The First Meal

“What am I doing here? You don’t belong here!” The pessimistic side of my brain was begging for me to go home and forget this whole thing. “Just remember, the first time is always the hardest” whispers the other, more optimistic side of my brain. I continue walking through the park looking both left and right. There were groups of people I could only assume were homeless. But they were together, I was looking for someone alone.

                My uncomfortableness meter was shooting through the roof. I reach the other side of the park and pretend to read a sign. I could always just go back home. It was not like I was fully committed to doing this. I inwardly battle for a moment, sure people were wondering what the redheaded fool was doing with 2 Subways sandwich bags staring at a sign.

                With a sudden push of will I turn away from the sign. There! Sitting alone was a Hispanic looking man with a large coat and tough work boots. I walk over and sit down on the opposite side of the bench. “Hey” I say. “Hello” he responds.

                So, how am I supposed to do this? Am I just supposed to ask if he is homeless? Is that too blunt? Is that a suicidal question from a political correctness standpoint?

                “Wanna sandwich?” I ask, holding out one of the bags.

                “Sure” he replies taking the sandwich.

                “What’s your name?” I ask.

                “Jose” he replies, and I shake his hand. “Are you with the church?” he asks. That question catches me off guard. Was I with the church? I certainly go to church. This draws me back to my motivations for coming. I am tired of sitting on my butt. I’m tired of reading books about people who do real things, who seek out those to help. I’m tired of waiting and ready for doing.

                “I go to church but I’m not with any particular church.” I reply. “I’m trying to learn how to help people, how to love them better.” He seems to take that as completely normal.

                Well that wasn’t so bad. I look down as I unwrap the 6 inch meatball marinera. I had just come from a meeting with a potential developer for my business. I hadn’t eaten anything but an apple and two Ruby Tuesday biscuits.

                “Spare a sandwich?” I hear from my left in recognizable but slow english.

                I turn to see another man sitting on a park bench looking over at my meal.

                “Sure” I reply standing. Jose stands up next to me and motions for me to sit down as he will give up his sandwich. I refuse and make sure he knows I am fine giving up mine. We both move toward the 2^nd man but I move faster handing him my sandwich. Jose offers his to a third man, sitting on the same bench who takes it hesitantly. Jose returns to his original seat.

                “Thanks for the sandwich.” The man says. His voice is slurred, but I am not sure if it is due to the cold, some recent alcohol consumption, or merely his old age.

                “No problem, God bless.” I say and return to my original seat next to Jose.

                He smiles at me as I sit down. I feel like that is an opening so I ask him some questions. I ask him what he thinks causes homelessness. He responds talking about lack of jobs, which is understandable considering the economy. He also says that alcohol and drugs have a huge effect on it as well. I ask him what his story is, and he proceeds to tell me how he used to have two dishwashing jobs and was able to pay for everything he needed. Now he only has one job and sleeps in a little studio apartment, saying it is super small but still allows for taking a shower. He says he still goes to the catholic mission to get free meals sometimes though.

                I don’t know if it is because of lack of funds or just because the food is free that he sits in the park and goes to the mission, but I will decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. We talk a bit longer. He seems very aware, somehow more present in the moment than most of the other people I see around.

                Halfway through our conversation the recipient of my sandwich turns and says slightly too loudly, “God loves us.” Surprised I turn and he repeats himself 2 more times.

I smile and nod, and say, “Yes, yes He does.”

“God loves us.” The man repeats yet again. “If He was to take me right now, to be with Him, I am ready. I ain’t afraid.” He makes a motion towards the sky and folds his hands as though in prayer. His words come out as though they take too long to formulate in his brain.

“That’s good.” I say again smiling as warmly as I can, trying to convey my empathy with him.

“Yeah, I wish He would take me up there, away from this…” He trails off but I see his mouth register the word “hell”. As he turns away to talk to his neighbor.

Jose and I talk for a bit longer but I then excuse myself to go talk to the other man. As I walk over he looks up and thanks me again for the sandwich. He then continues to tell me that God loves us all. I decide to sit on the ground in front of them. I feel like a pupil trying to learn from a wise master, yet somehow I doubt it looks like that to outsiders. I am well kempt, not clean shaven (as it is Saturday after all) but my jeans are hole free and I wear only one coat, instead of the stereotypical 3 or 4 worn by the homeless.

As I sit there I ask him if he reads the Bible to learn more about God. He says he has read most of it, saying he has read all of the truth. I am not sure if he means it is all truth or whether he means he has read all the parts he considers truth. As it is our first meeting I decide not to press the issue. His name is Richard. He is wearing 2 pairs of pants, one with a gigantic hole in the knee. I cannot help but notice his hat which is a stretched out snow hat completely enveloping his baseball cap, giving it an odd shape. His friend, who got Jose’s sandwich, is named Vince.

Vince walks away shortly, probably to go and get a burrito. The local church is handing them out at the edge of the park. Another homeless man named Rick walks up with three burritos in hand. The scene then plays out like a tv sitcom with Richard asking Rick for a burrito and Rick refusing. Halfhearted insults were then hurled including “I hope you choke on it.” The men don’t seem particularly angry, with their insults and comebacks coming through only halfheartedly. I wonder if it is lack of energy or something else which keeps the temper levels so low. As this argument is ending another man walks up with a burrito for Richard.

“See,” Richard says, “I have friends.” He nods to the man who gave him the burrito. “But I also have enemies” he says and looks at Rick. I am not sure what to say in all of this. I am mostly quiet taking everything in. Lord, what do You want from me? How am I supposed to show Your love to these men? I am not even sure how mentally capable they are. Both Rick and Richard speak as though they have had too much to drink, though it is 2:00 in the afternoon. Maybe it is a side effect of their years of drinking.

During their squabble Rick had complained that he was always the one sharing the alcohol and that neither Richard nor anyone else ever offers him any. I proceed to ask Richard how often he drinks.

“I’m fifty-five years old.” Richard says, and then repeats it 2 or 3 more time as though thinking back. “I have been drinking for at least 35 of those years.”

I nod, then repeat the question. “Yes, but how often, daily? Weekly?”

He nods, “Yes.” Then a long pause. “Whenever I have a dollar.”

I think about this. This is why I never give people asking for money real money. I usually give them a gift card to subway or wendy’s. Whatever I have in my wallet (as my mom likes to give them to me when I have a long car ride ahead of me). How can we help these people?

I ask Richard how he get’s dollars, asking if he has a job. He says he does not have a job and upon further prompting explains that there used to be jobs, but not anymore. Upon my asking he says that he hasn’t searched out a job in a long time, saying it is pointless.

This reminds me of my readings on poverty (one of my passions). Poverty is defined by many experts as breaking down of many constructs. Many think of poverty (and in this case homelessness) as a lack of something material such as food, water, or shelter. However it is more than that. As Richard shows it is also a lack of hope. A lack of self worth.

I decide to brave the question and ask Richard where he sleeps. He answers my question and I can see the chewed up burrito in his mouth.

“I sleep in the freezing cold, wherever the cops chase me to.” (It was December 10^th, 2011)

How do I feel about THAT?! Should the police chase away homeless? And if so where to? I can hardly imagine having to do something like that. Where are they to go? Jose had told me that there were shelters people could go to occasionally, but apparently there were still plenty of people who lived in the streets.

As we are talking there is a commotion further along in the park. A lot of guys who look like they could be gangsters, drug dealers (my host mom had said that a lot of drug dealing goes on in this park), bored high school students, or more homeless people were all eating burritos and trying to shoot the aluminum into the garbage can from about 30 feet away.

Richard mumbles something about trash and I remember that the homeless fellows had been very careful to throw away the subway bags and wrappers when they had finished them. Is it weird that the homeless care more about the environment of their park than most of us that use it as it was originally intended?

As I sit there I see regular people. Middle income couples, college students, single joggers all going by. For a second I well up with pride, look at me, trying to make a difference. I wish I could say it lasted more than a second, but as I sit here in the warmth of a house, rewriting all that has happened this first day, I come to realize that I have held onto that pride for the last 4 hours.

Lord, let me write this not to boost my pride and ego, but rather to show others that there are real people who need help. Let me learn how to best reach these people, both in a physical way, but also in a spiritual way, showing them Your love and sharing Your grace to them.

After a little more talking I tell everyone I have to go. Richard thanks me for the burrito and Jose laughs from his bench, knowing full well that I gave a sandwich, not the burrito he finished a matter of minutes ago. I introduce myself to Rick, sitting next to Jose before leaving. I also tell Jose I should be back and he tells me that he spends a lot of time here so I should see him again.

I walk away thinking everything over, wishing I had my digital voice recorder so I could note everything while it is still fresh in my mind. I think about how the homeless would all share with each other, better than almost any regular middle-class person I knew. Why do we try to be so self-sufficient? Isn’t that part of the reason the church exists? So that we will not have to be silo’s all alone and self-sufficient?

I think about the police chasing away the homeless. I think about how Richard spends every dollar on more alcohol. It is a vicious cycle, his habit feeding my lack of money which feeds his hopeless, homeless state.

Lord God show me how to help.

End of the first meal: December 10, 2011