Dignity Outlasts Dollars

I first saw a homeless man when I was seven years old. At the intersection of Hwy 32 and Hwy 47, a man stood holding a sign that read “Hungry family. Will work for food.” As we passed him by, I wept with a broken heart. 

All of us have seen panhandlers standing at busy intersections or sitting against a vacant storefront with their cardboard signs that display messages such as “Homeless and hungry. Please help,” or “Anything helps. God bless.” The boldest beggars take it a step further and verbally ask if you can spare some change. We respond to the homeless man in different ways. Some of us react with humor, saying to one another, “If they are so broke, then how could they afford to buy the marker to write on the cardboard with?” Some of us react in fear, clutching our purses and loved ones as we quickly pass by. Some of us react in judgment because we think that they are either lazy and need to get a regular job or we automatically assume that they are scamming us. Then the really crazy among us reach into our pocket and give the money, and if we are feeling especially crazy we will stop and say hello.

I have been known to fall into the crazy category. I hardly ever carry cash or change, but in the rare occasions that I have been asked for money and had it, I have given it. Now I realize that popular opinion frowns upon such craziness and perhaps you do as well. A majority of urban ministry practitioners would agree; however, let me defend my case. The Holy Spirit has convicted my heart in such a way that if I come across someone asking for money I often choose to give it. I am not naive. I am well aware that a lot of panhandlers have addictions and/or make bad choices. The heart of my conviction is to care for the poor, which may sometimes mean giving a dollar to someone on the street. Giving is my responsibility and obedience to God. How the person spends the dollar is between them and God. They will have to answer to God about their stewardship.

In times when I did not have money with me or did not feel convicted to give monetarily, I have given snacks, bottled water, blankets and a directory of homeless services. When I feel comfortable my favorite thing to do is to sit down with them and talk to them. I have met the most fascinating people on the street. 

All this being said, please know that my purpose in writing this is not to push my convictions on you and/or toot my own horn. The reason why I am writing this is because for the past few months my response has been different. My heart has hardened against people on the street. I see different people standing at the same intersections all the time which makes me think it is a known “hot spot” in a great game of scam. I drive past the notorious crack triangle in disgust at the amount of people and trash that congregate day and night. I dislike 16^th Street Mall because I do not want to be asked for money. 

Something deeper than my physical response to panhandling has changed. I have a heart problem. I need God’s grace to increase my compassion. Regardless of whether I give out money or food, my heart is wrong to cringe and judge. I can have a loving heart without giving material things. I cannot imagine what had to happen in their lives for them to get to the point to holding up those signs. Begging is is humiliating and requires resilience against the judging eyes and “under the breath” comments of strangers

I repent. I ask God to renew the soft and compassionate heart that He gave me for the homeless. When I am tempted to look at the homeless with disdain, judgment, disgust and fear, I will look at them with compassion, grace and acceptance; for like me, they are image bearers of God, created in His likeness. They are my neighbor that I am commanded to love.

I leave you with the poem below written by an unknown homeless woman. May it inspire your eyes to see the beauty of all image bearers among us. 

Look me in the eyes at least,
When you pass me by on the street,
Whether or not you answer my plea for money:
My eyes are the poorest of me—
Require only your two cents when we meet—
And are more in dire need of these than your feet.
My poor eyes!  How they have spent the rent
Trying to buy a pleasant remembrance
To throw up on my mind’s screen when I finally tire
Of going ungreeted, unseen.
I tell you what I want—what I feel
When you shuffle by behind your paper
Trying to be discreet, sweating slightly
Under your suit collar and looking down,
Always down, as if I were your sin. . .
Be absolved of the guilt trip!  Look at me!
Make me a mint!  Shower me with riches!
Give me a long look, and drown me in it!
Dignity outlasts dollars.