Tonight we had a lovely women's night with ladies from my church- a place of new beginnings. I am excited for all that will be birthed out of this new place of connecting and reconnecting. I haven't been a part of a church for a while as the most recent community I had been a part of ended up being a very painful experience to all involved. To new beginnings!
The theme of our night centered around an act of service to the communities in which we each live. Everyone brought something: deodorants, toothbrushes, granola bars, waters, socks, scarves, underwear, etc. And we packed little care packages to share with the people we encounter in need on the street. This was a super fun activity and terrific way to connect with one another and provide avenues to connect in our respective communities where we live or work or study.
Some of the conversations surrounding the night I found fascinating. It opened my eyes to the cultures in whose midst I stood. Not bad. Just different. And always good. I heard twangs of apprehension and stretching into a new arena for some. From others I heard of the years or traditions families have made around serving the least of these. In whatever arena I find myself, I always feel bicultural- like I live in the realm of the both/ and.
Both of my parents work in some ways directly or indirectly with those in the system or off grid. Single teen moms on welfare to the train hopping travelers. Through them I've had an indirect access to the other worlds surrounding us. Though I don't know the depths of the struggle of true homelessness (I've had very limited couch hoping experiences during in between seasons with foreseeable reprieve) some people very dear to me have experienced the depths of the struggle encountered in homelessness. Through my parents, I've had more prominent connections with some people, and almost regard each other as long lost friends when we each inquire about one another through one of my parents. Others have been very formative in my thinking (and style!) even in such a brief encounters as giving someone a ride who got separated from their traveling crew. And. At the same time, as my parents are more aware of the interworkings of these cultures- I've been kept at a safe distance. Sheltered. Yet Not. Sheltered enough to be safe, yet not sheltered enough to be kept away from these worlds. Instead I've been given the opportunity and freedom to embrace and build friendships. A sort of urban biculturalism.So that's the set up. And here are the thoughts...
When encountering pan-handlers a common phrase I hear (and one that has been the guiding of my own actions in some situations) is, "I don't give money, because I don't know what they're going to spend it on..." Totally valid. We invest our money where we want to see something in return. We desire for there to be a fruitful return, whether to us or to the person we give to. But this draws out a bunch of questions for me...
Okay so if that's our stance then, the products we buy, the companies we are supporting- are we too taking into account where they spend their money whether to line the pockets of the CEOs to spend simply on more expensive booze or vices? Are we gaging whether where we buy our clothes or foods to ensure there is a benefit to all to give back to it's people who've developed, manufactured, produced, and advertised their product. Or do we look at where we are spending our money? On necessity? On pleasure? On self medication? On other investments that bring forth life?
It may not be the typical 9-5 but can we regarded pan-handlers as business men. Working shifts to earn their living to cover their necessities, pleasures, self-medications, and investments. I guess the point to my questions. Whether on the street corner or in the skyscraper aren't we all the same? And if we are concerned with peoples vices, are we offering another way? Are we willing to step into the unknown depths of peoples souls and partnering with them in it. Expectancy of hope and healing and new life.
And the withholding of our money is this a posture of our hearts? Withholding the offering of ourselves in our time? Maybe it's not. I know there is a practicality to budgeting what and where and how we give in order to be good stewards of what we are entrusted with whether it be time or finances.
A face comes to mind. She asked me for money, I asked her what for? A beer, she bluntly responded. I ended up walking into the local convenience store and getting her favorite. I want to say that as we sat on the curb a remarkable life changing experience happened. Maybe it did, and maybe it didn't. I don't know. I don't know the effects that this singular moment held. I know that we continued to waive in the crossing of our paths.
But then what if I give someone the money they need to OD?
It's a risk.
But I can't help but always think of the potential for good that each heart holds. And as I give, I trust the motive of my heart, and the bigness of God to shape and move and mold both where my hand is set out to give, and the hearts of those that receive.
A song by Jenny and Tyler comes to mind as I write:
