It was dark and deserted in the downtown parking lot as I got out of my car. A large man, his face covered against the cold, confronted me as I stood. “Do you believe there’s a God?” he asked. Quickly assessing what might be about to happen, I said, “Yes, I do.” “Do you think God is good?” he shot back. Not knowing what else to answer, again I said, “Yes, I do.” “I hope so,” he mumbled, “because I need help. Will you help me?”
“Sorry, but I can’t,” I replied and then hurried into the building.
I didn’t enjoy the sumptuous dinner, the chilled wine, and spirited conversation of that night. My encounter left me unnerved. I had let my fear, which may have been justified, take away a bit of who I profess to be.
How risky would it have been to ask him to walk into the building with me and discuss his problem? Not likely to have been robbed, or worse, with a lot of people standing close by me. My brain was so frozen I couldn’t even ask him if he knew where the Rescue Mission was. Suppose I had gotten out my wallet to give him a few dollars and he had snatched it from me? All I would have lost was money, credit cards, and my driver’s license.
He was homeless, I suspect. I have some knowledge of people in that situation, having met and talked at length with a lot of them. Many are not mentally well; many have gotten into their lifestyle after repetitively bad choices; many are addicted to one substance or another. That being said, except for a lot of lucky breaks, I could be among that number. I know that to be true, and yet, I was too fearful to deal with his simple question, “Will you help me?”
We fear what we don’t know, a wise friend commented to me when I recounted the event. We also fear what we think we know and that can negatively influence judgment, as it did mine that night. After my meeting I went to my car wondering if he would still be there. If so, I had decided to take a different approach. He was long gone, but when I found myself relieved that the windows had not been broken and my GPS was in the car, I realized my soul was still awfully small.
Homelessness comes in many forms. Most of the street men and women with whom I have dealt have been out there for a long time. It’s not hard to look the other way or pass by on the other side.
A friend of mine tells the story of the pastor of large downtown church. In that city, there are thousands of homeless in the neighborhood of his parish. Frequently, members have to step over unconscious drunks in the parking lot. One particular Sunday, one was draped across the main entrance steps. He was dressed in the usual collection of plastic bags and rags; he had soiled himself. When the service started, the minister had not appeared. Everyone sat, becoming increasingly nervous as to where he might be. The back doors opened with a bang and down the aisle came the drunk, staggering toward the front of the church. He lurched into the pulpit and surveyed the congregation. He took off his filthy hat which had covered his face and tossed his dirty coat aside. It was the pastor. All he said was, “Well, I guess you know what I’m going to preach about this morning.”
Contrast our homeless, including my parking lot meeting, with the homeless in Haiti. The poorest nation in the western hemisphere, today many of them would consider being homeless in America a dream come true. David Brooks of The New York Times said an astounding, but true thing, in relation to Haiti. “It’s not about the earthquake. It’s about poverty.”
The San Francisco earthquake of 1989 was 7.1 on the Richter scale; the Haitian disaster was 7.0. There were 62 deaths and 12,000 left homeless in the California event. Only one structure had a catastrophic failure—the Oakland bay bridge. We know how to construct buildings so that people survive. We have the money to do it. That untold tens – maybe even hundreds – of thousands died in Haiti speaks to the level of poverty in which they have lived for generations. In California it took less than a year for things to get pretty much back to normal. In Haiti, it will never be the same. There is a way we can make it better and giving money to a recognized agency is only a place to start.
How does Haiti relate to our homeless in Roanoke? In one important way, which I hope I have learned: Don’t pass by on the other side.
By Hayden Hollingsworth [email protected]