THE HOMELESS ISSUE
...even to the least of these...
The homeless
population in my town is getting a lot of press as of late. The debate is
gathering momentum with various concerns being raised almost daily; drugs, drinking,
mental illness, hardship stories, infringement on businesses, community reactions,
City Council decisions, panhandling, sleeping in the town square, on the
sidewalks, bathing in the fountain, urine in the store doorways. It is becoming a
troubling issue for our community. But there is something greater at stake than
just a problem that needs fixing. It’s the human side of things, the practical
business of keeping citizens safe, the town welcoming, and helping those in
need.
Have you ever been homeless? Let that sink in for a moment. How would you want to be treated if you
were? Hmmm. Well? Ouch! With kindness? What
would Jesus do? That’s an easy one. We know what he would do. He would care. Jesus cared for the
hungry, poor, fishermen, lepers, unclean, cheats, adulterers, beggars, infirm,
sinners. He seemed to choose some of the most unlovely people to care about—and
he didn’t seem to like the religious all that much.
I decided to ask a
pastor, a man in his mid-seventies, his opinion about the homeless problem and the
press its receiving. He smiled, a sad sort of smile, his eyes reflecting a
deeper emotion, his tone soft. “The people of Chico should not be so arrogant. If you’ve
ever been homeless you wouldn’t be. I can’t speak to this without my bias
showing.” It was then that I remembered his story; a sixteen year old runaway
from Wisconsin thumbing his way to California's cattle country, working as a cow
hand, picking up jobs where ever, asking to sleep in the jail so he could get
warm on a cold night. One morning with only a few coins to buy a cup of joe, his insides
screaming with hunger pangs, he stepped inside a restaurant. A kind waitress took pity on him, serving him a full breakfast paid on
her tab, his eyes teared up when he had shared the story with the congregation. Later, God used a caring
man, one who commanded his respect, to demonstrate a path to God’s love.
Someone who saw his potential and was not afraid to “show up” and help a teenager who was a mess.
But it’s not that
simple is it? A few months ago I was with a group of women on a business lunch at a local establishment when the
conversation turned to the increasing numbers of homeless and displaced persons
in Chico. The
comments flew. Chico
shouldn’t put up with it. Homeless people are coming to Chico
in droves because they’ve heard Chico
welcomes them. It’s turning off newcomers to the Chico area. It’s hard on businesses, ruining
downtown. I found myself mentally evaluating their comments, checking off
most of the concerns as ‘true’ and agreeing that the City should address this
in a proactive, precise way. Yet. I was disappointed; the conversation
was incomplete. Even though I could agree with what they were saying, my feelings
did not match up with theirs. It seemed as if the homeless were being grouped as “less
than,” dismissed with some sort of callousness of attitude with no human face
on it. I didn’t feel as they did. No,
not anymore. Something had revealed my superiority-complex a few years back. In
the process, I had awakened. No longer could I easily write off the homeless “lifers” or “down-on-their-luck”
or substance “users.”
* *
*
It had been a busy
day that day when God woke me up. I was rushing to get home, my turn to host the Ladies Book Dinner. I pulled up to
the gas station. A strange man was standing by the pumping island at the only open spot, he made me
feel uneasy. Oh well, no choice. I
removed the nozzle as I furtively glanced at him. He was wearing a black trench coat and a fedora, his longish hair resting on his coat collar. His dark beard was trimmed and
neat. He was clean, the coat was clean. A black mutt sat by his side. He moved
toward me, his head bent down. “Could you spare a couple of bucks?” he whispered. I shook my head,
muttering, “No, sorry.” His eyes paused a second, looking at my eyes. Then he
stepped back but didn’t leave. It was making me nervous. I got back in my car. My
daughter asked me what he had said to me. She thought I should give him some money.
I didn’t think so, and I wasn’t going to either. I wasn’t going to contribute to
his addictions! The arguments were all there, the way I had always viewed those
begging by the side of the road or in store parking lots. People need to be responsible for
themselves. Then, another thought entered into my thinking. It began hammering
away at me, causing disquiet. If you have
done it for even one of the least of these, my brothers, you have done it unto
me. I ignored the voice as it continued on in a repetitive cycle, If you have done it for even one of the least of these. .... These
were Christ’s words. I was determined to not listen to that little voice, you have done it unto me. The
pump shut off. Time to go, finally! In my flustered state, I didn’t put the
nozzle back. I started my car and began to pull forward. “Thunk!” What was that? I looked back. The nozzle had popped out of my car and lay on the cement. The man was coming over to pick
it up, his glance met mine. How foolish I felt, my face flushed. I
drove around to the backside of the station to get on the street toward my home.
As I left, I saw the man and his dog in the crosswalk heading in the opposite direction. I
felt sickened inside. My thoughts scrambling with embarrassment and guilt. Was that a test? Was he an angel? Was that the Holy Spirit’s whisper? If so, I had failed the test miserably. I
had ignored the inner prompting because it didn’t fit with my rigid notion that
was dictating my behavior, the belief that if you help someone
like that it means you are enabling them. It was then that I knew I was wrong in my thinking. If God is prompting you to do it, do it! The
encounter cured me. I have changed my ways and am more sensitive to God’s
leading. I often pray for the homeless or panhandlers that I meet after helping them out. I will ask their first
name and tell them that I'm going to pray for them. And, I do. Sometimes I say "God bless you," hoping they will sense his care through my care.
I cannot fix the
homeless problem but I can care. I can support the various
organizations that offer a meal, shelter, treatment, counseling, spiritual guidance, or a fresh
start. I can treat the homeless with compassion for when we treat the least of
these with human dignity we have done it
for Jesus. Jesus cared, shouldn't I?
