Yesterday I met with the priest of my ersatz parish. I was
called into the office to have a meeting in response to a pleading email sent
to numerous people on my behalf by Saint Jane. It outlined the harsh and
dangerous conditions of my current living situation, my disabilities, the low
income that does not meet my needs; and my worthiness, based on good character
traits. (Thank you, Jane. The email was awesome.)
The priest, his “church manager,” Jane and I met in the
conference room, at which point the priest revealed, basically, that he didn’t intend
to help me. They have an empty house on the property, but it has furniture in
it and the priest is “tired” of moving it in and out of the house (though I
doubt seriously he himself lifts anything) and he wants $1200.00 a month in
rent for the industrial looking building that sits like a beige toad on one
side of the parking lot of the church. He WON’T move out the furniture, and he
wants the full rent. Period.
The building was constructed as a rectory, but the current
priest owns one or two pieces of property in Albuquerque and the mountains of Jemes, so he
lives in one of those. Typically, there would be NO rent generated from the
rectory, when it is used for its customary purpose. He just WANTS money for it if
someone other than the parish priest is living in it. It is completely
arbitrary. The dire need of a poor parish member is, apparently, of no concern
to him.
The last residents who JUST moved out of that building, were
paying $950.00 a month, and the priest, though he was informed I could pay no
more than $440.00 a month before the meeting, raised the price of the rent by $250.00
a month, which, at $1200.00 a month comes close to being my entire monthly
income. Clearly, he wished to discourage me.
Once he had made it plain that he would do nothing for me,
he spent the rest of the meeting lecturing me on what I should do to find a
place to live. He didn’t bother to ask me what I had already done. He just
sailed into a useless bunch of suggestions. His assumption that I have done
nothing in the way of research on this topic would have really insulted me, had
I not seen this behavior over and over again over the last few years. People aren’t willing to even spend the
mental energy needed to think through the issue enough to reach the obvious conclusion
that I have probably thought to research my housing dilemma before resorting to
begging others for help. At the very least, they could ASK me what I had done
so far, but no one does. This flurry of useless advice is just a smokescreen to
hide the stinginess at the heart of the matter.
With all the talk that Jesus devoted to helping the poor,
even one’s own parish priest can’t be bothered. Money RULES.
My country club aunt used to “tsk tsk” at my worsening
health and financial situation, asserting first that my multi-millionaire father should help me
and then, when he got Alzheimer’s and I was written out of his will shortly
before he died, she switched to complaining about how my SISTER should do it. My
aunt blathered on about how worried she was about me, but her worry only
extended to giving me useless advice, like telling me to ask my sister to help,
even though the Aunt was wealthy! (While waiting for my Social Security
benefits to begin coming in, I asked this aunt for $30.00 for food. She flat
out refused. Years later, when I told her about my diagnosis of impending
blindness, her daughters sent me a fruit basket! Yep, that’ll fix it.)
When I did ask my sister for help, she claimed she could not
afford more than $25.00 a month for internet fees to research housing in her
area, then she purchased a brand new luxury car and big recreational
vehicle. She could have singlehandedly
funded the move but chose not to. She chose, instead, to buy luxury vehicles to
replace the 4 year-old luxury vehicle she already owned.
Typically, most Americans do not want to help you unless it
benefits the giver. I am lucky enough to know a few people for whom this is not
true. Unfortunately, none of them are wealthy! Isn’t that odd?
There was no point in contributing to the conversation with
the priest yesterday. I tried to explain to him that his idea about mobile
homes wouldn’t work because they were too expensive and the ramps were way too
steep for me, but when I started out by mentioning that they aren’t usually
rented, he got mad at me and said he knew of one that someone was renting just
last month. Of course, he had no clue about the amount of the rent or the
availability of other rentals. He was just talking out of his hat. Later in his
monologue, he came back to the subject of mobile homes, as he was obviously
peeved I had dared to contradict him and he repeated, “I know for a fact that there
is one mobile home that is rented.” He had an angry glint in his eye.
Trying to fill in the blanks for him was useless, and I
spent the rest of the meeting being pleasant and waiting for it to be over. At
one point, I did try to appeal to his spiritual side by mentioning the crucial
need for a quiet place, since I live a contemplative life, with hours of
prayers in addition to reciting the Little Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
He told me not to tell anyone about my monastic routine because everyone would
just think I was a kook. So much for his spiritual side!
At the end, I thanked him, although I do not know for what.
Perhaps I was just being characteristically polite.
I woke up this morning wondering why on earth the man had
summoned me to his office at all. I suspect that the heart of the church
manager had been touched by Saint Jane’s email and that she had arranged it,
dragging the priest into it without any enthusiasm on his part.
Now he can claim he “helped” me by giving me a stream of
useless advice. It is just as well. When this priest retires, the next one is
not likely to own his own home, as this one does. Usually, priests are rather
poor, especially here in New Mexico,
so the next good father will probably HAVE to live in the rectory, which would
mean that I would get kicked out. I would have to spend my entire residency
looking for another place to live in anticipation of that unavoidable
resolution.
Meanwhile, my situation is the same – living on the edge of
the barrio, in a noisy, crowded, unsafe apartment complex where the apartment
manager snaps at me and treats me like dirt whenever I need something done, where
criminals shoot up drugs in our back yard, and where my next door neighbor appears
to be a paranoid schizophrenic who claims that I have been yelling at her and that
she is afraid for her life because of me, when, in fact, I haven’t spoken to her since she
moved in, basically. Evidently she is hearing voices.
Insanity gradually began to ensue after that woman moved in.
First, she accused me of “reporting” her to the office, which was nutty and
wrong. Then she tried to cover my windows with cardboard, for who knows what
reason?
NOW she has started toting around large weapons that she
drags from her car every time she sees me in the parking lot. The first weapon
was a shiny new axe, with a handle about 3 feet long. Lately, she’s taken to
drawing out a large rusty metal pipe of the same length, holding it in a
menacing way when she sees me pass.
The apartment itself is just fine. If I could just transport
it to another neighborhood, turn it into a cottage and have a small yard
constructed in the back, it would be wonderful. It is getting harder and harder
to walk my service dog, due to my severe arthritis, scoliosis, sciatica, and
damaged knees, though, and one day in the not too distant future, I will have
to stop. Then, of course, I don’t know how long it will be before I lose the
rest of my eyesight. My understanding is that macular degeneration begins by
slowly eroding the center of my vision until nothing is left but a little
peripheral vision.
I shouldn’t complain.
Most saints had horrible lives and were treated very badly. Many died
grisly, horrific deaths after years of persecution. Some, like Saint Theresa of
Calcutta,
endured many years of depression, with no consolations to help make the life
more bearable. I will continue to be grateful for their example, and perhaps
just give up trying to get my needs met. When I MOST want to pursue God, I am
forced to pursue earthly remedies and, considering the many humiliations I have
to endure as a result, it would seem better to lose myself in the Lord and
forget everything else. Trying to get my needs met has been unsuccessful, so
far, and my health is suffering from the added stress involved.
Perhaps Saint Jane will continue the search, though I
wouldn’t blame her if she just threw up her hands in frustration and walked
away from the whole mess.
One blessed, incredible favor bestowed upon me by the Lord
recently is the additional friendship of a woman who brings me the Eucharist on
Sundays. She is from a different parish that has pews that cripple me, BUT she
has a very similar background to mine, having previously taken sannyas, as I
did, in a Hindu-based group similar to the one in which I discovered Jesus and
His Church. Her deep spirituality and generosity of spirit have been a balm to
my soul, and I know the Lord has sent her to me to encourage me in this
difficult path. Gratitude washes over me, and I know I can endure because of
the love the Lord has shown me in the friendship of good Christian women.
I just hope the neighbor doesn’t have a full-on psychotic
break and come after me with that huge axe. I am too decrepit to defend myself,
and I am no longer able to run. Please pray to the Lord that, if it is not his
wish that I find suitable housing for myself, could he at least find somewhere
else for that crazy woman to live? That would be an improvement.
God bless us all,
Silver Rose Parnell
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