On Divine Mercy Sunday, April 27, 2014, I had to do
something I never imagined I’d have to do: kick beggars off of church property.
A Hispanic woman and her two children were standing at the
exit of our parking lot on the driveway median, mooching from the parishioners
as they were driving out. Our pastor, Fr. George, is a lovely man, very good-humored
and self-effacing. But you don’t want to be within fifty feet of him when he
needs to delegate something, because he’s likely to grab the first unwitting
soul available. He was discussing the issue with Bret, the Grand Knight of our
Knights of Columbus council, when I stepped out of the church and went over to
greet them.
“Ah, hello, Tony!” Fr. George exclaimed. As he reached out
to give me a perfunctory handshake, he continued to speak to Bret: “Here we
are, then; Tony can do this!” Herding me away from Bret and the building, he
pointed out the beggars to me. “Go over there and tell them they cannot stand
there; it’s illegal and dangerous. Make sure they leave.”
Moving the family on was fairly simple: I simply put my most
pleasant face on and requested that they leave. And as I was walking back, one
of the children, who unseen by me before had gone up to the church and was now
walking back to the family, asked me, “Sir, do you think we’d be able to talk
to someone at the church tomorrow at nine o’clock?” Yes, I agreed, someone
should certainly be there.
Nevertheless, the irony of bustling poor people away from
Christ’s church rather than bringing them in was too obvious. I can hear Jesus
say, “I was hungry, and you gave me the bum’s rush” (cf. Matthew 25:42).


