No Hats Allowed in Church

I was invited to appear, as Ray, at a Catholic Mass for high school students in Aurora. Several of the students knew me from past presentations so my disguise was of particular importance. One of the features of my "attire" is a wool cap where the flaps come down over my ears. I arrived early during the youth choir rehearsal. I caught myself in my own stereotyping when the lead guitarist finished playing and walked toward me. His hair went clear down to his belt. I thought to myself, "Finally, a liberal thinking person who is going to come welcome me to his church." Whoops!

I had been invited to several Catholic services before and was always approached, or rather checked out, and always asked to remove my hat. While I would never wear a hat inside a church as "John", or allow any of my children to wear a hat inside, I've never understood why people didn't see the likes of "Ray" and rejoice in his attendance.

The young man approached me and said, "Hey, take off the hat. You're in church." There was no "Welcome to..." or "Hi. What is your name? Are you a visitor?" Of course, I couldn't take my hat off or I would be risking the discovery of my identity. I responded nicely, "I can't." You would think that would be enough. He asked, "Why not?" Most people wouldn't want to know but he was clearly a stickler for the rules. "I spontaneously came up with, "Because, my doctor told me not to take it off." Now that I reflect on my response, it was pretty good. That should have quieted the most conservative anti-hat-in-church types. It did not! Unbelievably, he queried "What's your doctor's name?" I couldn't believe it. You want to know my doctor's name? I blurted out my actual doctor’s name, “Dr. Hrdlicka. He works out of Delnor Hospital." He looked at me and with a frustrated gasp ended the inquiry with, "Oh” and walked away.

Certainly, in our culture we don't wear hats in church. It's a sign of respect for the sacred space. It isn't so much for God's sake. Something tells me that if he was fine with Adam and Eve being naked, he'd be fine with us wearing hats. But, we human beings need to take our hats off because it's a helpful reminder to us. It places us in subliminal space and opens us to the largeness and otherness that is God. BUT, I hope that if I see a person who has bigger issues going on, I won't bring up the "hat" issue until that person has been welcomed, and knows that God loves them. Then I might share the cultural custom that is the removal of hats in sacred spaces.

Many would be surprised at who has been homeless

Just last week I was presenting the stories of "Ray". After the presentation, as often happens, several people came to up to me to share their stories with me. One boy, a high school student at an elite Catholic high school, shared how he was dissatisfied with the lack of focus on service and spirituality. "They only care about getting into college. There's no concern for the downtrodden." A girl told me how she had felt like "Ray" by the way others treated her at school. A reporter was there recording impressions and encounters between me and the audience. Once everyone had left, the reporter revealed to me that he had been homeless during his middle school years. In addition, it turned out that this person had sneaked into and slept in the very church where I was giving the presentation. The reporter took me to the staircase that they had slept under so many years ago. He also shared how things turned around, how he had made it to college and was now a reporter for a large city. Everyone has a story and there is hope for everyone.

First Encounter of the Motherly Kind

In 1989, I was invited to give a presentation to Immaculate Conception Church in Elmhurst on the subject of poverty and homelessness to teenagers. Wanting not to bore them, I thought about bringing an actual homeless person from a PADS (Public Action to Deliver Shelter) in order to make a lasting impression. But, I couldn't quite figure out how to do it in a way that would hold up the homeless person's dignity. Then I thought to myself, I will become the homeless person. Today, I wear very little to distinguish myself as a person of poverty. But, twenty years ago, my outfit was quite extensive. I wore a out-of-date sport coat, dirty jeans, old tennis shoes, a newsboy cap and glasses. I put make-up on my face to appear older and a little dirty. It was a terrible stereotype. As many people know, who volunteer at shelters, many homeless people are clean and many are dressed fine. But, many of the students knew me so that I was not only trying to create the appearance of someone down and out but disguise myself as well.

With that in mind, I knew I needed to test my disguise and so I went to see the one person who would be most qualified to recognize me -my mother. I grew up in Addison, Illinois but by this time, my parents had moved to Bloomingdale, Illinois. It was, and still is today, a very fine home in the western suburbs. I went to the front door and rang the bell holding a grocery bag in one arm and a cigarette in the other. My mother came to the door and asked me what I wanted. I said, "A can of food please." Of course, I also had to disguise my voice. For the first time, I tried out my new voice. Ray speaks with a scratchy hoarse tone. Mom said, "no". She then closed the door before I could say anything else. The thing of it is, my mother is a wonderful human being and did just what her son would want her to do. She protected herself from a stranger she didn't know at her door. The only purpose I had in going to see her was to test my disguise. But, I ended up having my first "Ray" lesson. You see, years ago, my mother worked at a food pantry at the Addison Village. She had handed out food to the poor many times before. My mother is a humanitarian. This was a perfectly appropriate response for my mother that night at her doorstep. But, are there times when fear gets in the way of compassion and instead brings about unwarranted judgment? I was now prepared to bring Ray to Elmhurst. Little did I know that this was the first of hundreds and hundreds of presentations as a homeless man.