The Homeless

Below are four emails (in date order) sent between Kak, Sara and me yesterday regarding homelessness. Thought it was an interesting conversation that I'd share.

_____________________________________
To: Kak and Sara
Date: Thursday, August 21; 9:31 AM
From: JFB
Subject: The Homeless

Kak and Sara,

I went to the bookshop at Union Station today, hoping to find the latest copy of Time or Newsweek to take with me. Upon entering, I saw a man who was obviously homeless: tattered clothes, dirty skin, pulling books off the shelf, scribbling notes, matted hair. I averted my eyes and hoped he would leave soon. "Do they know he is here?" I wondered to myself.

Later as I was walking thru the concourse near the food court, I saw a woman who appeared homeless: ratty hair, mismatched clothes, her sunglasses broken and dangling to the side. Again I wondered: "Do I have to share this space with her? Do they know food is served here?"

And so that brings me to my question to you: how do we treat the homeless? They seem different. They sometimes don't seem sane. They might be... dirty. In practical terms, how do we treat them, and what do we do with these awful feelings that make us simply want to ignore them?

Would love to hear your thoughts.

_____________________________

To: JFB and Sara
Date: Thursday, August 21; 9:36 AM
From: Kak
Subject: The Homeless

Jonny... I was walking in Chicago, meeting John at Starbucks, after running down the Navy Pier.. At the last stoplight, while crossing the street, I saw a homeless man sitting on a bucket, completely hunched over, with flies buzzing around the wounds on his legs.. I thought, "He is one of the 'least of these' that Jesus talks about and I'm going to walk right past him..."

I understand. I don't know what to do but I know i'm not doing enough.

___________________________________

To: Kak and JFB
Date: Thursday, August 21; 9:23 PM
From: Sara
Subject: The Homeless

Well JFB, and hi Kak! (hope all's well with you and John and the boys),

The most transformative experience I had in relation to my attitudes towards homeless people was a feature story I wrote for The Methodist Recorder in London. The assignment was to cover homelessness in London. I arranged to visit the Hinde Street Mission run by "Father" Leao Neto (a methodist minister, but who the homeless clients identified as Father because of his cleric's collar). I was uncomfortable the minute I walked in the door, with the dirt, with the smell, with the averted eyes, and the blank stares.

He greeted everyone as a brother and sister, often touching them. I started to pay attention when an old woman with searing blue eyes grabbed my arm after Neto had gone ahead and said, "Bring him back." Her eyes hardly looked human, but then he came. And took her hands in his, and suddenly there was a woman before me, her face beautifully transformed speaking happily with him. In Neto's office, he told me that when we refuse to acknowledge the homeless person with our eyes, with our words or with our time, we strip them of their fundamental humanity. And this process is wearing - were we subjected to it we might lose our way in society too.

Humanity and dignity were what Neto returned to the old woman. I've realized since that what I feel I owe to the homeless, though I don't get it right often, is to recognize the divine spark of their Creator, to recognize their kinship to me. I fail a lot. David Mauldin actually does a much better job, he has a gift for interacting with homeless people, I think because he never forgets their shared humanity.

Well that wasn't as brief as I had hoped, my apologies. But that's what I think.

Sara

__________________________________________

To: Kak and Sara
Date: Friday, August 22; 6:28 am
From: JFB
Subject: The Homeless

Sara,

Thank you for weighing in. I really appreciate your compassionate heart. I was struck by your reminder that we ought "to recognize the divine spark of their Creator" in all people. I find it remarkable because it is true, and remarkable because it is similar to Quaker theology, where the guiding principle is to recognize the Divine light in all people.

This evening in Sacramento, I was asked for money by a homeless lady with a hearing impairment. Her gentle lisp and use of sign language caught my ear and eye, so I stopped longer than I normally would have. I happened to have a quarter in my pocket, so I gave it to her and walked on. The sound of my leather bottomed, wood soled loafers hitting the cobblestones haunted me. Who was I, clad in Tommy Hilfiger and J Crew, to walk past her, offering only a quarter?

I would have a hot meal later that night, I knew, and sleep in a bed far too large for one slim body. How could I walk past someone who looked hungry? I returned to her and offered a bit more cash and learned her name. Lee. I gave her mine, and we shook. That seemed better than hastily dropping a lonesome coin into her hand and walking on. We looked eachother in the eye, wished eachother well and parted ways.

I felt better. But I realize the moment was still profoundly selfish. I felt better because I offered her a few dollars and learned her name. But I still drove away in my rental car headed to a four star hotel for the night. I still had a hot dinner and glass of wine for dinner. Lee would be sleeping on the street somewhere or in a loud and crowded shelter if she was lucky. For her dinner the only affordable restaurant I saw within walking distance was Subway.

And so I grapple with what to do still, and how to react--how to live, really--knowing that Lee is somewhere not far from here and I am called not to ignore her suffering.