There's this movie from several years back called Cinderella Man with Russell Crowe portraying James Braddock. It is set in the Great Depression and Braddock is just about as destitute as a man can be. He is trying to hold his little family together the best he can. He shows up at the factory every morning, hoping to be chosen for a day's labor - turned away more often than not. But he can fight. Literally. He is a boxer. He earns a few dollars in the ring - not enough, never enough. His wife is not happy that he sacrifices himself in such a way for her, for them. But the power is shut off and there is no food. She is forced to take the children to stay with a relative. He is broken - in body and spirit. There are a few men who decide to back him in a fight - his big chance to gain notoriety and maybe increase his earning power. But the lights are off and his family is hungry. There is this scene where he goes to a club where the promoters are gathered. Think leather chairs, bartender with suspenders and sleeve garters, cigar smoke hanging in the air, heavy tumblers of amber liquid, fat men in wool suits. As I recall, Jim Braddock walks in, swallows every ounce of pride he's ever had, and tells them he needs money. His kids are cold and hungry and he has nowhere else to turn. And then, he takes off his flat bill cap and walks from man to man holding it out. Literally hat in hand. A beggar. The men are uncomfortable with this unmanly display. Some turn their backs. Some toss in a few coins or bills. One empties his pockets into Jim's cap. This is a stunning cinematic moment - indelibly written in my mind. It rattles me even after all these years. The vulnerability and helplessness. The embarrassment of raw need.
My mind turns to my parents who were children during the Depression - born to sharecroppers. It strikes me here that I am one generation removed from abject poverty. They knew scarcity that I will never been able to imagine. But as dire as their circumstances, Mama used to say they didn't know they were poor. They had the food they grew and a big family and the community of fellow croppers to lean on. And church. They grew up resilient and frugal - mindful of the days of dearth even in the midst of plenty. It marked them in many ways and in turn marked me. The self-sufficiency gene is strong. I cringe to think that I might be regarded as needy. I think that is the connection for me with the movie and the hat-in-hand scene. What he must have felt doing that... how soul wrenching to hold out empty hands in desperation. Sort of a but-for-the-grace-of-God-there-go-I moment. To be that exposed and needy is my greatest fear. And, if I'm being transparent, my greatest reality. There. I said it. I am need-y. I have more questions than answers, more prayers than prophecies.
I've written of the sacrament of communion before and its profound spiritual means of grace in my life. Communion is the place where my need meets God's provision. My embarrassment meets God's mercy. My empty hands are filled, my empty heart satisfied - His sacrifice my sustenance. And so, today, not in a pew but in the sanctuary of home, I crawl once again to the beggar's table. Hungry and desperate. Humiliated by my shortcomings. Choking on pride. Abject in the poverty of my soul. Needy. Shaky hands cupped together and held up to the One who holds the earth. He does not turn away. And He never will. Praise be. Selah.
In the picture above, the little girl on the left is my Mama. Selah, again.
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