A Christmas of flickering lights, and lives lived

The Annual Homeless Person's Memorial Vigil takes place the evening of the Winter Solstice, the longest and darkest night of the year. 

For someone living rough, every night is dark, and long. 

I learned of the vigil this past week, while still somewhat new at my job as editor at Worcester Magazine. As sometimes happens for journalists arriving at a new coverage beat, I was "today years old" when, scrolling through Facebook posts, I saw alerts for the vigil. So, I made the trek from my home in Lowell to Worcester to cover it. Community journalism can't be remoted in.

I'm unfamiliar with writing about homelessness, both in cities and the suburbs. Each time, something comes more sharply into focus: there is not so great a line of demarcation between the housed and unhoused. 

There are those who move back and forth across that line, for reasons as complex any human life is likely to be. Far from being passive recipients of help, they also advocate, and help each other. Anyone thinking it's just about people who never give back needs to leave their provincial perch to see the truth. 

And now, it's Christmas Eve. Here in Lowell, as so many places,  men who stand at the traffic intersections with signs, a sight that has become so common across the nation that, sadly, it blends neatly now into the landscape of street signs and crosswalks. 

"The homeless are not 'angels in disguise,' bearing mystical blessings to the warm, comfortable and housed struggling to understand the true meaning of the holidays."

My husband and I were making a stop at the local 7-11, so I bought a cup of hot coffee, grabbed a variety of sweeteners, and a variety of snacks that came to hand: Nutty Buddies, Reese's. I'm a believer that sometimes, this so-called "junk food" is also the balm for the spirit. 

When I walked up to the man, he was truly surprised, and happy. I gave him the refreshments with a hug and a wish for "Merry Christmas."  He's not a stranger to us.. He is there almost all the time, in all kinds of weather, and we've often given him money, food, drinks. 

He is, in every sense, our neighbor. The only difference is that we have a permanent structure to go home to every night.

I think about this time of year both in terms of spirituality, and public health. 

More: Of holidays, holy days, and homecomings

The biblical stories of Christmas and the life of Christ are in fact, a public health narrative, from a birth in a stable to stories of lepers, beggars, the possessed and the dispossessed. Many of those afflicted were supposed to have brought their afflictions on themselves through bad life choices. 

This is also how some view today's public health problems: HIV/AIDS. COVID (ah, the "karma," some suppose, visited upon the anti-vaxxers.) Substance use disorder. And, homelessness. 

And let's be clear: The homeless are not performance art. Nor are they "angels in disguise," bearing mystical blessings to the warm, comfortable and housed struggling to understand the true meaning of the holidays. 

And God does not put them in our path so we can do some act of kindness to accrue more points for Heaven.

Like the man with the sign near 7-11, they are our neighbors, and sometimes they are those closest to us, and us ourselves.

I think back to a few nights ago, standing as a reporter at the vigil, among a crowd that stood holding battery-lit candles in the frigid night, singing hymns, and saying names aloud into the cold air. 

Names of lives lived, loved, and lost, but forever traveling with the light, not unlike the Voyager craft, to distant places in space, and like Voyager, carrying a message.

Back here on Earth, there's much to be done, and the needs are great, and vast. But at Christmas, one can start simply, by stopping at the 7-11, for a neighbor and a friend. 

Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass. She welcomes visits to megsmithwriter.com.