On the Feast of All Saints, we salute the unsung holy ones.

By Kathy Coffey

How's the Broccoli Today?  You Have to Take Your Medicine  Salt and Light  Litany of the Saints in Ordinary Times (Sidebar)

How's the Broccoli Today?

The produce man has probably not read Rahner. Yet I learn compassion from him as he engages almost daily in the same conversation with the same woman. She dresses up for grocery shopping: heels, plaid skirt, navy blazer, matching bow in her hair. One would think she was off to a corporate board meeting or an executive office instead of the lettuce aisle. Having observed this phenomenon several times, I feel safe in saying it's a habit.

She queries the produce man about the freshness of the broccoli; they engage in intense discussion about the ripeness of the pears. I suspect it is the only conversation she has all day. He is kind enough to take it seriously; his comments about bananas seem reflective.

Every time I observe surreptitiously, I pray that when I'm old and lonely, God will send me an understanding produce man.

You Have to Take Your Medicine

At the checkout stands, elderly shoppers are warmly greeted by their first names. It is a social ritual as the checkers inquire about their health, their activities, their relatives.

Major diplomacy ensues as the checkers balance the needs of the loquacious against the grumbles of those waiting in line behind them. They have a sure instinct for who needs a few extra minutes to describe their flu symptoms and who is running short on food stamps this week.

Their courtesy seems extraordinary for people who have probably been on their feet all day and who are not making a huge salary. In other offices today, the well-to-do are paying huge sums of money for the attentive ears of professional counselors. Far more moving is the modestly paid checker who engulfs a frail old woman in a huge embrace and clucks, "You get to the doctor, now, hear? I'm worried about you not taking your medicine, honey...."

Of course, this store has its share of surly clerks and its "just get the job done" types. But there are a few here who illustrate for me the sanctity of ordinary people.

Most are not overly educated; certainly none are on the national lecture circuit. Periodically, they seem to be honored with "Employee of the Month" or some other badge of recognition, but that only skims the surface. They should be canonized, their virtues proclaimed from cathedrals.

Salt and Light

In his biographical account [Orbis Books, 1997] of the late Jesuit author William Lynch, David Toolan, S.J., tells of the sure instincts of the kind of person we might be tempted to take for granted: a hospital aide. No poems are written about such people; few homilists mention them. But they bring the world salt and light.

It seems that, when Father Lynch was dying in a New York hospital, he would explore imaginatively the territory that lay ahead of him. Intently, he would invite his nurse to join him on his mental travels. The literal-minded nurse would rebuke him and feed him fantasy: "Father Lynch, you're not going anywhere; you're going to get well...." He knew she was patronizing him and he would have none of it.

But the nurse's aide understood. "I'll come, Father," she'd reply cheerily. "I'm ready when you are." That was all he needed; he'd re-enter his imaginative exploration with a big grin.

How little we sometimes need. How easy it is to provide. How many opportunities we miss. Odd insights to accumulate along with the groceries. But the willingness of ordinary people to offer ordinary kindness can be a kind of nurture. I leave the store uplifted, whistling softly to myself.

This article is excerpted from Thresholds to Prayer, a new book published by and available from St. Anthony Messenger Press, 1615 Republic St., Cincinnati, OH 45210, for $9.95. You may order online or by calling 1-800-488-0488.

Kathy Coffey is an award-winning author whose prose and poetry have appeared in St. Anthony Messenger. She lives in Denver, Colorado, with her husband and four children—who are among her thresholds into prayer.

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