I spent about a week thinking about it, wondering what story I might tell, what I might say. And then, I wrote this...
My wife and I both are pretty busy people (as is most
everyone these days). I am an Episcopal priest and she is finishing a graduate
degree in Clinical Mental Health while also working part-time at a residential
home for adults with various challenges. So, when we do get an opportunity to
go away, just the two of us, it is always an immense gift.
This past
November was our fifth wedding anniversary. Though previous anniversaries have
always involved special trips of some sort, we felt the need to scale back this
year and so did a weekend in Grand Rapids, using some hotel points I had
accumulated through my work. We were walking around downtown Grand Rapids, in
and out of stores, generally having a lovely afternoon together in the cold,
brisk, downtown air.
As we
walked, a man was sitting near a tree on the street and he asked me if I could
spare a few dollars for a meal.
I think
every person struggles with what to do in these situations. Do you give money
if you have it? What if he spends it on something that will only hurt him
further? If I give money to everyone, wouldn’t I wind up broke? My family
pledges a percentage of our income to our church, isn’t that how we help the
poor?
For me,
since I very rarely even have cash on me, our cashless society has sort of
become my “out.” I can simply say, “I’m so sorry, I don’t have any cash or
change on me,” and then continue walking down the street, feeling slightly
guilty until something else inevitably grabs my focus.
I was not
raised to give the money away, in general, anyway. For some reason it wasn’t in
the DNA of the religious tradition I grew up in.
Several
years ago, when I was a college student pursuing my Bachelor of Science in
Biblical Studies, I spent a summer living with a couple in Canton, MI. John and
Joyce were my host family while I did a ministry internship at a congregation
in Dearborn Heights.
One night we were downtown Detroit,
getting ready to go to dinner at a restaurant near the new Tiger Stadium. We
came out of the parking garage and a woman came up to us on crutches—one of her
legs had been amputated. “Can you spare a few dollars?” she asked me, the
college student studying Bible.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said awkwardly,
as I cast a furtive glance away from her and walked on by.
But the couple I was staying with
was behind me coming out of the garage. Joyce stopped to talk to the woman,
immediately getting out her purse and fishing around to find a few dollars. She
clasped them into the woman’s hand. The woman said thank you and went on her
way. I stood there uncomfortably, watching this take place and waiting for John
and Joyce to catch up with me.
Once they did, Joyce said simply,
“Jared, you should always give money to people who ask you.” She smiled and we
went into the restaurant.
She was very kind, almost
matter-of-fact about it, but she singed my soul just a bit. She reminded me of
something Jesus said, in Matthew 5:42, “Give to everyone who begs from you.”
Seems pretty clear and
straightforward, unfortunately.
However, that was over ten years
ago and in the time in between, I would give less and less. Society (and me)
went increasingly cashless. I spent time working in Washington, DC, when I
truly was confronted by people in need over and over again. I discovered that
walking around in my clericals made me even more of an easy target.
So, eventually, I just kind of
stopped. What I do to help the poor through the church must be enough, I
rationalized to myself.
But this cold November afternoon,
walking down that street in Grand Rapids with my wife, something broke in me.
The man asked for money and I ignored him and kept walking down the sidewalk,
but only a few paces in, I was struck and could not walk any further.
I turned around and walked back to
him, reaching in my pocket for the $10 bill I knew was there from the change I
had made for parking the night before. As I approached him, I smiled and handed
him the cash.
“Thank you, sir,” he said. “Thank
you.”
I held onto his hand and looked him
in the eyes, deep in the eyes. “No,” I said, “Thank you. I want you to know
that you stopped me today because you reminded me of Christ. I saw Jesus in
you. Thank you for giving me that.” I felt a tear well up in my eyes. I brushed
it away and rejoined my wife.
“I think I want to start keeping small
amounts of cash on me,” I said to her.
A story is told about John the
Almsgiver, Patriarch of Alexandria in the early 7th century. Someone
applied for alms, but it was discovered by the office that he was applying in
deceit, that the person did not actually need the money. The administrative
official went to the patriarch and told him. John said, “Give unto him; he may
be Our Lord in disguise.”
At its base, empathy means feeling
the emotions of another, it means not letting yourself be an island, walking
through the day ignoring the hurt and fears and pain of those around you. As a
Christian, I’m grateful that our Lord gave a method to his weak and sinful
followers. If you do not yet have enough of the love of God in you to feel the
emotions of another, to love them with action, then do this: try at least to
see me in them.
And then, then, the love will
follow.
For more information on this project, you can see the Grand Haven Tribune article, David's blog post about the project, and, if you live in the Tri-Cities, you can click here for the story submission form.
