My Neighbors are Homeless

And I only just noticed it

Along my drive to work, which happens to take me through a relatively rough part of town, you will see a decent number of homeless people…or not…it sort of depends on whether or not you choose to see homeless people.

We, the middle class of America, have become pretty damn good at ignoring homelessness. We say that we care, and even donate our money to organizations that try to help. But at the basic human-to-human level, we avoid eye contact with them when they are standing on the side of the road. We lie about having money in our pockets when we are approached on the sidewalk. We tell ourselves they probably deserve the lot they have in life. We convince ourselves that if they just weren’t so lazy they could just get a job and buy their own house. Even as Christians, we tell ourselves, “Yeah, yeah, Jesus helped the poor and needy, and I should definitely do something to help out too — just as soon as I get my own life in order.” Then we never really do — because we have some imaginary, non-specific, and constantly rising benchmark of wealth and stature we believe we must attain before we can realistically be of help to anyone else.

I know this, because it’s exactly how I used to think. At least until last summer, when I was leading my church small group through Romans 15. It’s one of those chapters that isn’t really up for interpretation. You don’t need to be a Biblical scholar or know the original Hebrew words to get the point. Let me give you the highlights.

Verses: 1–2: “We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves. Each of us should please our neighbors for their good, to build them up.”

Verse 7: “Accept one another then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God.”

How could I possibly lead a small group through this chapter and continue to think this way about the homeless? I suddenly saw these people with new eyes. For starters, I actually saw them as people — as “neighbors.” I saw them the way Christ sees me — broken, weak, and in need of “building up.” It no longer mattered to me what their “failings” were that brought them to their current situation. I was strong and they were weak (relatively speaking) and I had to accept them…and not to please myself or earn some kind of heaven points…but to please them, to build them up, and to bring praise to God. Period.

So where was I supposed to start? Homelessness is such a big animal. What could I actually do? From the start, I was overwhelmed by the weight of it all. There are already so many organizations dedicated to this cause — the Rescue Mission, United Way, 2nd Harvest, etc. And they do a really good job at it. Should I just volunteer my time and work with them? Maybe. But that didn’t seem to be where God was calling me.

I kept hearing the words, “Pull over,” in the back of my mind. So I did. On my way to Lowes one morning, I decided I would just get a few Egg McMuffins and Coffees to-go and see if anyone would have breakfast with me. Turns out, this is easiest icebreaker ever when trying to start a conversation with a homeless person who has been ignored for hours on the side of the road.

The first person I met was an older woman named Lula. She is a sweet lady that’s been living in the back of her van for the last 2 years. She was injured in a factory accident several years ago and has a host of other health problems. Lula lost her house after her husband passed away and she was unable to work because of her own health problems. When I asked if she wanted to step into the shade to get some relief from the summer sun, she mentioned she was without an umbrella because she recently gave it to another homeless man that didn’t have the luxury of a van to take shelter in. So I gave her a big golf umbrella that’s been in the back of my car and unused for months. From the sheer joy and appreciation she expressed through a mostly toothless smile, you would have thought I had just given her a million dollars. We ended our first visit together with a short prayer and a hug. She called me “a blessing.”

A couple weeks later on my way to work, I saw her at her usual corner, so I stopped to say hello. It was mid-July and nearly 100 degrees outside and I recalled her mentioning that her van’s A/C wasn’t really working. I thought maybe she just needed a coolant recharge so I offered to take care of that for her. She hesitantly accepted, and we drove to a local auto repair shop. Well, I never made it to work that day — fortunately it was a slow week. The air conditioning problem was a bit more complex to fix than I had hoped, but the result was that we ended up spending about 7 hours, and two meals together. We shared our hearts with each other — stories about family, children, life, and death. Her story is a very sad one, involving a great deal of abuse as a child.

To this day, I consider Lula a friend. I stop in and see her when I can. She always greets me with a big smile and a hug. For the record, to this day, she has never actually asked me for anything, but she is grateful for everything. Especially her favorite…a warm meatball sub.

Over the last 6 months or so, I’ve gotten to know several homeless people along that drive to work. James, an old Army veteran, and the most grateful recipient of a bottled water ever. Jennifer, who was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer last year and could not have her contract renewed at her temp job with Nissan because she was missing so much work for chemotherapy. Now without a job or healthcare, she sells Contributor newspapers on a street corner and lives in her car. She is waiting patiently for her disability claim to be processed so she can resume treatment. Meanwhile, she has to endure the weather and the occasional heartless shout from a passing car window, admonishing her to “Get a job you lazy bum!” The stories are endless and a sad reminder of the broken world Christ came to save us from.

Before you start thinking too highly of me, allow me to illustrate the depth of my own brokenness by sharing with you what might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever said in my life. One morning, a few weeks ago, I was headed to work on a Saturday. I saw Jennifer and pulled over to get her the usual — a yogurt parfait and a coffee with cream. After chatting casually over breakfast for a few minutes in the Lowes parking lot, I looked at my watch and realized I needed to go. Instinctively and without thinking I grumbled, “Well, I’d better get going … I wish I didn’t have to work on a Saturday.” That’s right. I actually just complained to a homeless, jobless, and insurance-less person with breast cancer about going to my job that pays me a lot of money, feeds my family, and provides us excellent health care. I’m such an asshole. She graciously tossed me a life preserver, saving me from drowning in my own deep abyss of stupidity by smiling and agreeing, “Yeah, I wish I didn’t have to stand out here in the cold selling newspapers either.” God… forgive me… please.

I thank God daily for the example He gave us in Christ. I also pray for forgiveness for arrogantly thinking I’m somehow different from these people that I’ve avoided eye contact with for so many years. I don’t have any delusions about fixing all their problems or ending poverty. But I do believe it makes a difference to remind people that they are human, they are noticed, and they are loved. A warm biscuit and a hot cup of coffee probably doesn’t hurt either.