Becoming and Remaining Poor

And yes, I mean literally.

My wall of treasures in my little apartment in Steubenville. More on this later.

I wrote thoughts during an outreach five years ago and, to this day, it remains one of the most honest pieces I have ever written.

That year, my family and I carried out an outreach to the poor during Christmastime. We distributed old jackets, blankets, and fresh packets of food to the needy and homeless in our area. I still remember being challenged and troubled by that outreach. It was physically demanding and spiritually confusing. I knew that when I look into the faces of the poor I should see the face of Jesus. So why did I feel repelled instead?

It was only later, months later, after I wrote that piece, that I was able to put into words what distressed me about that outreach: It was the neediness and desperation of the people we served.

Their outstretched arms, grasping at one more packet of food.

Their pleading eyes as they asked for new clothes.

Their furtive beckoning at other people on the road, their friends and loved ones, to also come and take the alms we were offering.

And the way they unashamedly asked for more.

I found it all very uncouth and embarrassing, and I think most other middle-class Indians would think the same.¹

Money, money, money

Most Indians are embarrassed about money. We want it, we need it, we fight over it, we tear our families apart over it, we build our entire lives around it, and we’re ready to kill for it.

The one thing we won’t do is talk about it.

Growing up, I never knew (and still don’t know) how much money my parents made. As a result, I had no frame of reference for how expensive or cheap the things I wanted were. Did my dad say no to buying that delicious-looking chocolate easter egg at the grocery store because it cost 50% of his monthly salary, or just because he thought it a frivolous purchase? I just didn’t know.

Under the surface, money issues ravaged my entire family. Unpaid debts, financial gifts given with strings attached, and poor financial planning corroded relationships and bred bitterness and grudges across (I do not exaggerate) decades. When I was finally deemed old enough to be told about everybody’s financial indiscretions, I was scandalised. It seemed like the grown-ups I knew were willing to do everything they could to not be poor.

In a country known for its staggering poverty rates, “poor” is a dirty word. And this was beat into me at a very young age. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, like a good little girl, I never mentioned money.

But let’s be real. I did not want to be poor.

Now the problem is that in the Catholic faith, of course, being poor is a good thing. The rich young man goes away sad after Jesus asks him to sell everything he owns and give that money to the poor—effectively becoming poor himself. Then Jesus remarks that it’s very, very, very hard for the rich to enter the kingdom of heaven!

All my life I’ve heard interpretations of that passage that go, “Oh, what we’re meant to be is poor in spirit.” Which is true, or it wouldn’t be part of the Beatitudes. But I do think we’re meant to interpret that passage at least a little bit literally. That’s probably why Jesus specifies, immediately after, that we’re meant to give up mother, father, sister, brother, and even fields for Him. The sacrifice of material possessions does seem to be closely linked to our salvation.

If you’re anything like me, though, your next question is probably something like: exactly how poor am I supposed to be?

Party in the USA

In case you missed it, I moved to America this month to pursue a Master’s degree in Theology at the Franciscan University of Steubenville. For someone who always said that she’d never even visit the States, I’m still a little bewildered at how I ended up here.

I bring this up not to brag but to tell you, honestly, that here in America I do feel a little bit… poor.

For one, I have very few possessions here, because limited baggage allowance meant I could bring very little with me from India. Back home, my clothes and material possessions filled two full-size closets, three cabinets, a study table, and even spilled out to the other rooms in the house. Here, I have three stacks of clothes, five books, a winter coat, a small pile of scrapbooking paper, and a pressure cooker. That’s about it.

I’m renting a little apartment that’s almost entirely unfurnished because it was the only unit I could find in my budget. This means that I’m currently writing this blog post from the floor of my living room because… well, we don’t really have any chairs at the moment.

My apartment is also walking distance from campus, which is relevant because I need to walk everywhere here. I don’t have the budget for a car or even to pitch in gas for someone else to give me rides everywhere. And you probably don’t know this (because I sure didn’t!)—Steubenville is hilly! The walk to campus is uphill! The walk home is also uphill! I didn’t know that was possible. Why am I never actually going downhill?!

I’ve also had to take out an education loan to pay for college, because as an ex-missionary I didn’t really have that kind of money lying around. For a middle-class Indian like me, loans can be terrible, stressful, horrifying things. They feel like ticking time bombs ready to go off and take everything—my dreams, my aspirations, my family home—down with it.

I have a plan to pay back my student loan, but, y’know, plans can fail. So there’s no real way to know where I’m going to be in ten years. Will I be able to successfully grind, work hard, make ends meet, and go on to live a happy, debt-free life? Or will I be—God forbid—poor?

As I reflect on my current lack of comfort and possessions, I’m reminded once again of that outreach I conducted all those years ago, and the way the poor people I served repelled me.

Their neediness, their desperation, repelled me.

Much in the same way that my neediness, my desperation, my lack of stuff, resources, and financial security, repel me.

We are meant to see the face of Jesus in the poor. What’s hard is that, often times, who we really see in their faces is ourselves.

The real reason we don’t want to talk about money is, I think, that we don’t want anyone to know how much in need we really are. Even if we have an awesome salary plus benefits, we’re one badly-timed emergency away from losing all of it. Sure, we may have some savings. But how much is enough? Do I have enough? Will I have enough next year? Maybe the year after that?

We want more, always, and no amount is ever enough.

It is almost like the desire to be rich is what makes us poor. Poor in peace. Poor in joy. Poor in contentment. Poor in generosity. Poor in compassion. Poor in the ways that seem to matter the most.

What plagued me then, and what plagues me now, is my want, my need, for more. And it is to this need, this gaping maw in my soul, that the Good Shepherd says: “You shall not want.”

What an incredible, baffling, bewildering statement. The Lord is my Shepherd — I shall not want.

It is both reassurance and instruction.

Reassurance, that I will always have what I need.

And instruction, because it is good for my soul to want less and less (no couch, no writing desk, no gas money…) until my poverty is desirable, even pleasing, to myself.

Becoming and remaining poor

Last night, as I sat on my rickety little bed and pictured all the furniture I’d like to have in my apartment, I was suddenly reminded of my dear friend Hope² whom I lived with in Manila for six months.

Hope was the simplest of us, the most joyful, and the most poor. She was a missionary in every sense of the word: her entire life was given to Christ. Surrounded by iPhone-carrying, Starbucks-going urban missionaries (which, I’ll confess, included me), she was something completely different. During our summer household, where we had to live six to a room to accommodate the women we’d be serving, Hope happily gave up her mattress to sleep on the floor so that there would be space for everyone else. The thought to do that hadn’t even occurred to me.

And right when I began to wonder if Hope would change her ways to fit in with her peers, she announced her desire to enter a convent and become a religious sister. Hope had found a way to become even more poor!

I believe I was reminded of Hope in that moment of wanting more (more, more) because God wanted to show me that it was not enough for me to become poor. I also had to remain poor. Which does not mean that I will say no to nice things if they happen to come my way. But I will not go looking for them, or allow the desire for them to consume me, and ponder continuously on all the things I lack.

If I am poor now, it is not my worst nightmare realised, but a blessing and an opportunity. It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, my friends, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Let’s take this warning for what it is, and lean into, embrace, and grow in our poverty.

Poverty is not a dirty word. It is one of the good and holy ways our Lord has ordained for us to reach Him in heaven.

If you would like to contribute to my grad school GoFundMe, you can follow this link. All donations will go towards paying off my student loan so that I can continue serving my community in India.

1. I do not really believe this, but it was a thought and sentiment that came to my mind at the time, and I think it’s important to unpack that, which is what I intend to do in this blog post. I obviously do not think poor people should be ashamed of being poor. Hopefully the rest of this blog post will make that abundantly clear.

2. Name changed for privacy.