goodwill to men

The accordion man is standing outside Dominick's again, scraggly and weathered, shabby and worn. He has a menagerie of broken-down items surrounding him--a Casio keyboard, a couple of coffee cans, a bag filled with who knows what. He is wearing a tan trenchcoat and black shoes, a stocking hat and sometimes fingerless gloves. He appears to mumble to himself as he plays, his fingers moving across the keys and buttons of the accordion without his recognition of where they are or what they're doing. When he opens his mouth it looks like he may talk to one of the passersby, but he only continues talking to himself, and through the space between his lips you can see the teeth poking through, sparse and yellowed.

It appears he has become a fixture in front of the grocery store, and I pass him every time I walk that particular corner. He has a container sitting out for money, but on the corner of Fullerton and Belden the greater population is made of college students, most of whom are probably not carrying cash, the rest of whom don't even see the accordion man, so consumed are they with their own lives and the daily grind of their college existences.

I see him. Every time, I see him. And I walk past, afraid to catch his eye even though he never seems to see anything around him. I think I have mastered the art of examining the people around me without them catching me at it, and for the most part this is true. Especially when the subject of examination shows distinct signs of crazy. But every time I pass by, I wonder what happened to the goodwill of humanity. This time of year everyone is being tapped for cash--the Salvation Army buckets are out, church gift programs are in full swing, and holiday parties require food and gifts. But it is also the time of year when we come together, and we sing "peace on earth, goodwill to men."

But I don't want to be one of those people who throws money around just because of the season. Jesus told us that the poor would always be among us, and so they are, begging for change with their outstretched plastic cups, holding their signs that illuminate their plight, and the sight of the poor moves our pity. But it rarely goes farther than that. Cynicism has set in, and has taken a deep hold on our society. We don't trust the poor, we believe they should be able to help themselves, we yell "get a job" and tell ourselves their laziness is to blame.

And sometimes this may be true. But I wonder if we are being called to rise above the cynicism and offer goodwill for the sake of goodwill. If humanity as a whole would rise up and reach out to the downtrodden, perhaps they would be taken care of. Perhaps we could effectually achieve a glimpse of social justice.

But instead I keep walking past the accordion man. And the guilt builds up like plaque inside an artery, and I wonder if my conscience will come under attack the way my heart would when that artery burst. Until that day, I live with the guilt for the few seconds in which I find it affecting me.

And then I keep walking.