Have you ever had one of those out of mind experiences? The kind where you are so sure of your surroundings, but then that certainty turns into a cloud of confusion? I made my way over to Stater Brothers grocery store tonight to return a redbox DVD. Nothing out of the ordinary. Sitting on the benches outside of the store was a homeless man. I have to be honest when I say I often feel very awkward and unsure of my actions when I walk by. It’s almost like this preconceived stereotype that subconsciously, I think that they think I’m looking down on them because of their circumstances (which is not the case). Due to this feeling I either find myself staring and semi smiling hoping to send an affirming message, or walking straight by making no eye contact whatsoever. It’s not because I don’t want to have an encounter with them, but because I don’t know how to act. Sad isn’t it.
I walked on by the man sitting on the bench, and just before I walked through the doors of the store he called out; “Hey!” I turned around and walked back. He thought he recognized me from somewhere, and then spent the next several minutes trying to connect the pieces from where he knew me; which turns out he got me confused for someone else. I stood there awkwardly as he was telling me about his plans to get back to Montana to get his house back, when I finally decided to sit down next to him. He went on about the things of his past; people he knew, places he lived, jobs he had, hobbies, ect. I couldn’t help but sit and think about what words of wisdom I could give this man who seemed to be “lost.” I put lost in quotations hoping that wasn’t a stereotype of some kind. I almost feel ashamed that my mind would much rather ponder about what insight I could tell him rather than just sitting and genuinely listening to what he had to say. I felt so guilty as I tried to get a word in saying: “I got to the private University over there and…” he just kept talking. “I wanted to say that I am praying for…” “have you ever heard Metallica?”…he continued. I shamefully admit I started to feel frustrated, that my grand scheme of reaching out to this man was falling through the cracks, as I couldn’t just get out what I wanted to say…
When he laughed, it pierced through my expectations. It just felt good to hear him laugh. Laughter is not biased, racist, sexist, or prejudice. It has no language barriers, cultural differences, or special requirements. It is something that EVERYONE can understand. As I sat and listened to this man soaking in self-frustration, I realized my “words of wisdom” tonight would get me NOWHERE. Have I figured out just what my purpose is or was, with that conversation, no. But maybe my purpose was not to “practice” ministry (how selfish sounds), and maybe it wasn’t to speak, or understand what he had to say. We always hear stories that start like this: “It wasn’t by accident that I went over to the man sitting on the bench…” and ending like this: “Just maybe something I said will change him forever.” But I don’t think that was the story tonight. I said earlier that I couldn’t help but think of what words of wisdom to give to the man who seemed “lost”, but maybe it wasn’t him that was lost tonight…maybe it was me.
I don’t wanna grow up memorizing “Christian sympathy lines” or using a “homeless charity calculator” comparable to the handy tip converter. I don’t wanna walk past a homeless person on a bench and not stop and listen because I’m too afraid that I don’t have the words to say or the change to spare. Why must I feel this way!? Why is it that I feel more comfortable talking to the stranger behind the counter at Starbucks, but quake in fear when I contemplate my every action walking by a homeless person? This is not a good thing. I don’t see it as some kind of blessing to have to think about this. They are just as human, and just as equal as we are; yet my mind doesn’t want to make that connection! Yes brothers and sisters I am conflicted! I am conflicted because I don’t want to think this way! I don’t want to have this seeker mentality that establishes a hierarchy of social class, because THAT’S NOT HOW JESUS DID MINISTRY! “Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the son of man has no place to lay his head.” (Matthew 8:20)
As I stood up about to leave, I shook the man’s hand and slipped him a few bucks to help him with a bus ticket. Looking back on that now, I don’t say that hoping for a few pats on the back and 5 heavenly kudos, but because I question why I did. It wasn’t like he asked for it, as a matter of fact he didn’t even hint at it, but it seemed like I somehow opened up a mental “heavenly how-to” file that told me “when in doubt…slip them a few dollars.” Please please please hear me out on this. I’m not trying to degrade giving WHATSOEVER, I’m merely questioning why it felt like such a cliché Christian thing to do, and why, in reality, I have the assets to feed this man for a week, but only reached for a few measly dollar bills to help him buy a bus ticket. I grow more frustrated as I even contemplate why I have to sit and measure for myself the appropriate levels of giving and the conditions that come with them, rather than just doing as I’m told to do; “give to him your cloak as well.” All I’m really trying to do is disconnect the how [much] (we give) from the what (we give), because Jesus didn’t put a NUMBER on giving he just said “GIVE”! “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.” (Matthew 24:40)
My purpose for going to the store tonight was to return a DVD. If anyone knows redbox, you would know it takes less than 10 seconds to return a redbox movie. I was inside the store for less than a minute. I turned around and walked back out the same door I entered, and he was gone, out of sight, as if he were never there… His absence from the bench outside of the store put an ache in my heart as I wondered how much damage I did by using my Christian cliché propaganda to “try to make an impact.” Mother Teresa once said: “Every one of them is Jesus in disguise.” I’m not saying his “disappearance” was some kind of supernatural experience, but I can just imagine Jesus watching this whole thing happening, and seeing that empty spot on the bench where I got up and continued my every-day life. I don’t want to picture the tear streaming down his face softly whispering “please don’t leave yet, he doesn’t know me!” As Francis Chan states: “How much do you have to hate someone to willingly not tell them about Christ knowing full well where they will go when they die?” Its time for a change…
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