Ann Rennie Reflects

As I write this it is the last week of term, there is a muted excitement in the air as girls tell me where they are going for the holidays.  Muted because it is so cold, although the prospect of doona days or LA or FNQ cheers them up. This morning I was on tram duty, outside the Kew Traffic School, wrapped up snugly with a couple of layers and a bright pink scarf to match my cold pink nose.

Of course, it was hard to get out of bed early and as I had my first coffee of the day on the way to work, my friendly local barista told me it was 1 degree outside.  Almost freezing.

Over the last few weeks, I have been thinking about those who are sleeping rough or on a couch or in a car or in a doorway or in a tent in a park.  We have prayed in class for those who are doing it tough, and the girls are bringing in soup cans and other non-perishables for the Vinnies winter collection.

The following incident highlighted for me the plight of many in Melbourne and the ripple effect of hard times.

Mid-May.  Afternoon sunshine.  Crowded train to Blackburn emerging into the light after leaving Parliament Station.  Almost everyone in the carriage with heads down poring over their little black screens.  Not me.  A witness, then, to a small humbling vignette, played out for those few who have their eyes wide open and alert to the drama of real life playing out around us.

At the top end of the carriage, a middle-aged man stands tentatively astride the aisle.  He begins to deliver a speech of sorts.  He needs help – to get a meal, find a room, present for a possible job.  He is dressed decently in a khaki t-shirt and dark trousers.  He could be anyone’s dad, brother, son or best mate.

He speaks well, clearly and purposefully, as though his life depends on it.  And perhaps it does.  He engages the few who bother to listen, the few who have even noticed him.  Most are simply oblivious to his presence, locked as they are into the screen which shields them from real life or their necessity to know anything about it.

He is not aggressive and there is a quiet dignity in his words.  How hard it must be to put your life, your next feed, into the hands of strangers on a train.  I have just had a quick lunch in town with a friend; a catch-up of laughter, stories, occasional grand embellishments and the ease of camaraderie, now ready to catch the train home, and thinking of a little gentle doze in the lounge room or watching something on BritBox. 

Easy for me on my day off and with work tomorrow.  Easy for me with beef steaks thawing and some mixed vegetables ready to be baked in oil for dinner.  Easy for me to tumble into sleep, safe and warm, to wake up refreshed for a new day.

This man’s speech may have taken all of two minutes as he apologised for interrupting his assorted audience.  I saw a lady rummage in her bag to give him something.  As the train slowed down coming into Richmond Station he walked down the carriage ready to alight.  There was no expectation in his gait.  He must have been disappointed in his improvised or rehearsed plea for help, this ordinary man who could be husband, carer, friend.  Just before he got off, I managed to put a note in his hand. 

He responded, looking me in the face, with a gentle Thank you for hearing me.

I wonder how his other train journeys that day panned out.  I wonder how many people noticed or heard him or excused themselves because they were otherwise engaged.  It seems to me that we live in a heartless society when a man has to submit himself to the humiliation of begging so publicly.

Good honest people are doing it tough in our suburbs and regions.  Calls on charity support for meals and other assistance are up 40% on last year.  Perhaps many of us need to look up and around, away from the digital shields that separate us from each other.  Perhaps we could carry the odd note or some change for the person who needs a meal and has the guts and humility to ask.  It won’t break the bank. 

We know, too, that sometimes we will be conned or scammed, but mostly our momentary generosity will go straight where it’s needed.

We can’t change the cost-of-living crisis, the stories of lives on the edge, but we can be kind.

As Christians, we know that we have a responsibility to our neighbours.  We, too, may be tightening our belts, hibernating a bit and simply waiting the winter out, but we can do something.  It might be a donation of money or it can be the donation of food.

Hebrews 13:1-2 reminds us to Let mutual affection continue.  Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.  Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them, those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured.

This is the solidarity of belonging to the community of the Church and responding in kind to the human condition in good times, but especially in bad.  Can we hear the words of those who need our help and do what we can to afford them their dignity, safety, food and shelter?  Our neighbours on the streets of Melbourne may not be in prison or tortured, but they are suffering, just as we would in a similar situation.

Thank you for hearing me said politely, his parting words a refrain that reminds me to lean in and listen to those in my hometown who need to be heard.

By Ann Rennie

Published: 5 July 2024