I've always been kind of an awkward person. Like, I tell a joke and the punch line doesn't quite come out right. Or, I laugh at inappropriate times. Or, I wave at people who are not actually waving at me. Typically, if I don't come across awkwardly, it's because I'm super-censoring myself in my head...before I open my mouth. This is a skill I've come to love, but unfortunately, it is not fool-proof. For example:
I was walking in downtown Roanoke with my Mom and Dad at about 10pm-ish. We were chatting. We're always chatting. It's our thing. While passing storefronts, my Mom, a self-professed purse-connoisseur, was window-shopping for purses. I explained that the term "purse-connoisseur" was not, in my opinion, an accurate description, but instead should be traded for the "term purse-aholic". She agreed that she had too many and added that she should find a cute consignment shop to sell a few in. Well, to fairly warn you, I project all of my 7 ideas on other people now. It's not one of my finer qualities at this particular stage in my life. Typically, people entertain my slight suggestions as to what they can do with their excess stuff. My mom was gracious that night. I said, "Mom, homeless people are forever needing bags to carry their stuff in. Donations are great, but if there is no way to carry it, it's worthless." <Wait for the awkwardness...> As I stepped past the window-display that we had stopped at, in the alley by the store were three homeless men, looking at me. And, when I say looking, I mean looking. Chills ran through my whole body. I couldn't walk away because my whole world was grounded in that moment. After all of my attempts to rid myself of my middle-class attitude, I had a beautiful opportunity to rub shoulders with those who were hurting. Instead, I opened my big, fat mouth. And, to add insult to injury, one of the kind gentlemen, ever so cooly, said, "Nice Bag."
As I walked away, (after I regained feeling in my legs), I couldn't get the speaker's eyes out of my head. He didn't look angry. He wasn't hostile at all. (He probably should have been, so I watched my back all the way to the car...another detail I'm not particularly proud of.) In fact, he was kind of gentle. He just made a point. I'm still middle-class, detached from the world of poverty and need. I don't understand his needs. I don't feel his pain. And, yet, I was so bold as to speak for him. As I was walking to the car, I felt a new fear rise up in me. Jesus said, in Matthew 25:45, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me." I walked away. I stared a man Jesus loved in the face, offended him, and then walked away. I didn't apologize. I didn't ask how I could better meet his needs. I walked away, concerned that he might hurt me. Oh, the irony.
May I never become unteachable because that exchange rocked me back on my heels. "Homeless people", as I so flippantly labeled them, have a face now. And, it's a face that I may never forget. And, when there is a face to go with a label, the label gets lost and all that is left is real life with real needs and real pain.
Anyhow, I'm supposed to be resting today. So, rest, I shall, on this Sabbath.
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