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It was a cold, snowy winter morning. I was the only person in the rectory office, where I worked as pastoral coordinator for the parish. With my coat still on, I answered the ringing telephone.
The caller was a man looking for a handout. I recognized his voice and immediately wanted to ignore his request—personally, I referred to him as “the crazy alcoholic guy.” On occasions when he had come to the door and I’d been alone, I had not opened it. He unsettled me.
“Sorry, Can’t Help.” Attempting to placate the caller, I told him that all such requests were handled through the St. Vincent de Paul Society and that the person he needed to speak with wasn’t in. I explained that we kept no money in the rectory and only gave food or vouchers. I said I would get the message to the person in charge and suggested that he call back later.
The man told me his name (I’ll call him Tom), said a voucher would be okay, and that he…
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