I’m not religious and certainly not Catholic, but there was a time when Pope Francis seemed to have a bead on life’s little conundrums. A couple years ago, he solved my niggling worries about giving money to panhandlers who were clearly drug addicts or alcoholics. I’ve always given money, but I often felt conflicted about it. “Help is always right … even if [the beggar] spends it on drinking a glass of wine,” the Pope said. If “a glass of wine is the only happiness he has in life, that’s O.K.” So for the past two years, I’ve felt comfortably virtuous as I placed small bills in the hands of begging women. (I have only so much walking-around cash, and there is a limitless supply of outstretched hands in my neighborhood, so I made it a rule of thumb to give only to women, which satisfies an urge to restack the cards—this time in favor of the sex least favored in life.) I took care to look into their eyes, and to place—not drop—the bills, making sure to touch their hands, as the Pope adv...
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