My husband Matt and I have been involved with Manna (UPC’s ministry to the poor and homeless) for 8 and 5 years, respectively. Working with this particular subset of homeless folks (those we consider “career” homeless because they have been homeless for many years, are usually addicted to drugs and/or alcohol, and have little to no desire to change their situation) is a very hard and slow-going ministry. It often seems like 1 step forward, 1 mile back. In these many years, we’ve only seen a handful of people get out of the woods, get sober, or truly receive Jesus as their Lord. Matt says that service to others, besides being required by compassion and the Law, is given to teach us indirectly the things of God, and I’ve found that to be true. I find that while I’m frustrated with the homeless sometimes, I am actually like them in many ways. Though I couldn’t think of a specific example to show this, Matt can think of many. What follows is his account, the lesson of which loudly resonates with me.

My errand that Sunday morning was to pick up a certain fellow who had requested a ride to church, but when I arrived at the appointed place and time, he was nowhere to be found. Two other homeless men whom I knew were sitting nearby, and I consulted them on the possible whereabouts of the missing would-be church-goer. Seeing that I had failed to find the one I sought, the bolder of the two asked me if I could get him some food. I agreed, and he climbed into my car.

(Background: Some weeks ago, this hungry friend had been in jail for some trifle, and when released, he came hygienic, clean-shaven, and in new clothes to our breakfast in the park on Saturday morning. He was excited to be free, and he seemed determined to change his life and to get off the street. He needed some help to contact his mother, and I agreed to take him to make the long-distance call. Just twenty minutes later, however, he had changed his mind. He’d call her next Saturday, he said, and he’d stay in a camp with some of his friends for the next few days. I urged him to continue with his previous plan, knowing that temptation would strangle his desires for change, but he had already given up. He thanked me and went to the woods. I was disappointed that I couldn’t help him more.)

En route to an establishment where he might breakfast that Sunday morning, I asked if he would like to go to church afterward, and he gladly consented. He and I talked of his spiritual state, and he confessed his neglect of spiritual things and again of his desire to change. We went to the drive-thru and ordered his meal, and as I paid at the first window, he expressed his second thoughts about going to church. He was not dressed for it, he said, but I successfully countered his argument by saying God didn’t care what he wore. As we pulled to the second window where the food was delivered, he complained of a sudden queasiness, and said he didn’t think he could make it through church. He received the food and said he’d better just get out right there. The walk back to his camp and the fresh air would do him well, he thought. He thanked me for the food and exited the car with haste.

I was aggravated to say the least. I wouldn’t have minded so much if he had said he only wanted food and not to go to church, but it appeared to me that he had used religious pretenses to get what he desired and then backed away from his commitments. He had previously asked for my help but then refused it because he was trapped by his lusts, and now he had attempted to deceive and use me in order to get what he wanted. He was weak. He was lazy. He was steeped in sin. And I despised him for his frailty.

Then, as Asaph in Psalm 73, I entered the house of God and saw the arrogance of my heart. I perceived an embarrassing similarity between these circumstances and my own walk with God, in which I am the filthy indigent ensnared in my own iniquity and God is constantly offering to free me. My aid had been spurned twice by this man, but how innumerable were the times and in what myriad ways had I attempted to use God to fill my own worldly desires? How much more was He justly offended than I could ever be? How much greater was the pain He felt at my attempted deception and my rejection of Him? But still, how much greater is His patience with my impious thoughts and behavior and how vast is the forgiveness He has made ready and how deep is the covenant love He has demonstrated by coming Himself for me - not despite my sin, but because of it. Indeed, in bringing about my redemption, He has shown what I ought to be, and He has undergone the most humbling experience of all.

Leave a Reply