"You have only helped the others!" The cry comes from every direction and the anger and frustration increases. The resentment comes from Roma and Gadjo alike. To disappear behind a screen or into a meeting is no solution, and is an even lonelier place than remaining face to face with those seeking justice.
"I can't help everyone equally! Even Jesus didn't attempt that!" The appeal to reason runs into the sand as the voices become more impassioned. We fall into silence, into a vortex of sorrow.
Soup is served. To me before all the others. "Kade summi si o mai lasho summi me xalem ando se murro traiio." "This is the best soup I've tasted in all my life." A smile breaks through the silence.
"Show me that!" It had been hidden in my pocket but had buzzed. "You've got a new one!" My iphone 4s, symbol of wealth and power, betrays me. The deepening gulf has little to do with ethnicity or culture. The gaping gulf is about money. As my inheritance finds it's electronic route into my bank account, I think of St Francis. Is the only route to authentic solidarity with the poor, obedience to Jesus' invitation to renounce all wealth?
"Look at his cigarette! In a minute it will be no more. Ask for the comfort of the Holy Spirit and you will never be thirsty again!" I shift the ground to escape the uncomfortable question in my heart. "Seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness .... and then think about rent, eviction, food, sick relative." Another good quote straight from my armoury of verses painstakingly learnt by rote. It rings hollow. Has the gulf deepened or is a seed sown?
Back home to a vicarage now fitted with two power showers to wash away the loneliness and unanswered questions. I stare into my Macbook and type... "You're a poet...or a fraud."
"Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." [Ps 139:23-24]
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