Confronting the Needy

I once worked at a church, and sad to say, the doors were locked at all times. To enter, one must ring a bell and then someone would determine if it was safe to let the person enter. The church had been robbed many times. On this particular hot summer morning I looked through the glass door to see a dusty and bedraggled looking gentlemen. The food pantry was closed but with a sigh I opened the door anyway.

Day after day people would come to the door in need of aid—the church gave them food, not money. It was the church’s policy not to give money, or else by word of mouth they would be inundated with requests.

I offered the man a seat and walked down the hall to the food pantry. I filled a plastic bag with granola bars, Vienna sausage, crackers, peanut butter, and cookies.

The man thanked me and tears open the wrapping on a granola bar. He is either luxuriating in the cool air or waiting for the right moment to ask for money.

It’s hot out there he says and I need a shower and change of clothes. Just a minute I say and copy a page from the United Way Homeless and Hungry Help Book. He can get a shower downtown and I told him “Sorry we don’t have any clothes for you.” He asks for directions and enquires as to how far it might be to get the shower, reminding me that he’s on foot. I want to give him a couple of dollars or a bus token but what about the church policy—no money, just food.

So many people and organizations ask for money, however, when confronted with an actual flesh and blood person it’s not easy to say no. Each person has a story to tell of desperation and need—some of the stories don’t ring true but others do.

Many of the people who come to the food pantry have been doing so for years. Some of them are second and third generation recipients. Some are walking, some are in old cars, a few drive newer models. But who are we to judge—this one’s deserving, he’s on foot, that one’s not, he’s driving a newer car than mine.

Some would argue that if only these people would work harder or be more responsible, they wouldn’t need a handout. But what about the woman who cooked and cleaned for others until crippled by arthritis? What about the man who can’t work due to a brain injury? The list goes on and on, but you get my point.

Once again, I vow not to hand out money but then again I know that I won’t miss a dollar or two; it just might ease my conscience a bit to help someone who may be genuinely in need.

What is the church about if not compassion?

These are the questions I wrestle with every time I am confronted with a person who reminds me of how fortunate I am.

I no longer work at the church and so I no longer confront the needy on a regular basis, but some of the people I met still haunt me.