It's cold tonight in Bridge City--not quite freezing, but close. The wind whips its way along the Willamette, stirring scraps of paper, dried autumn leaves, and dust in its path.
A long line forms outside the Portland Rescue Mission, a hundred or more souls looking for a warm place to sleep.
A bus parks under the Burnside Bridge and disgorges its passengers, a mob of eager youth. Tables go up, coffee comes out, clothes are placed on plastic tables, free for the taking.
A mother wanders by with her two grown children and all three dig into the piles pulling out shoes and hats and coats and blankets. They cart away a bag full of stuff--I don't see where it's stashed--and mosey back over for more.
Four or five men warm their hands around paper cups of fresh coffee. They're joined by more.
"Are the clothes free for everyone?" Sharon asks. She approaches the tables tentatively, unsure if she's allowed to touch.
"Help yourself," I say. "And have something to drink, too."
"I just need the clothes."
She does, too. Her thin jacket and jeans won't protect her from a night like this. We rummage through the gloves together and find a fingerless pair with a mitten flap that will keep her fingers warm.
"How can I pray for you?" I ask. It's been so long since I asked a stranger that question.
She doesn't even hesitate. "Strength," she says. "I'm 33 days clean and sober and I need strength."
"You've got it." I reach a hand for her shoulder, but Sharon's not shy about pulling me in for a full hug while I pray for her.
A woman wobbles up on her bike, its red strobe flashing in unison with the strobe on her dog's collar. The black pit bull waits patiently on the curb while his owner finds a sweater and a blanket. I hold the dog until his owner balances her goods on her handlebars, then she and the dog continue down the sidewalk. Some men pray over Matthew and some others, I didn't catch their names.
It's not much we offer--a small meal, warm hands, a little conversation--before we pile back into our vans and buses and head back to the comfortable suburbs. Just a blink of an eye for us, but for Sharon and the others, the cold persists, the struggle continues.
My heart grows jaded sometimes toward human suffering. I witness a drug deal and don't know what to say. My youngest child buckles her seatbelt and tells the truth, "Homeless people are nice."
They are and they aren't. Just like me.
Showing posts with label poverty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poverty. Show all posts
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Monday, February 05, 2007
He No Here to Worship
A new acquaintance met an Asian man at the back of the auditorium during church services. The man didn't speak a word of English and my friend's Cantonese was just as absent.
The man had a paper with him with the name and address of a Chinese church on it. Once my friend understood that the man had no car and that the church was a couple of miles away, he offered to drive.
Once there, this friend entered the front of the room where the Chinese church was meeting and asked for someone to help.
"I've got a man here who is looking for you. I don't know who he is or where he came from, but he had your address."
A couple of Asian men walked out with him to the hallway and talked with the lost man for maybe ten seconds before turning to my friend. This is what they told him:
"He no here to worship. He homeless." They shook their heads and turned the man away.
The story continues of how my friend got the man to someone who could understand his situation and help him, but the part of the story that stuck out to me and to the men who lived it is the words, "He no here to worship." The very people who could have helped him most turned him away before he even got in the door.
My brothers, as believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ, don't show favoritism. Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man also comes in. If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say, 'Here's a good seat for you,' but say to the poor man, 'You stand there' or 'Sit on the floor by my feet,' have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?
James 2:1-5
The man had a paper with him with the name and address of a Chinese church on it. Once my friend understood that the man had no car and that the church was a couple of miles away, he offered to drive.
Once there, this friend entered the front of the room where the Chinese church was meeting and asked for someone to help.
"I've got a man here who is looking for you. I don't know who he is or where he came from, but he had your address."
A couple of Asian men walked out with him to the hallway and talked with the lost man for maybe ten seconds before turning to my friend. This is what they told him:
"He no here to worship. He homeless." They shook their heads and turned the man away.
The story continues of how my friend got the man to someone who could understand his situation and help him, but the part of the story that stuck out to me and to the men who lived it is the words, "He no here to worship." The very people who could have helped him most turned him away before he even got in the door.
My brothers, as believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ, don't show favoritism. Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man also comes in. If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say, 'Here's a good seat for you,' but say to the poor man, 'You stand there' or 'Sit on the floor by my feet,' have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?
James 2:1-5
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