursday – both said as they walked – “Too bad we’re at the Catholic Shelter tonight. We’re missing the Holy Thursday Services back in our churches in Brooklyn.”
Two blocks away from the shelter they saw him – in an alley – laying there – sort of shivering in the cold – in a T-shirt – and the weather was a bit chilly that late afternoon in New York City.
They stopped and then headed for the guy in a dirty T-shirt, sneakers, and tan stained pants.
“Buddy are you hungry?”
“Starving,” came a muted moan.
“Okay, come with us.” They helped the guy up and it was like a Marx Brothers comedy. In fact Pat and Mike started to laugh as they had him in the middle – with his arms draped over each of the their shoulders and they sort of carried him the next two blocks to the shelter.
Shower. The guy really needed a shower. Wooh! The Phew!
They got him in the front door of the shelter. It was semi-packed with all kinds of guys their age, younger, and some older – many in need of a shave – some playing cards – some playing pool – some sitting all alone – on the five couches scattered around the room. Guys who don’t know guys don’t crowd couches.
The other volunteers were all busy getting ready for supper in the back section of the first floor of the shelter. The fold up tables were all set up. Pat and Mike would usually be the ones to place paper plates, paper napkins, Styrofoam cups and plastic silverware on the big long rectangular tables. 3 guys in aprons were cooking and stirring big pots. One yelled, “It’s spaghetti night, Pat and Mike. Don’t you wish you were Italian?”
Mike said, “We got ourselves a starving customer here – but first we’ll get him to his bed and a good shower.”
Three guys sitting there started clapping. They had got a whiff of the man they had brought in and could tell his tan pants needed to be discarded as soon as possible.
They found out the man’s name was Jack – just Jack – and that was enough for a passport into the shelter for the night.
Pat and Mike – with much difficulty – got Jack up to the third floor – using the stairs. There was no elevator.
They brought Jack to his bed and said, “Sit down here for a moment.”
Then Pat and Mike headed for a closet and got him donated underwear, socks, shoes, and a suit.
Then they brought him to a shower and Jack went for it. In fact, you could hear him say a few times from the other side of the curtain, “Good…. Good…. Good! I needed this.”
The water and the soap and the shower rehumanized Jack.
He came back to the bed in his towel and Pat and Mike turned away so he could get dressed.
When they turned around he was sitting on the edge of the bed in pants, a fresh shirt, a tie, and a suit jacket. No socks yet.
Pat bent down and dried Jack’s feet with a clean towel. Then he put socks on Jack. Mike had taken his sneakers and got a size match with a decent pair of donated shoes. Then he bent down and put shoes on Jack.
Jack looked good.
Pat said, “We dumped all your clothes in the garbage over there. They’re history. Now let’s get something to eat.” Before dumping the tan pants, Pat had checked the pockets. Nothing. Not even a dirty handkerchief. The man had nothing but a name and now a new suit.
They helped Jack down the stairs – but he moved much better than on the way up.
Downstairs once again they introduced Jack to some of the regulars – and one or two shook his hand, “Nice suit. Jack. Nice suit.”
This got the first real smile out of Jack so far.
Then Pat and Mike helped prepare the tables for supper and then brought out the bread and water and butter and parmesan cheese.
The chef yelled – ringing a big bell, “Supper’s ready!”
All the men moved or shuffled towards the 53 available seats. That was the count that night.
Some of the men knew to pause – for a prayer. About a dozen guys watched. They had not been here before or were out of it.
Dinner went from 7 till 8 P.M.
Pat and Mike – in aprons and smiles – as well as 6 other guys served lots of spaghetti – lots of bread – lots of comments.
This was important to these volunteers. You could tell it made them feel worthwhile. Even though they had stressful work all day, Thursday evenings at the shelter was their best work of the week.
From time to time Pat and Mike would stop to interact with Jack – making sure he was okay – as well as chatting with a few of the other regulars.
More than half took seconds. For some – probably Jack as well – this might have been their only meal of the day. Others knew of soup kitchens in the area as well.
At 8 guys drifted back to the card tables, a TV set that had a basketball game on, or the pool table. Some drifted upstairs to their beds.
Pat and Mike and the rest of the crew were cleaned up by 9 PM and they would sit and chat and kid with the guys till it was time to get home themselves.
They noticed Jack had slipped upstairs on his own – so they went up at 9:20 to say good-bye and good night – and surprise – Jack was in bed crying – with a rosary in his hands. He told them one of the other men had given him a rosary. They shook his hand and said, “We got to get home to our families.”
Jack said, “Thanks guys. Thanks!” Then he added, “I hope my family back in Denver are okay tonight.”
Pat and Mike said, “We do too.”
And they headed downstairs – said goodbye to two of the staff who were there for the night – and headed for the subway and home.
As they were sitting in the subway car, Pat said to Mike, “Did it hit you?”
“Hit what?”
“Did it hit you that we really didn’t miss the Holy Thursday Mass tonight? We had everything but the wine.”
“Missed it?” said Mike, “Holy Thursday. We were there.
Painting on top: The Washing of the Feet by Chislaine Howard 1953, Methodist Collection of Modern Christian Art
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