“It’s so much better to be incorrect than wrong,” said my friend Sonia.
I knew exactly what she meant. She had arrived bearing a candy bar bought from a woman with a tragic tale. If the woman used the dollar for drugs, well, Sonia was incorrect. But if Sonia hadn’t bought the candy—and the tale was indeed correct—Sonia would have been wrong.
In my case, I was probably both. I did neither, when the woman approached me, three feet inside the Catholic church. She put her arm on mine, she wrapped her other arm around my body. As well, she moved her body suggestively close to mine.
“I have two children I need to feed,” she said. “And I’ll do anything to feed them….”
It was clear what that anything was….
I was in shock, of course. And then two men approached.
“Not inside the church,” said one, and the other forcibly removed her from the church.
“You got no business pushing me around. You the type likes pushing people around.”
The altercation lasted several minutes.
It was in the town of Castries, St. Lucia. And it was a place where even the few attractive buildings seemed overwhelmed by the prevailing ugliness. Worse, the sense of anger just beneath the boiling point of riot was everywhere.
“Don’t pay dem men no mind,” said the lady, as I left the church. She was still wheedling. I looked at her, said nothing and…
…walked on.
I gave her nothing. She may, however, have taken something. Because fifteen minutes later, I discovered that my boarding card—exactly the shape of a credit card—to enter the ship was missing.
OK—a pickpocket or a prostitute or a woman down on her luck and willing to do anything to feed her kids? What is the correct understanding here, as the Buddhists like to say?
First question—why did I decide to listen to the men and trust their story, rather than the woman and hers? Why didn’t I go to a grocery store with the woman and buy her milk and rice and beans? Moral proximity—if there’s a woman with hungry kids, well, shouldn’t I feed them, if I can?
It might be suggested that the church has a bit of an obligation, as well. And though the Catholic Church is not big on illicit sex, Jesus did help a few prostitutes along the way.
Or did he?
Because I’ve just looked up Mary Magdalene, and it turns out that the first hint that she was a prostitute comes in 591, from Pope Gregory the Great. Here’s Wikipedia on the subject:
"She whom Luke calls the sinful woman, whom John calls Mary, we believe to be the Mary from whom seven devils were ejected according to Mark. And what did these seven devils signify, if not all the vices? ... It is clear, brothers, that the woman previously used the unguent to perfume her flesh in forbidden acts."(homily XXXIII)[17]
Yeah? Seems like male reasoning if I ever heard it.
In the end, I failed her, my lady down on her luck. For she was that, even if she were a pickpocket / prostitute as well. I had money; I could have bought her food. And I had an obligation as well. Being on vacation doesn’t mean that you leave all your obligations behind.
Sad to say it, but I often fail. And I’ve looked just now, on Our Lady of Fatima Online—well, who would have thought?!—to check in on the examination of conscience. And here it is….
The Seven Corporal Works of Mercy
1. To feed the hungry. 2. To give drink to the thirsty. 3. To clothe the naked.
4. To visit and ransom the captives. 5. To harbor the harborless. 6. To visit the sick. 7. To bury the dead.
Well, it can’t be clearer than that. Not having the relief of a priest who can absolve me, I can say only this:
Forgive me, Reader, for I have sinned.
