"ANGEL OF THE STREETS"
"The poor Christ always comes back to haunt and—in the end—empower us." (Fr. Gary Smith, SJ)
I am pleased to introduce a new series on the Massé Musings Substack platform: EXTRAORDINARY LIVES. Some of these individuals are famous, but most are not. Their lives are extraordinary because of the challenges they have faced, the impact they have had, and the special qualities they possess.
In 2004, Indiana University Press published my narrative nonfiction account of social activism across the U.S.—Inspired to Serve: Today’s Faith Activists. The book, which profiles American Christians, Jews, Muslims and Buddhists making a difference in their communities, is listed in the “Selected Historical Bibliography” of historian Norman H. Sims’ 2007 book, True Stories: A Century of Literary Journalism. For the next few weeks, I will republish excerpts from Inspired to Serve: Today’s Faith Activists.
"Angel of the Streets": A Profile of Father Gary Smith, SJ
"The poor Christ always comes back to haunt and—in the end—empower us.”
Redeem: To deliver from sin and its penalties, as by a sacrifice made for the sinner; to fulfill a promise or pledge; to make amends or atone for; to restore (oneself) to favor by making amends; to make worthwhile. (Webster's New World Dictionary, Second College Edition)
The sidewalks of "Old Town" on this mild, slate-gray spring day in Portland, Oregon, are a melting pot of people on their individual journeys. Nattily dressed businessmen, tattooed construction workers, high schoolers playing hooky, and the "down and outers" populate the area near the intersection of Broadway and Burnside. The commuters, students and "hard hats" will leave the neighborhood at day's end. But many will remain on these city streets—those broken in body, mind and spirit; the discarded and forgotten; and others in need of a helping hand.
A scruffy-looking fellow has come to the Downtown (Catholic) Chapel at 601 W. Burnside seeking a tube of toothpaste. He is thirtyish and solidly built. He has a week of stubble on his slab of a face, and his jeans are in dire need of washing. His eyes dart about, but his words are friendly and polite as he waits in the lobby for one of the volunteers from the Macdonald Center, the social service program located in the Chapel's basement. He even excuses himself as he steps across a spot on the floor that has just been mopped by a crusty gent with a bandage patch over his right eye. The gent wears a paint-spattered blue workshirt. He grunts as the toothpaste-seeker returns to his seat and waits.
"They treat you nice here," he says, glancing quickly to the right and then back at the small space in front of him. His space. Probably all he owns these days.
The Chapel receptionist says Father Gary Smith isn't here yet.
"But knowing him," she says with a wisp of a smile, "he'll come bounding through that door any minute."
When Father Smith arrives, he doesn't bound, but he seems to glide with the brisk, fluid steps of a well-coordinated athlete. Watching the 6-foot-3 inch Smith move makes one reflect on how he must of looked running the basketball court on a fast break as a college basketball star in California in the late 1950s. Can this agile, youthful fellow with the shock of frosty white hair, the rakish silver moustache and riveting blue eyes really be almost 60? Certainly in his jogging shoes, Levi jeans and casual blue and white-striped T-shirt, he doesn't look or act like someone easing into his mature years. His explanation for the source of his youthful energy: Religious passion.
"My passion comes from my love affair with Christ and with my calling to serve him," says Smith as he leaves the Chapel and begins his daily walking tour of the area. He passes the "Sisters of the Road" cafe where handwritten signs in the window boast of complete hot meals for $1.50. The cafe is a refuge where the poor of Burnside can eat and be treated with courtesy and respect—rare commodities for those who spend their days being shunned by so much of society.
An African-American cafe volunteer in a green apron stands outside with a push broom in hand. He's gangly thin with a full Afro and a goofy, toothless grin. His eyes brighten when Fr. Smith stops to shake his hand before moving on. Several streetwise men check out Fr. Smith as he passes.
"Who's the dude?"
"That's Father Gary, man."
"A priest? Get out. That dude's really a priest? For real?"
Father Gary Smith is for real. He is one of several angels of the street who serve the poor and needy as members of Outreach Ministry (OM) in the Burnside area of downtown Portland. In doing so, Fr. Smith says he is striving to reaffirm the mission of the Gospel while continuing on his own path to spiritual redemption. In a recent newsletter (Outreach Update), Smith writes that, "We are called to be bearers of God's love and truth, and as bearers, we take that love and truth into our culture where there exists the bruises and flickering flames caused by homelessness, loneliness, excessive wealth, racism, injustice."
According to Fr. Smith, Outreach Ministry meets the basic needs of more than 50 of its "members" with care and concern. Through OM, people can get help in finding an inexpensive room in one of Old Town's hotels, in budgeting their welfare or disability checks to afford food, clothing, medical care and other necessities each month, and in maintaining compassionate human contact. The goal is to work with hardship cases who most likely would "fall through the cracks" and help them achieve a level of dignity in their lives.
Fr. Smith is quick to credit Sister Maria Francis Waugh, who founded OM more than a dozen years ago and staff members like Kathy Piquette, as well as countless volunteers who fuel the program with the power of love and Christian charity. He says that by entering into the lives of other suffering human beings, a person can grow closer to God and touch the Holy in others and him or herself. A sign in the street-front OM offices sums up its mission: "We are continuing what He began."
Taking a break from today's walking tour, Fr. Smith settles his long angular frame into a sturdy coffeeshop chair. He leans back and stretches his Great Dane legs out onto the black and white checked linoleum floor. He sips his mug of black decaf slowly, like a man used to making a cup of java go a long way.
Gary speaks softly, melodically measuring his words and carefully weaving his stories, readily pulling anecdotes as if out of vivid dream. His blue eyes reflect the journey of his soul—one moment liquid and tear-filled, the next beaming with joy, and, finally, gentle, wise, loving and weary. Fr. Smith has been an activist priest since the mid-1960s when he discovered the social dimension of the Gospel.
During those turbulent years, he along with other notable Jesuits such as the Berrigan brothers, protested the Vietnam war and the injustice of racism and poverty. Today, Fr. Smith pursues his "street ministry," by working with the urban poor in the Northwest. In doing so, he says he is following Christ's teachings to serve those rejected by mainstream society and to tell of God's love for them.
"I believe the conscience of the Church lies with serving the poor and less fortunate of the world," he says. "And it is our duty to remind the rest of us that we truly are our brother's keeper."
Fr. Smith is fond of the Bible passage that describes the Pharisees who saw Jesus eating in the company of tax-collectors and outsiders and remarked to His disciples: "So he eats with tax-collectors and sinners!" And Jesus said to them, "It is not the fit and flourishing who need the doctor, but those who are ill. I did not come to invite the 'righteous,' but the 'sinners,' " (Mark 2:16-17)
Father Gary Smith serves the poorest of the poor—desperate, troubled, infirmed, drug-addicted and self-destructive people on the streets of Portland, where he has lived and worked since 1993. Previously he spent eight years as director of Nativity House, a "skid row" drop-in center in Tacoma, Wash. He chronicled his experiences at the center in a 1994 book, Street Journal. Now, Fr. Smith discovers more poignant stories to share based on his work at Outreach Ministry, the Macdonald Center and on the streets of Burnside:
• He breaks bread with Jesse, a convicted murderer who served his time for killing a fellow transient, and is trying stay out of harm's way. But he has been arrested for urinating in public, and he's terrified he will be returned to prison. Fr. Smith agrees to go with him to court.
• He sits patiently and chats with Reggie, a frequent visitor to the Macdonald Center. Reggie, a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, has lost everything in the world over the years: a good-paying job, a home and a family. Divorced 25 years ago, the 60-something, former Air Force pilot hasn't seen his two daughters in more than 10 years. Now he relies on the kindness of "servers" like Fr. Smith to help him cope with his insular world.
• He assists Helen, an illiterate woman write "steamy" love letters to her imprisoned boyfriend. She has no idea Fr. Smith is a priest. When she discovers his identify, she is momentarily speechless, but soon asks him to write another letter for her.
• He talks with Jennifer over coffee and hears the story of the husband who shot her, and her struggles to reclaim her life after years of abuse.
• He helps Tommy to find his way back to his Old Town hotel. Tommy, who is one of the Outreach Ministry's "members," suffers from frequent blackouts and memory lapses, brought on by years of drinking and brawling on the streets.
Father Gary Smith knows what it's like to have lost his way. As a self-indulgent college student in the late 1950s, Fr. Smith had "hit rock bottom." He had no religion, no faith, no sense of spirituality. Yet, he was searching desperately for order and meaning in his life. A child of working-class alcoholic parents, the Modesto, Calif., native had grown up exploiting people in order to survive.
"By the time I was a sophomore at San Jose State University, my personal life was a mess," Fr. Smith says. Desperate for answers, he started reading voraciously: literature, philosophy, political science. One evening a Catholic roommate loaned him his Bible.
"I was listening to jazz on a San Francisco station, and I started reading the Gospel of Mark," Fr. Smith recalls. "I was so struck by the straight-forward, honest and good relationship Jesus had with people. I liked the structure and order of the writing, I sat there and said, 'That's it.' "
Soon Smith was reading the works of Catholic spiritualist Thomas Merton, engaging in all-night discussions on religion and attending Mass.
"I was like a sponge soaking it all up," he says.
Within a year, Smith had converted to Catholicism and transferred to Santa Clara University. By his senior year, he had decided to become a priest and a Jesuit. Smith would soon learn that he shared something significant in common with St. Ignatius Loyola, who founded the Jesuit order in the 16th century. For Ignatius' conversion to Catholicism had also began with his reading and pondering the pages of "hefty tomes ... striking witness to the power of a book," according to the introduction of an autobiography of the charismatic soldier-turned-saint.
"It's a mystery how God enters someone's life," says Fr. Smith, finishing another cup of coffee. "I would call it grace and the love of God. It's been almost 40 years since I was transformed, but I can still remember what it was like to live in darkness."
Father Gary Smith's life has progressed in a series of movements, from his conversion to Catholicism, to his entering the priesthood, from his early service as a Jesuit high school teacher and prison counselor, to his work as an outspoken religious activist.
"At one time I remember thinking I would enjoy getting a Ph.D. and teaching at a Jesuit university," he says, reflecting on his spiritual evolution, "but what makes me genuinely happy is establishing meaningful relationships with people on the street."
Fr. Smith, who has a bachelor's degree in political science and a master's degree in counseling, says he's most comfortable serving those in poverty.
"The Church's credibility lies with its solidarity with the poor," he adds. "The poor Christ always comes back to haunt and—in the end—empower us."
As dusk falls on Portland, Father Gary Smith is gliding down the sidewalks of Burnside once again. He hurries back to the Downtown Chapel, where he will say evening Mass for many of his friends from the surrounding streets. In his sermon, he will speak of Christ's love for the poor and for the heart of the Gospel that guides the Church and all who choose to follow His teachings.
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© 2023 Mark H. Massé
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