The Measure of A Man

I was on the 1 tonight, minding my own business, reading a book, excited to be able to climb into my big, comfy bed very soon. We come to a stop, the doors open with their familiar "ding-dong" and I am suddenly bowled over by an all-encompassing malodorous nostril assault. A hunched over, barely moving homeless man climbs aboard, and his presence has the effect of clearing out the train. People start covering their noses, walking away from him, going through the doors to the next train car, seemingly doing anything to get away from the smell. He was wearing probably every article of clothing that he owned; his jeans were caked with dirt, his shoes were full of holes and ratty. He had on four coats, a few button down shirts, and a hat. He stood for awhile, and then sat. The people next to him said, "Damn!" and practically ran away. Not that I blamed them. It was overpowering, that smell. I was sitting right across from him, but I could not move. I was physically unable. My eyes were tearing, but initially, it was from the smell. Then I looked at him sitting there, alone, his presence repelling everyone around him, and my heart couldn't take it. When was the last time he had been hugged? When was the last time anyone had looked in his eyes to say that they loved him, or that he did a good job, or that he was a treasured friend? When was the last time he had enjoyed the comfort of cozy bed, as I was about to? I sat there, just looking at him, almost weeping. I have no idea why he affected me so very strongly; I am ashamed to admit it, but I have felt recently almost inured to the homeless, I have seen so many on a daily basis. But I felt like God pointed this one out to me, and said to my heart, "Look at this man. I know his name, and I love him." And my heart filled with grief for what he must have experienced thus far, whether or not the consequences of his choices or simply what life had done to him. 116th stop came, and the doors opened. The man creakily got to his feet, moving as fast as he could toward the doors. His fast was very slow, and he almost didn't make it off of the train. The doors closed, and he was gone. But his scent lingered. What must it be like to know that wherever you go, people go in the opposite direction? How that must pierce his heart. I wanted to go up to him, wrap my arms around him, and say, "Sir, here is a clean pair of clothes, soap, a shower, an apartment, a job, mental health services, money for food, a transportation pass, and a girlfriend. Go, and be well." But I just sat there.
I wanted to do something, and felt paralyzed with indecision. What could I do? Should I have hugged him? I don't know. Should I have at least gone over and talked to him, to see how he was doing today? Probably. All I know is that there are millions like him in this city, and I so wish that something could be done to help. A lot of people say, "Oh, they've chosen it." I'm sure in some cases, that's true. And a lot of homeless deal with some pretty serious mental health issues, as well. But there has to be something that can be done to better the lives of these people. There just has to.
I was angry at myself for letting him get off without even reaching out to him; I still feel I should have done something. All I can do now is pray, which is probably the best thing anyway. God sees exactly where he is right now, and can speak to his heart words of comfort and strength, and hopefully, someday, this man will get the help he needs to make some steps forward.