“Wait! Order me a $1.29 burger!” she demands as she rushes up to my car window from unseen parts of the parking lot. She is wearing a knit cap shorts and a tee shirt. Appearing fairly clean and healthy she stands out of view of the drive-up window camera but close enough that moving my car forward requires attention to her position. “I am not asking for money” she pipes in when I don’t acquiesce to her demand to order her a burger.
“I can’t help you” I reply resolutely.
“But I am not asking for money” comes the repeated justification. Believing that I must recognize her as an addict looking for cash, my denial is an affront to her. The expression changes from one of confident boldness to a menacing hostility. Feeling glad to be in the truck with electric windows and air conditioning, I roll up the window and move up toward the pick-up window. The lack of any other cars in the drive-up window line or even in the parking lot, suggest desperate pressure on the sole prey that I had been.
Had she merely asked for some spare change I might have been more receptive to the plea. The tactic, that she was asking me for food not for money, disregarding the cost of the food, was not one that went over well. I would say she was a bit too desperate and over played her hand.
I admit I am not the most generous person with street beggars. Outside the grocery store where there are a lot of shoppers coming and going the pickings are more abundant. I will give spare change. Depending on the look and feel from the person with their hand out I have parted with paper money on occasion.
My husband is much more generous and sympathetic with street people. He relates to them as Jesus would, as an equal. He first engages them in conversation. He will even offer unsolicited assistance if he sees a need. Had he been in the car with me last night at the drive up window he would have tried to make her smile or even laugh first and then drawn her into conversation extracting her story from her. Oblivious to the time required for this, my dearest better half would then decide whether buying the burger was what he wanted to do or if buying a full meal would be the ticket.
My husband is much more generous and sympathetic with street people. He relates to them as Jesus would, as an equal. He first engages them in conversation. He will even offer unsolicited assistance if he sees a need. Had he been in the car with me last night at the drive up window he would have tried to make her smile or even laugh first and then drawn her into conversation extracting her story from her. Oblivious to the time required for this, my dearest better half would then decide whether buying the burger was what he wanted to do or if buying a full meal would be the ticket.
I feel more inclined to help the less desperate. I think I am not alone in this. It is a curious thing. Those in greatest need meet with the greatest resistance. I have a myriad of reasons for my lack of compassion and my supreme self-righteousness. Excuses for my hardened heart is all they are. Availing my abundance to people far away in parts of the world that I have never seen is much easier . The starving children in war torn countries prostituted in the media pull at my heart strings. I feel guilty for their plight as I see the terror inflicted upon them.
The situation here in my home town is no less tragic. I saw the desperation in her eyes last night. She is not alone in this city. I felt her pain and wanted her to go away. There are hundreds, probably thousands of others like her close by. Poor choices on her part? Hard work on my part? Deserving and undeserving? Sinners and saints?
I separate myself making myself believe that I am different than “them”. The question is am I so different that I would starve rather than beg? Would I be willing to beg for my children or grandchildren? I would likely work up a touching commentary to generate hand outs. So the difference is merely in tactics?
Do I trust that my heart will be touched by those that I am intended to connect with? Or should I respond to each request with an open hand? Just say NO!? Give money to alcoholics and drug addicts? Tough love?
Compassion is from the Latin word meaning co-suffering. Feeling the suffering of another, moves me to attempt to alleviate that suffering. Compassion as a virtue does not require the alleviation of the suffering. Compassion requires a willingness to share the burden of suffering. Now that is a different story. Interesting what I learn when I read the dictionary and learn what the words I use freely really mean.
I don’t want to see the suffering let alone share in it. Throwing money at the suffering is the American way. I call it compassion, but the truth is, it is a lack of compassion. Make it go away is what I really want. I separate myself from the suffering that is around me so as not to feel or share in it. Perhaps if I am willing to sit with the suffering and share in it with true compassion, then I will hear more clearly what if any response is required of me.
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