A Homeless Man and Grace

I’m so thankful for the training I’ve received at my church for helping homeless people.

Like many, I see homeless people on the street corner looking for money, work, food, dog food, a ride.

I don’t feel comfortable stopping, particularly after reading the books that advise “don’t give homeless people money.”

The training I’ve had suggests homeless people are better cared for by professionals who can help the various needs, not just the presenting lack of housing.

The books aren’t being cruel, they’re just trying to point out I don’t have to save everyone I meet. I can do minor things, but the important work needs to be done by someone who is experienced in helping people in deep need–particularly if they have chosen to be there.

So, I donate to my local Redwood Gospel Mission, make dinner when my church houses the Nomadic Shelter, buy socks for outreaches, occasionally work at the church’s food bank’s children’s ministry and when the Holy Spirit moves me, I give people–usually families– money.

I was tempted to give the clever girl with a sign that said: “needed: dog food,” but I live in a dog-loving community and I figured someone else would respond.

But I’m troubled by it all the same.

Especially the man who stood in the dark rain on the median asking for help at night.

Last fall, I drove a friend to the Oakland airport, a trip that usually takes about 90 minutes.

That particular day, traffic scrambled everything and it took two and a half hours. She made her flight and I turned for home.

I stopped at the Starbucks on Hegenberger Avenue, figuring I needed a pick me up before hitting the road again.

The line, at 10 o’clock in the morning, was out the door. So I decided to visit Jamba Juice instead.

Not far from the juice stand was a bedraggled man; clean but obviously used to living on the streets.

He asked for help.

What would Jesus do?

I actually  laughed at the absurdity.

Of course I’d get hit with something like this when I’m zonkered and frustrated. Of course.

There were plenty of others he could have asked, pretty young woman, why this middle aged woman in a hurry?

Well, what would Jesus do?

He’s love him.

“If you’d like, I’m going into Jamba Juice. I’ll treat. You can have anything you want.”

His eyes lighted up. He picked up his backpack and followed me.

I opened the door for him. He looked about my age, but far more haggard and worn. (I hope).

This store was crowded, too, but I was committed.

We scrutinized the menu, side by side, but didn’t say anything.

As the line inched forward, however, I remembered my training:

“Treat homeless people as you would like to be treated. Look them in the eye. Be polite and gracious. Ask interesting questions. Don’t be afraid. Be the Gospel.”

I put cheer in my voice. “So what would you like?”

A bagel and a juice.

“What size? I’m having a medium.”

He asked for the same.

Others in line looked at us, curious.

If I’d entered with a friend, I would be chatting.

“It’s been a crazy morning on the freeway,” I said. “And now I have another couple hour’s drive home.”

He sympathized. He used to live in Sacramento.

And then, we were off in a lovely conversation.

I gave him the change from my $20 bill: “If you need something for lunch, use this.”

As we waited for the order to be filled, I told him about our weekend up in Lake County sifting ashes after the fires.

He was sympathetic to the friends who had lost a home. His brother was a firefighter, he’d heard these stories before.

I talked about the oddest thing I saw: “I was confused at first about why there were so many wires, until I remembered every electric appliance had three wires in the cord.”

This idea excited him and he explained why. After all, he was an electrician who couldn’t find work.

By the time our order was ready, we were chatting easily.

I shook his hand. He called me an angel. We went our separate ways.

I’m so glad I stopped to get something to drink and there was a long line at Starbucks.

I drove home–90 minutes–and reflected on the sweetness of my life that morning, greatly cheered myself by the kindness and grace of one man.

I’m so glad the Holy Spirit prompted me to stop and think about what Jesus would do in a situation like that.

But I’m also very thankful for Jenna, Cathleen, Matt and others at my church who have taken the time to assure us, it’s not hard to help someone in need. 

It really wasn’t.

Thanks be to God.

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It’s not hard to help a homeless man in need. Click to Tweet

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