What I don't know

I don't know what it is like to not have a home. I don't know what it is like to have AIDS and be hungry and sleeping on the street, and looked at as less than human for this. I don't know what it is like to feel useless and hopeless, seeing day turn into night and back into day again, and on, and on, and on, with no change. I live by a homeless shelter, a shelter for @ 300 men, many with mental problems. I walk by this probably three or four times a day, depending on where I am going. There are always a few guys loitering around outside of it; playing music, oogling the girls walking by, smoking. And it is always a toss up whether or not I look one in the eyes when I pass him. If I don't, and he says hi, I feel rude. If I do, then he'll definitely say hi and usually other things too. I've always felt perfectly safe; Columbia does a great job of having police around all of the time, so I am never left feeling vulnerable. But even the fact that I could potentially feel vulnerable and unsafe around these men disturbs me. Why? Why do I feel like this? What if they were a bunch of polished guys wearing business suits, smoking cigars, and talking about stocks? Same people, just looking differently. And I realized how much appearance makes a difference, and how quickly I can judge someone, simply by looking at him. Partially, this is a good thing, I think. One needs to be wise, and experience has shown that bad things can come of being too naive. On the other hand, this a bad thing. It is because I have pigeon-holed a whole group of men, whom I don't know personally, into a stereotypic category, and relate to them as such. Every time I go into Starbucks, there is one homeless man on the street asking someone to buy him a cup of coffee. I should buy him one each time, but I don't. There is another, with two lazy eyes, who always walks back and forth with his headphones on. This morning, when I passed him, I smiled at him and continued on. Later, when I left Starbs to go to the subway, he shouted from two blocks away, "Hey blondie, have a nice day!" I didn't even realize who it was at first. It made me think, you know, so many people walk by these men each day; us students who are so privileged to be here, getting this incredible education. How many of us stop to say hi, to show them dignity and respect, to treat them as human beings rather than invisible, as worthless? How incredibly hard it must be for them, especially as men, to not have a job, not really have anything to do or anywhere to go, to beg for their food, etc. and be at the mercy of the general populace? What unbelievable humiliation. Pride smashed to the ground. And what depression that must foster. Now, someone might say to me, "Stef, you are being too naive. It's all well and good to want to do something, but they got themselves into this position. Plus, if you give them money, they'll just use it to buy drugs. Jesus says to be as wise as serpents." Yes, valid argument, but Jesus also said to be as gentle as doves. Everything inside of me screams as I look around and see this crazy world with so many mixed up ideas, so many many injustices, and so much fear, hatred, depression, and hopelessness. If my two dollars can give a person hope that someone cares for them, someone sees them as a person, as a unique, beautiful, creation that belongs to God and who was created for a purpose, I don't care what he spends it on. I was that homeless person before Jesus saved me. I needed Someone to reach out a hand and pull me up because I couldn't do it. And I take His love and squander it, even now, even still, after all He's done. Who's the bigger fool? The homeless person who buys drugs that will make him happy for a little bit but only leave him emptier than before, or me, who knows what true love and acceptance and life is, and who doesn't extend that to others? Or who throws it back in God's face with my bad attitudes or selfishness or unforgiveness? Easy answer. But this isn't about me. It just hit me so firmly this morning, sitting in Starbs, drinking my green tea. There were two sparrows outside of the window, picking at someone's puke from the night before. Sparrows always always make me think of when Jesus said that He knows when a sparrow falls to the ground, and how much more precious are we than sparrows? He knows the names, the stories, the disappointments, the joys of each life here on earth. He knows the hungers and the sorrows of us all. I am crying in my heart when I write this; I wish that I could help them. I wish that those homeless men could know the love I've been blessed to know my entire life. I wish that they could know that their lives have purpose and worth, not dependent on what they do, but simply because they are them, they are alive, they are human.