The Bank & the Beggar

I am not sure when we first noticed the beggar man.

I feel funny calling him that, but those two words describe his condition. He was a man and he was begging. Not, as far as we could tell, from everyone. Specifically from us because as it turns out, he was hungry. Or at least thirsty. Maybe both.

But let me back up to our reason for being there in the first place. ("We" being my missionary colleague Jenn, our Chilean friend and pregnancy center volunteer Catalina, and me.) With baited breath and burgeoning blood pressure, for what felt like the millionth time we'd entered the bank responsible for FLORECE's account to provide what felt like the billionth piece of paperwork. For two years we had been blocked from accessing the account and shuffled from one account manager to another, each less helpful than the one before. We knew for a fact that the current manager had no desire to see us, as she'd expressly directed us to a different floor and set of customer service windows this time.

Though there was a moment where it felt like once again all would be in vain, by God's grace and to His glory we paraded out of there with promised access at last! It felt surreal and worth celebrating! The bank sits on the central plaza of our city, with multiple mom-and-pop places offering cheap breakfast and lunch meal options. A one-price "menu" typically includes both drink and fare, and in this case we opted for scrambled eggs, fresh bread and hot tea. What it lacked in anything resembling fanciness, it made up by being budget friendly! At least for us but not, as we soon learned, for our world-weary friend.

I can't remember if he first requested money, which is typically the case. It's not our practice to give it, however, in light of the rampant abuse of substances in our city. So he asked for our leftover tea. Leftover as in already half drunk, with our germs, but he didn't care. We had no real reason on our end to refuse his request, except there was no disposable cup to give him. "That's okay," he assured us and without further ado, walked over to the nearest public garbage can and withdrew a used paper coffee cup still containing a little liquid. He added our leftover tea to the coffee dregs and gratefully sipped it.

To be honest, it was disgusting. And distressing. And convicting. 

In a nutshell, it was a wordless depiction of the dichotomy we witness almost daily where we serve. We're in close proximity at every stoplight where weary parents peddle candy while dusty children sit dangerously close to the curb, or anxious young men vie for coins to wash our windshield. It's in clear view from our front windows at FLORECE where the two guys across the street shake out dirty sleeping bags on the sidewalk once more, stagger by hung over, or do their drugs in plain sight on a Sunday morning. It's at our elbows in situations like this one where we're comfortably spending our money and filling our bellies only to turn around and gaze into a hungry man's eyes.

We are rejoicing in answered prayers and God's provision. They are barely surviving on society's leftovers and lukewarm mercy. Many are reaping consequences of personal choices. We're conscious of unmerited grace. We're frustrated by unfair bureaucracy but fully financed when we need it. They're wondering about their next meal and safe shelter. We question our responsibility in the face of it all.

"The Bank & the Beggar" isn't my greatest blog title. But it reminds me of that day and those feelings and my need to constantly seek God's wisdom, compassion and plan. Whether in moments of celebration with friends or sudden, uncomfortable exchanges with strangers. WWJD ... What Would Jesus Do? That's the most important question I need to answer, and obey.