ZIP codes are on my mind. My husband and I are in the
beginning stages of house-hunting. With all three kids
in one bedroom and sharing a closet, things in our current
home are feeling a bit tight. Since our lives center around
the kids’ school, we want to buy a house within
a reasonable radius of that school. Four different suburbs
surround St. Monica, but they share one ZIP code, so when
I search one of the realty Web sites for houses, I enter
that ZIP code as a way of narrowing the search.
Entering the ZIP code makes me a little uncomfortable
because of a homily I heard a few years ago. The homily
was so true that it has stayed with me. I attended Mass
that day with some friends, so we all heard it, and to
this day, we refer to the homily as “Luck of the
ZIP code.”
The priest’s point was that many of the successes
for which we congratulate ourselves, are not really ours
alone, but are ours by virtue of being born into the “right”
ZIP code. Strong school systems, crime-free neighborhoods
and intact families are more common in some ZIP codes
in others. People who grow up in these ZIP codes have
an immediate advantage over their counterparts born into
poor, crime-ridden ZIP codes. Fr. John Horan cautioned
us against being judgmental toward others or puffing up
with pride at our own accomplishments — had we been
born into a different ZIP code, our lives could be very
different.
Sometimes I think of that homily as I key in the ZIP code
for the area in which we’re interested. No one would
argue that it’s not a fine ZIP code to buy a home.
Houses are well-maintained, streets are quiet, children
are generally well-cared for and well-educated. Property
values go up each year. What bothers me is not that our
family has the opportunity to purchase a home in this
ZIP code; it’s that other families do not have this
chance. The very people who could most benefit from the
quiet neighborhoods and excellent school systems of our
ZIP code cannot afford to live here. Once you’re
born into a poor ZIP code, your chances of ever living
in a wealthy one are slim.
That’s where the second part of the priest’s
homily comes in. He challenged the congregation to see
the inherent injustice in the luck of the ZIP code. He
called us to use our own resources, talents and time to
work to make things better for those whose roll of the
ZIP code dice was not as fortunate as our own.
I don’t know what the Gospel was the day of that
homily, but it could very well have been the parable of
the Good Samaritan. When Jesus tells his followers to
love their neighbor, they ask him what “neighbor”
means. Jesus replies with the story of the Samaritan man.
Samaria was certainly in another ZIP code, and the parable
shows us how Jesus calls us to reach beyond human-made
borders as a response to his command to love one another.
As Bill and I continue our house hunt, I know the message
of Fr. Horan’s homily will stick with me, like an
itch that won’t go away. And that’s OK. If
the role of Jesus is to comfort the afflicted and afflict
the comfortable, I’ll admit that in my search for
more closet space and another bedroom, I can use a little
afflicting — especially on those days when I start
thinking about a first-floor laundry room.
While originally becoming a foster parent was a way of
reaching out to those from other ZIP codes, we will adopt
our current foster daughter this Thursday. In four days,
we won’t have a foster child; we will have a daughter.
As a new family of five, we will need to find another
way to reach out across the ZIP code line.
(Scobey-Polacheck and her husband Bill have two
sons, Jacob and Liam, and a foster daughter. They belong
to SS. Peter and Paul and St. Monica parishes. Scobey-Polacheck
welcomes dialog regarding her column. E-mail her at <ascobey@hotmail.com>.) |
