THE SOLOIST

I just watched a movie called "The Soloist" about a gifted cello player (Jamie Foxx) who goes from attending Juilliard to living on the streets of Los Angeles. An L.A. Times staff writer (Robert Downey, Jr.) discovers him playing a two-stringed violin on a street corner. The movie explores their relationship and particularly, the relationship between mental illness (in this case, schizophrenia) and homelessness.

It's easy to make judgments about people who live on the streets, wondering where their families are, why they aren't caring for them. But it's not that easy. My friend's brother, also a gifted string player, has schizophrenia. He also has a strong family support system. But with mental illness, that doesn't always seem to make much difference. Maybe it does -- I believe it does -- but it's not always readily apparent in the lives of those who suffer from such illness. In the movie, the writer effects a reunion between the homeless cellist and his perfectly functional sister, who had no idea where her brother was. It's unutterably sad to me to hear of families separated by such circumstances.

As you know, many homeless people suffer from some sort of mental illness. I don't have any answers to such a complex problem. I don't know how you make someone take the medication that can make them "better". I don't know that anyone even has the right to make such a decision for another person. My friend's brother maintains that the prescribed meds make him feel like he loses his creativity, the very core of who he is. Would you be willing to sacrifice your Self to be "normal"? What is "normal" anyway? And is it really better?

I went to McDonalds one day a while ago and two homeless men were sitting outside, so I said "Hello, gentlemen" as I opened the door to go inside. When I came out, I heard one of them say to the other, "There's the lady that called us 'gentlemen'." Like it was some big deal. Like no one ever saw them as such. I smiled and said, "Well, aren't you?" When they asked me for money, I only had a $20 bill, so I made them promise to share it between them, to take care of each other.

I don't know what else to do, except do our best to take care of each other. And to recognize in every single person we meet a child of God, just like ourselves. We are all family. We need to take care of each other, to simply care, to look beyond our prejudices and see each other, see the light of God in everyone, murky as it may appear sometimes. I'm murky, too. I don't have many answers. But I can care. You can care. We can take care of each other.