All things therefore whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do ye also unto them: for this is the law and the prophets.
Matthew 7:12
I self-identify as something of a country girl. I grew up on a river and I definitely ran around barefoot for 90% of my childhood. I didn’t grow up on a farm though. After growing up pretty much in the middle of nowhere, I am much more comfortable on a dirt road with no cell signal than I am in a busy city. It’s just not me.
You can imagine the culture shock then, when my husband and I moved to the city as newlyweds. There was on-street parking (I cannot parallel park to save my life!), all the noises of a city—the police and fire sirens (we lived one street over from the fire department), the traffic, and all the hustle and bustle. And there were the homeless people.
Growing up in a rural area, I knew a lot of people who did not have much—some hardly had anything, but everyone had some type of shelter, albeit a shack-like structure, trailer, or house. No one stood on street corners holding signs asking for money or food. No one slept on park benches. (To be fair there weren’t many parks, much less benches where I grew up.) I knew there were homeless people in the city, of course, and it’s not like I had never been to Pittsburgh before we moved there as newlyweds! Still, there is something about seeing homeless people as I drove from the city to my rural home versus seeing them day in and day out and not necessarily on the same street corner.
It bothered me. I would sit at the stop light in my car waiting for the light to change, trying to keep my eyes off the poor soul holding the sign in front of me. Should I give him some money? What if he spent it on booze or drugs? Should I give him food? Or, was he just a scammer who didn’t need food and just wanted the money?
I was contemplating this one night on my way home from work. I was stopped at the infamous light and there he was—holding a sign saying he was homeless and anything would help. Anything would help. I didn’t have any cash on me but out of the corner of my eye on the seat beside me I saw the granola bar and the untouched apple from my lunch. I told myself that he wouldn’t want it, he would think I was stupid giving him food—who did I think I was offering my leftovers like I was some generous benefactor? A still small voice seemed to whisper in my ear, “This isn’t about how much he needs it; are you willing to give it.”
I put my window down part way and offered him the granola bar and apple. He was very grateful!
I don’t know what is the right thing to do. I’m sure there isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution. I only know what I was shown that day—that a lot of times helping others is not necessarily about them. Oftentimes it is about us. How we help and treat others shows the condition of our hearts more than anything else. Jesus told us to help the least of these. And He didn’t follow it with a list of qualifiers. He didn’t say give to the poor but only if they are trying really hard and still can’t make ends meet. He didn’t say to help the poor but only if they are poor because of reasons outside of their control. He said to help them. Do we listen to this command?
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