It was a momentous day in history. May 8th 2025. My wife Ria and I celebrated our 49th wedding anniversary. 

Oh yes, I almost forgot, and Pope Leo XIV was announced as the new pope. At least now we know why he did not show up at our anniversary party. 

As I strolled downtown on a beautiful mellow evening, I was taking in the joy of the day and anxious to hear what kind of waves the announcement of the new pope had made on the streets. I recalled that when Pope Francis was announced as pope, the buzz on the street was palpable. Everyone had heard about it and they had been impressed by the fact that he had forsaken much of the pomp of ecclesial office, declining the papal apartment and deciding to drive an old car. He had even visited a prison to kneel and wash the feet of prisoners. Yes, on the street actions really do matter more than words. 

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“He understands us” was the general sentiment. For Pope Leo XIV, what was most impressive was that he had been a missionary in Peru and understands the need for proximity to the poor. As I walked through the downtown park, I passed a couple of men holding bicycles and deep in animated conversation. 

“How are you tonight?” I asked. After a few moments one of the men turned to his buddy and said, “Hey I know this guy. We met many years ago just down the road at the shelter. I was just out of prison, and I remember it well.” 

To be honest, his face was familiar, but I had no recollection of our discussion that had seemed so important to him. We talked for a while and suddenly his “buddy” turned to me and said, “I like you. You have energy.” 

“You know what?” I said, “you guys are the ones that give me energy. Every week I walk around and listen to what people have to say and often I never see them again and wonder what became of them. This is the year of hope in our church and you guys gave me hope tonight. You remind me of the good people I meet out here and you give me energy to keep doing it.” 

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“You know something?” said “buddy”, “we needed you tonight. Something happened to us today. A good friend of ours did the dirty on us and betrayed our trust. When you came along, we were just discussing how and if we could ever forgive him. But your energy has shown us we can forgive him.” 

“You guys are great,” I said, “Have a good evening, I am going down the road to the men’s shelter now where we first met to see who is hanging around there tonight.”

When I reached the shelter, I met Tom sitting across the road from it. 

“Have you ever lived over there?” I asked, pointing to the shelter. “That place you mean?” 

“Don’t talk to me about it. Yes, I have lived there briefly. That place is full of people with mental health problems. They belong in treatment, not put in a shelter.” 

I thought to myself that it’s too bad people like Tom are not on our political advisory committees. We might get to the heart of our problems a lot quicker. As I continued down the road, I saw a new sign spray-painted on a wall, “RIP Steveo.” It was a memorial to a man who died viciously on the street nine years previously and a reminder that on the street people may be gone, but as in our own life our friends never forget us.

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 Much later in the evening I concluded my evening as I always do by praying in the doorway where my beautiful friend Chilli died of an overdose about nine months ago. When I got there, I was stunned to see that in the past week three new names had been added to the list on the wall of her memorial doorway. Alongside “RIP Chilly love, Jordan” was now scrawled, “RIP Star”, “RIP Gary”, and “RIP Bosston, love RICO.” 

Sadly, although for some this day was a momentous day in history, for others it was just another violently cruel week on the streets of the city.