Downstairs with Chist of Hurtado's Hall

MY EXPERIENCE DOWNTAIRS WITH CHRIST OF THE HURTADO’S HALL.

One of my adventures at St Francis Xavier Church. A church which has a subkitchen to feed about 600-700 poor people each Sunday. For thanksgiving they organized a meal and also delivered food to an amazingly number of homes.

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Thanksgiving. I overslept and woke up too late for the morning mass, but decided to go to the parish anyway because I was strongly determined to help and join the thanksgiving meal at Hurtado’s Hall. It was not that being new at New York I had nowhere else to go, which was actually true, but a very meditated and conscious decision, which I made with the very intention of starting to move again towards God, towards placing me a little near to His Kingdom. In fact, for years, scouting had been the very place in which I experienced the loving God, a place in which people learn to care one about another, a place where sometimes the-heaven-to- come appeared at ease at my eyes, a tremendous gift certainly. But now, in New York I started to feel more like the city, self-centered, and unworried about others, and I wanted to change this.

I arrived at maximum speed to the St Francis Xavier Church parish entrance, where I was kindly block by the young door man. There were apparently too many people already helping, so I was not allowed to enter the Hall. However if I like, I could wait with the poor people outside and come inside with them for lunch. What?!? !?##! !?##!
I got shocked, obviously. Had I been one of his friends, or even someone known to him, this would not happen to me! But I was a stranger. And also, if there were too many people inside, why not a bunch of them were also waiting (or lining) outside! Aha! Good question! I got a little angry, probably angry would not be the word, but upset. Upset to be putted in the situation of choosing between going home, waiting with the poor as if I had no money to pay a nice meal, or trying to slide myself to Hurtado’s Hall from the 16th street gate. At the end I surrender grudgingly to what I believe that was the will of God for that moment. I joined the line outside. In fact, this was something that I was both fearing and willing, something that I had been worrying, talking and dueling with God all the morning since I woke up and hurried up to the subway. I surrender, and I was happy to be talking with people in the line, but also uneasy because I didn’t want just to come into and sit down as a homeless people.

The door opened and we were allowed to enter to the Hall. Very fortunately I immediately found Father Joe. He took the opportunity to ask about how we are doing and building the young adults group and I took the opportunity to let him introduce me to Mary, one of the people in charge of the Hurtado’s Hall. I jump the gap and now I was aligned nor with the poor people but with the parishoners. However I didn’t like it neither. Parishoners wear labels with their names, and gloves, and serve people in the tables, who were also not supposed to stand up. I even saw myself saying truly and genuinely –sir and -madam several times when I was serving some of the meals. It was actually nice. It was, as someone point me out, like a restaurant. Poor people who don’t go to restaurants being served as if they were in one. Served by rich people who do go to restaurants. Don’t you see the gap? The ennormous gap. By putting labels with names, by being the waiters and waitress we place ourselfs in a superior dignity, a superior category. Even if we don’t intend to do so, even while we are serving, we are creating differences. But in the Kindom of God there are NO such differences. The table of our God is not a restaurant! The table of our God is a feast, a great great feast, with everyone being equally.
Why don’t we all just wear our name’s label, why don’t we all sit and start eating together? Why don’t we all prepare the tables, serve the cakes, and so on? I know that our word is not the heaven, but I wish we go in this direction.

In a divided word, Jesus is with the poorest side. I know this, and at the Hurtado Hall I wished to be with them. This is where Jesus will preferentially be. I said preferentially, because He could be found in everyone. But this poor people were there a truly image of the crucified and beloved Jesus. The crucified because He, who was of divine nature, equal to God, emptied himself taking the form of a slave; he humbled himself and become obedient to the point of death (Ph 2.6-8). And since then our eyes are open to recognize Christ in the ones that cannot speak aloud, the ones that suffer the rejection of the word, the ones that have to line up waiting for someone to tell them when and what to eat. They are also a truly image of the beloved Jesus, the Son, who receives everything from the Father and does His will. I have too much to learn from him yet! I have to keep learning to be loved, and let the people serve me and love me in their way, not as I may wish, but as God whishes. I know that this can be learned from people who are poor in spirit, being many of them poor in wealth also, since being poor seems to put you in a situation of accepting or rejecting being loved regardless of you merit, with nothing to give back. I guess that’s why sometimes I can see Jesus the beloved Son in the poor people.

So I was there, wishing to be with the poor, but with my human weakness not allowing me to do so until the end of the meal, when parishoners started to eat. Some of them standing up or in alone places. Others might had gone home or I didn’t see them. I was looking very doubtfully where to sit, until Mary suggested me to join the nearest table. I went, and ask them if I could join them. They said no, but fortunately this was a joke. So, I sat there, I ask their names: Loria, Ellis, Barbara, and have a nice talk and enjoyed the moment. We were sisters and brothers eating at the same table. Now I have three more names in my extended family. I hope to remember to pray for them and consider seriously to volunteer regularly to the Hurtado’s Hall.


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PS. I remember now a very nice image that, I think, Oriol Xirinacs, a priest that worked a lot with poor people, once wrote. He hoped that, were he be at the doors of heaven, the poor people, who would be lined up there to enter, might slide him in their line, so he can enter as well, disguised between them. Very nice image. I would like that this could be some day applied to me.