Yesterday I was in downtown working on a project for a class. As I walked down the sidewalk, almost empty because of Memorial Day, a man approached me. He was tall and thin, with dirty clothes, heavy eyes, and several days' worth of stubble. "'Scuse me, c-can you spare- spare-" He didn't seem able to get the words out, but the few coins in his hand spoke for him. Knowing that I had no coins or bills on me, I kept walking, only turning slightly to say behind me, "Hey man, sorry, I got nothing."
I should probably mention at this point that I was clean-shaven (well, as much as I ever am), wearing some pretty nice, clean clothes, and staring at my iPhone for directions as I walked. "I got nothing?" Bull. I don't know the meaning of nothing, and yet, here I was telling this man who had all of fifty cents to his name that I had nothing. It was a privileged and audacious sentiment, and he knew it. As I moved down the sidewalk, his yellowed eyes bored into me, as if to say, "You liar."
It's true that I had nothing to offer him in the sense that he was asking for. However, I can't help but think that I failed him in that moment. Some people call being a straight, white, American male the "easy mode of life," and yesterday, I lived up to that statement. It would have been one thing - although still not ideal - to say truthfully that I had no money or food to give him, but to claim that I knew what nothing was to the face of a man who knew nothing but nothing was almost cruel.
When faced with people in poverty, I tend to either ignore the problem entirely (have you ever avoided eye contact with the homeless man at the stoplight?), or pretend to engage it while still maintaining my distance (like I did here). I can honestly say, though I am ashamed to, that I have no skills in this area, and I am simultaneously jealous of and in awe of those around me who effortlessly look past poverty and see people. I try, but I fail as often as I succeed. If I had to give this aversion and failure a name, I'd have to call it fear. Fear of the other, or maybe just fear of letting go. Of engaging. I know that I am not alone in this - far from it, in fact - but I also know that's no excuse.
Bottom line: Aren't I called to love my neighbors? So where was that love yesterday?
Food for thought.
Sam
