An a-peeling life.

At a Catholic Worker House, the gospel is put into practice during spuds detail.

I'd been hanging around the Catholic Worker House off and on for more than four years before being entrusted with a potato peeler, evidence of the success of my apprenticeship. In all that time, nary a dish had been broken among the thousands I had washed; I never tracked in too much dirt after policing the grounds or emptying the trash; nor had I dropped even one sack of groceries among the hundreds I carried up from the basement pantry for distribution.

Talk about your ironic--no, pathetic--contradictions. In an age of unprecedented prosperity, in the most abundant, wealthy, powerful country in the world, there are many hungry, desperate people. This becomes all too apparent at the Des Moines Catholic Worker House while one peels potatoes, in a house where images of hunger, want, deprivation, need, insecurity, uncertainty, weariness, and fear are reflected in the eyes of those we serve.

The good news is that because there is this house, many of these downtrodden faces who come for help do find relief. Some even leave the house reflecting a measure of hope in their eyes that was not there before. So, peeling potatoes at the Catholic Worker House is one concrete way to experience the "Good News"--put in spiritual terms, the "gospel."

After nearly 35 years as a union representative--a lifetime of labor organizing, negotiating, and picketing in support of economic and social justice for workers--I find myself actually writing about the gospel! The Good News comes in many different forms be it according to Matthew and Mark, Eugene Debs and John Sweeney, or Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin. Each, in their own inimitable style, refer to a common concept and an ideal: "Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers and sisters, that you do unto me."

The goal of all Catholic Worker houses is simply to fulfill that ideal. Across the country and around the world, on the wrong side of the tracks and in the worst parts of town, Catholic Workers bring life to the Beatitudes by living the Good News among the least. That includes peeling potatoes, even on a part-time basis. An intimate view is thus afforded into a few moments of the lives of the least among us, a view that is constantly changing, a hectic hodgepodge of race and culture. Men and women, infants and elderly, legals and illegals, immigrants and indigenous are all present on any given day.

The most disheartening for me are the women--mothers mostly, usually single, sometimes pregnant, often with several toddlers. They are usually the victims of domestic violence and/or sexual abuse. They and their children are constantly exposed and vulnerable to whatever viruses are in season and are faced with zero health care and extremely limited access to competent medical resources.

I read somewhere that the wealth of a country, its greatness and character, is truly measured by the manner in which its poorest, its weakest, and its disabled are treated. By this standard, a standard set by the gospel, we are one of the weakest and poorest countries in the world.

Dingman House is open for off-the-street hospitality five days a week, between noon and 7 p.m. The works of hospitality are among the most basic: toilet facilities, the luxury of a hot shower with necessary toiletries and freshly laundered towels, and a change of clothes. Sacks of food are provided from the basement food pantry on a first-come, first-served basis.

Transients use the house as a permanent mailing address. Guests have regular access to a phone to call about a job, inquire about disability benefits, or check on the status of a tardy Social Security Insurance check. Biweekly haircuts are available. Our friendly Polk County prosecutor comes to the house once a week for an hour to give legal counsel to anyone who shows.

Lunch is provided throughout the day. The main meal is served at 6 p.m. One of the most popular efforts is the Saturday morning Free Food Store, supplied with salvaged and donated produce. Fruits and vegetables are handed out to any and all from 10 a.m. until the supply is exhausted, usually by 10:20 a.m. Most of those who show up are children.

On average, between 50 and 125 people use the house on a daily basis. Most appear near the end of the month, when the last Social Security check is gone and the next has not yet arrived. Mothers come for a bag of groceries when child support checks are late or haven't even been sent. Almost all guests are on foot.

All are greeted, welcomed, and accepted as they are. Each is treated with empathy and respect. Guests fill out no forms, answer no questions, and make no explanations to any government entity. With the sole condition of respecting the rights and dignity of our other guests and community members, each can enter or leave as they please.

Just who are the Catholic Workers? Were it not for their entirely nonprofessional roles as cooks or dishwashers, house cleaners or janitors, a first-time visitor could not easily distinguish between hosts and guests. Fewer whiskers, perhaps, hair not quite so shaggy, and clothes just a little less threadbare, the Catholic Workers are the ones scurrying up and down the basement stairs, answering the phone, emptying the ashtrays, cleaning up the spills, distributing clean socks or towels, and patiently answering questions. For each of these Catholic Workers, the gospel is their life, as Jesus spoke, taught, and lived it.

Most heartening for me is the way the Des Moines Catholic Worker House is introducing the next generation to the Catholic Worker movement. High school and college students are frequent visitors to the house. They often help prepare and serve meals, clean bathrooms, take out garbage, do house and yard work, complete house renovations, and then stay to play checkers with guests or listen to their woes and sympathize with their problems.

Mass is offered at Dingman House every Friday evening. On one memorable Friday night in late November, as I looked out the window at the corner of 7th and Indiana, with freezing rain and sleet streaking down the glass, the devotional act of sharing his Body inside was simultaneously contrasted with the desperate act of a woman selling her body on the street outside, a common occurrence in this neighborhood. But it struck me that both activities, taking place just a few feet apart, seeming worlds apart, were in that instant somehow intimately intertwined.

ROBERT WRIGHT is a retired union organizer and a volunteer at the Des Moines Catholic Worker. This article is reprinted with permission from Via Pacis, the Catholic Worker newspaper of Des Moines, Iowa.