I had dinner with three beloved friends last night, capping off a weekend of seeing sights, eating good food, and covering miles on foot while one of my best friends was visiting. It was a bit of an expensive dinner on my volunteer budget, but well worth the time together. Walking down the street after the food was eaten, the check split, the tip calculated, we met a woman, maybe in her 50s though the low light made it hard to tell, standing outside another restaurant a few doors down.
"My name is Jackie. I'm homeless. Could you spare some money for me to get something to eat?"
I don't always know what to do with that question. I mean, at the least, I always look the asker in the eye, even if my answer is no, as it sometimes is. But could I spare some money for this woman to get something to eat? Volunteer stipend or not, of course I could. I may make little spending money, but my every need is well supplied. My friends and I looked self-consciously in the direction of each other, but did not make eye contact, directing our attention back to Ms. Jackie.
"Could I have $14 or $15? I just want to get a plate down the street at Jacob's. I just want some mac & cheese, chicken, and collard greens. It's pay by the plate, $14 or $15."
I guess I was taken aback. It was a specific request, and even though it was for less than my own meal had cost, it felt bold. I fumbled around with my words and with my hands. Was it reasonable for her to be asking this of me? Should not her request have been more modest?
Hands still fidgeting in my pockets as I decided what to do, I asked her about herself--how long she'd been on the street ("About a month. I had a place but rent went up and we got evicted."), if she'd thought about going to a shelter (she mentioned the one she had been to, one where some of my girls had stayed before coming to us, and told me that it was too dangerous; "I hear you, ma'am, and I can't blame you," was all I could say). What else to do for this sister? I'd have liked to have invited her to stay with me, but--
Always that but. But that wouldn't be fair to my roommates, but that would be against the policies of my volunteer agreement (um, ironically, the shelter where I work was started by a Catholic father who just began inviting youths without a home to live with him as they had need), but how long could she stay, but what if it was inconvenient, but what if she stole my things (--I'm especially ashamed of that thought)?
I reached into my pocket and rifled through the $5s and $1s and $10. I didn't want her to see those other bills, hoping maybe she'd be content with my half-assed generosity and thank me for giving her 1/3 of what she'd asked for, increasingly uncomfortable with my stinginess but also so maddeningly unwilling to part with that last $10. I touched her arm and handed her $5.
"You can go with me to make sure that's what I spend it on."
Dang. "No, I'm sorry Ms. Jackie, I believe you. That's not why I didn't give you $15." We just stood there awkwardly and she repeated her request, unimpressed with my pitiful excuse for generosity.
"I just want a plate. It's $14 or $15."
And it was just crazy, because I wanted to ask her whether there wasn't any other place nearby that sold food that was a little more reasonable, where $5 could get her something filling. But I told myself to shut up, being that this woman literally wanted the exact same thing that the four of us had just had for dinner: a plate of soul food, for a price not too far off from what we paid. Why, exactly, did I deserve that when she did not? Why, pray tell, was my dinner worthwhile and hers not? It's those kind of simple questions that seem obvious in theory until a woman without a place to lay her head asks you for $14 or $15 for a plate of soul food.
My friend reached into her purse and pulled out a dollar, and the other unloaded a fistful of quarters into the woman's palm, enough to reach the amount she'd asked for. More awkward standing.
"I'm so tired. I'm just so tired. I'm so tired."
She turned and began walking away.
"Pray for me."
She shuffled away. I wanted to stop her, to say, "Please, my sister, I'd be so humbled to pray for you!" I'm still sick that I didn't. Because--"What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if people claim to have faith but have no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or 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?" (James 2:14-16). I guess it felt like my prayer, offered after such a poor show of hospitality, would have been in the what-good-is-it realm. Dang.
This, I suppose, is one of the reasons I find living in a place where the groaning of creation (Romans 8:22) is audible and not drowned out by the destructive interference of the droning suburban life to be so terrible and so necessary: DO NOT FORGET that the creation is indeed groaning! DO NOT LULL yourself into a stupefied comfort in which your biggest concern is whether you can make your next credit card payment. DO NOT LIE to yourself by pretending that you and your world do not need redemption. I have a hard enough time remembering these basic things now, and so I don't dare let myself get too comfortable.
In college, I used to fast regularly, about once or twice per week, and sometimes for longer stretches. My primary reasons were 1) that regular periods of fasting were a biblically established practice followed both in the Old Testament (in rhythm with repentance and feasting) and by the early church (typically on two set days a week, Wednesdays and Fridays), and 2) that fasting was a means of humbling yourself to the point of remembering your need for God above all else. After a hiatus of many months, I've resumed the practice, adding this reason: 3) that fasting is training in discomfort, remembering that comfort is an insidious idol, and pursuing it primarily will always lead you farther from God.
There are other things I do to pursue this discomfort, working where I do being one of them. As always, there is more to say, but for the time being, I'd just really appreciate your prayers. I know I don't sleep outside, and I know I don't have to ask others for money when I want a nice dinner, but I too am tired. I've had a hard last week at work and am thankful that for the next 3 days I'll be on retreat. During the last week, I was with a resident who was scared and anxious after having been sexually assaulted, another who cut herself because there didn't seem to be any other way to express her anger, another who was hearing voices after missing her medication, and a minor who had left but whose mother was beside herself with concern for her daughter. I'd love your prayers as I ask God to renew and strengthen me, to remind me of his goodness even when I am troubled. Please also pray that I would be more generous, more wise, and more humble.
Thank you and much love.
