Homeless

October 15, 2017

This morning I woke up in a warm bed inside a warm bedroom. After a hot shower, I had a hot breakfast with Linda before heading to work. Since the thermometer was pegging around 45 degrees, I decided to drive the truck instead of my bike. When I arrived, people were already gathered, waiting in line for our Monday food pantry and clothing rack. Many of them are from the Puerto Rican community, and in the next few weeks, we expect many more as families arrive from the island following the hurricanes that devastated the island a few weeks ago. 

I try to make conversation with them, letting them know they aren't just numbers, trying to help them maintain what dignity they can while they are asking for help. One of them sat in the waiting area just basking in the warmth, something just an hour earlier I was taking for granted. It’s not easy for most people to ask for help. We don’t like to be dependent on others’ charity, so I try to make it a bit easier for them. I’ve taken to asking them for help. “I need to learn Spanish. Please speak to me in Spanish; just a simple sentence…SLOWLY.” They laugh and try to teach me. I forget easily, but bit by bit, I’m going to get it. And maybe along the way, they’ll get something too, from being on the giving side. It’s all about partnering together. Constantly being a recipient robs people of control and puts them in debt. Making them partners evens the playing field, maybe not much, but perhaps just enough that they will want to become partners in the great venture of following Jesus. I’m working on it; if someone even hints that they believe in God, I’m right there, asking them for help in designing a worship experience they can relate to. We have a long way to go, but we’re making a start.

Ben came into the office shortly before I was ready to leave for the day. Twenty one, tall and good-looking, he explained through tears that he was homeless, was bi-polar, and afraid that he will die when the weather turns cold. Right now, he’s squatting in someone’s barn, hiding the few possessions he has behind some boards, coming in late at night, and leaving before sunrise. He spoke of how when he was a kid, the only help he got for his condition was the drugs the doctors prescribed that left him like a zombie. He learned little, didn’t graduate, and has lost his Social Security card and birth certificate, and without a permanent address, can’t even apply for social services. 

I talked with him about Jesus’ ability to change his thinking, without which mere external help will only be temporary. He’s not ready to come to Christ, but allowed me to pray with him. What do you say to a young man who at twenty one has lost all hope? James says, “Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, "Go in peace; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?” 

Did I help, or hinder the Gospel today? We gave him some food and warm clothes, but I didn’t bring him home with me. Talking about Jesus’ love without doing something about his situation isn’t enough. I’m going to work on it tomorrow, but tonight, he’s sleeping in a cold barn somewhere outside of Dunkirk. I am thankful tonight for my warm home and bed, for a wife who loves me, children who are living responsibly, and for countless other blessings. But I know also that those blessings come with a price tag, and it’s called “responsibility.” I am my brother’s keeper, even though I often do a poor job of it. I hope tomorrow my gratitude can be turned into grace and giving in a more substantial way than I did today.