Surprised by some unexpected evangelists

Pope Leo, in his inaugural exhortation Dilexi Te, says something that initially struck me as almost unsettling:

“Let [yourself] be evangelized by the poor and acknowledge the mysterious wisdom which God wished to share with [you] through them.” (102)

If I’m honest, I had assumed—somewhat arrogantly—that my role was primarily to do the evangelizing. That assumption was quietly dismantled last Wednesday.

That day, I volunteered at Strong Life, a rescue mission for people experiencing homelessness. During the week, it operates as a day shelter with case management services. When temperatures fall below 32 degrees, it partners with other ministries to provide emergency overnight shelter. The week before had been bitterly cold, with lows in the 20s, so shelter was available. On Wednesday, however, the forecast called for freezing rain and a low of 33 degrees—just warm enough to disqualify overnight shelter. Panic set in quickly. People who had slept indoors the night before suddenly had nowhere to go.

It was, for me, both an ordinary and extraordinary day. I shuttled people to and from the overnight shelter. I offered a devotion. I led a Celebrate Recovery meeting. I had heart-to-heart conversations with several people, including two who stood just beyond the property line because they had been banned for breaking the rules. I helped EMTs assist someone in medical distress. I joined about sixty others for a hot lunch—chili and grilled cheese. In the afternoon, I shuttled those who were fortunate enough to secure a bed for that night.

For those who did not, I could feel the unspoken question pressing against my own heart: What am I going to do?

After the final shuttle run, a man I’ve come to know well stood alone in the middle of the parking lot. “I have no place to go,” he said. “My campsite is frozen. I’ve been banned from the other place. I don’t know what to do.” I offered him a ride, but we both knew he first needed a where. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll figure something out.” This wasn’t his first rodeo.

Immediately afterward, I went to a scheduled appointment with my spiritual director. I had journal entries prepared—thoughtful reflections on my prayer life—but I felt wrung out. Something deeper was stirring. I asked if we could pause to pray for the people I’d met that day. As I began naming them aloud—twenty, maybe thirty—I couldn’t finish. I started to cry.

The journal could wait. This was what God wanted me to unpack.

My spiritual director reflected, “You called them by name. You entered into their hearts. And they entered into yours.” She then asked, “What are you feeling now?”

I replied that I felt something of what Jesus must have felt when “he saw the crowds and had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless” (Mt 9:35–36). The Greek word for compassion, splagchnizomai, literally means to have one’s guts stirred. I don’t know about my bowels, but I definitely felt a deep interior movement.

What I experienced was an encounter with Christ and his deeply felt compassion. And it was the poor—without realizing it—who evangelized me.

Pope Leo reminds us that poverty takes many forms: physical, spiritual, moral,  political, and cultural (see 9).  How might you allow yourself to be evangelized by the poor you encounter?