My hands ache. You would think that with a yard the size of a postage stamp I’d not be so sore after mowing it. My neighbor started (mowing two yards mind you) about 30 minutes after I did. She finished long before I. I just mowed the yard, cut a tree limb, and pulled some weeds. After a long shower I’ll likely lay down for a while. As I look down at my hands red from such a small amount of work and notice the scrapes and bumps, it reminds me of all those essential workers out there making a living. The ones delivering mail, running registers, helping customers, and making sure our food supply keeps coming. The mothers and fathers who are still trying to make a wage to feed their kids, venturing to the store while their kids stay home. The single moms and dads who don’t have that option and simply do the best they can.
Whether you agree with the “stay at home” orders or not, the amount of respect we should have for those who continue to serve us should be high. Saint Paul in the first reading today talks about how he worked tirelessly to fund himself while he was visiting each town. Manual labor wasn’t something foreign to him. I think sometimes we forget that being in the world means we have to continue to function. We can’t just ignore day to day life with our eyes at the end of time, but rather we should be looking for Heaven at this moment, in the now… even at work. I’ve been talking to some guys online who work and they envy me being disabled at home. Don’t ever envy that. I’d go back to work in a heartbeat if my back and my sanity could handle it. The sheer amount of pain that comes from even the few hours it takes to mow my yard reminds me why I don’t work outside the home anymore.
What I do know is this: years of disability have shown me how much I took for granted the years I did work. I was often unhappy being out there, usually because someone else would point out why I should be unhappy. “They make more than you!” “He gets a company truck!” “Man, I wouldn’t let them treat me that way.” Looking back on it, I miss those days. The coming in from work tired, dirty, and knowing I had put every ounce of energy on the line. It’s nice sometimes to sit at home, especially when it’s hot. I don’t miss digging those ditches in 100-degree weather, or having to pull 16 or 18-hour shifts to get a job done on time. I do miss the people. The time spent among others, hopefully witnessing to them with my life, with my attitude, with my thoughts and my words.
As Pentecost approaches it reminds us that Jesus has sent His Holy Spirit to us through His Church to empower us to be witnesses to the ends of the earth. Whether we are working at home or abroad, disabled or abled bodied, clergy, laity, or religious; we are all called to witness to the Gospel with every ounce of our being. I spent some time speaking with my neighbor over the fence (being sure to maintain a good social distance). That’s what I imagine St. Paul did when he was working as well. Listened. Shared. Let the Spirit of God inside of Him show without having to say a word, but of course using them when necessary. Jesus reminded us in the Gospel that we are in the world, but that He is praying and working for us every moment. Now it is up to us to follow His example and glorify the Father by being His presence in the world. Sometimes that just means being joyful amidst all the suffering, difficulty, and inconvenience of this world. I think the readings today challenge us to do just that, to bloom where we are planted. To go out into the place God has chosen us to influence and simply be there for others, even if it means just mowing a postage stamp.
A reflection on the readings for May 26th, 2020: Memorial of Saint Philip Neri, priest