Lessons On The Bus

It's disheartening to be confronted with your own ugliness. Again.

By taking the bus to and from work, I get to spend over an hour each day in a rather confined space with some . . . interesting people. Of course you get some "normal" business folk like me, just going to and from their 9-5 (or 8-4 in my case).

But then you get the . . . "others". And it's amazing how quickly I can discern a book from its rather unkempt cover. I've become so skilled at sizing up a person at a glance and assigning them to a neat little box.

A neat little box that I'd like to keep far away from me. All I want to do is find a seat not too close to anyone, put in my earbuds or dig out a book, and ignore everyone around me until I get to work or home. But yet they seem to insist on invading my space. They may speak too loudly on their cellphone, they may scratch themselves with grimy fingers, they may just . . . smell. Yes, some of them smell. And not pleasant.

So I resent them. I resent them for infringing on my desire to be blissfully blind to the plights of others. I resent the possibility of my cleanliness being compromised by their proximity. I've worked too hard to be separate and distinct from these "others".

And who are they? They are poor and unemployed. They are uncouth and lacking in hygiene. They are homeless. They are mentally ill.

They are my "least of these".

They are the Jesuses on the bus.

And I sit as far away from them as possible.