I lived in Newark long enough to become jaded about the homeless. It started out the first week I lived there when a woman came up to me asking for money. I found a few dollars in my wallet and handed them to her. At that point, it had not yet occurred to me that there were many homeless people in Newark, New Jersey. I said something, in passing, to another law student in the building. Only he was a second year student; he'd been around the block a few times, so he had something to say about it.
"Look," he told me, "you'll be giving away all your money if you do that. There are so many homeless people in Newark that you can't just hand out the money every time someone asks." He was right. Of course, I couldn't give money to every person who came along. There were a lot of people who came a long, let me tell you.
And you start to see the same folks...over and over.
Take, for example, the woman I saw at least once a month while I walked to church. She always had her crutches and she always had her leg wrapped up in ace bandages. All three years that I lived in Newark, I saw this lady in the same condition. I don't know of any leg injury that takes three years to heal.
The woman who had asked me for money that first week, the one whom I had given a few dollars two, well she showed up every few months, wandering the blocks around the Prudential building, looking for folks to give her a handout. She asked me for money on at least two occasions.
There was the woman missing the lower half of her legs, who sat in her wheel chair at various locations near the Prudential Center, probably hoping that nice folks attending games or concerts would help her out. There was the man who raved a little to loudly in the entry to the train station. I once saw him take his pants down. Thank heavens he had on a pair of athletic shorts.
I was asked for money or food by all types, too. There were, of course, the more obviously homeless. But once, a woman asked me to take her to McDonald's. She was wearing several nice rings and a leather jacket. She was clean and well kept, and I told her no. It actually surprised me that she asked for food, and maybe I should have done it. I don't know. Then there was the man who told me the same story your hear all the time near the train station. "My [insert some important relative here...mom, grandma, cousin, Uncle Joe] is dying and I need to go see him. Could I have money for a train ticket?" I was coming home from church, and perhaps that explains my more benevolent mood. I pulled out my wallet and handed him a dollar. And he said, "That's all?"
That's all???!!! My look was more than incredulous. I almost wanted to snatch it back from him, and tell him that I didn't buy his story, no not one little tiny bit, thank you very much, and I'll take my money back and you can go hang for all I care. And then he quickly corrected himself, stammered out an apology and thanked me for the money. I rolled my eyes and kept walking.
Once a friend told me that she was coming home from school when she saw someone with a "Hungry. Need food." sign. So she pulled her sandwich from her lunch bag, a sandwich she hadn't touched, mind you, and handed it to the woman. She said, "Oh, I don't want that. I want money." My friend sighed and walked away.
All I am saying is that you get jaded, right? And you realize that when every bit of money to your name isn't really your money at all but that it all has to be paid back, with interest, you have to be careful. And then you see this wide-spread, chronic problem and you forget the humanity behind the person who is asking for your help. Yes, even the man who says, "That's all?" He's human, and you know it, but you sort of turn a blind eye, ignoring it like it isn't there, even when someone walks right by you and asks you for money. You just keep walking and somehow act like you didn't even hear the person.
But today that all sort of changed. I drove into the Walmart parking lot to get a few items when I saw a man standing right next to the parking lot exit. I thought something about how that was too bad and about the cold temperature. I parked the truck, and I didn't think about it any more. I had stuff to do, I guess. Then I was pulling out, and I saw him again, right there next to the exit, just where he had been before.
And the Spirit said to me, give that man a few dollars.
Now, I don't have a job. I have very little loan money left, and I've just started the process to drain my last retirement account. But I felt like I should do it, so I reached over to my purse and pulled out a few dollars, and I motioned the man to come over. I rolled down the window, smiled, and handed him the money. He smiled and said, "God bless you."
"God bless you," I said in return. You know when you mean something. You mean it deep down in the very depths of your heart. I cannot remember the last time I said something that I meant the way I meant that "God bless you." We made eye contact, and for a brief moment, I could see just a man in need. I didn't see a stranger begging. I saw someone who was alone, and obviously, something had driven him to desperation. Desperation enough that he was standing by himself, on a cold day in November, asking for some help.
Tears filled my eyes as I drove away. And I felt a voice say to me, "I love that man. He is my child." I kept driving, tears flowing as I thought of how much God loved him. Then I heard, "I have not forgotten him, and I have not forgotten you."
Yes, I know. I don't have much money. However, who is to say that I couldn't become like that man? There but for the Grace of God go I. I mean, I have a family and friends who take care of me. I wouldn't be homeless because my parents and siblings wouldn't stand for it. I know that I have someone and somewhere to go to when I need help. And of course, I wondered where that man's family was? Did he have one? Could they or would they help?
Oh how easy it is for us to forget that those people who are down trodden and in need are God's children, His lost and needy children. And what did Christ ask of me? Christ asked me love Him enough to see those who have less than me and to show compassion and most especially to open my eyes to see, really see them. I swear to you that when we made eye contact and shared our "God bless yous" that I felt Christ with me and in that poor man. I saw his humanity.
I guess it really comes down to this. Am I my brother's keeper? Why, yes. Yes I am. And I am grateful to be called such. It is a blessing and a privilege. Yes, I am my brother's keeper.
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