The Least of These

My Advent column for this week's church bulletin...

“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’ He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’"

–Matthew 25:44-45

On my recent trip to Seattle, I was astounded by the number of homeless people “living” there. I had not considered the Pacific Northwest a mild climate location, but I guess it is. Enough so that people seeking a warm place to lay their head have been arriving by the busload over the past several years. Apparently, Seattle had a policy of sorts to be a “welcoming city” for homeless.

Welcoming, yes. But able to actually give them a home, not so much. They just can’t keep up.

What do we know about homeless people? Do we assume they made bad choices, screwed up their lives somehow, and that’s why they’re in the predicament they are today? Do we give them the benefit of the doubt?

There are plenty of homeless in Wisconsin Rapids. Most of us just don’t see them. Or choose not to see them. Out there in Seattle, though, they often told their stories on signs: Lost jobs. Veterans with medical issues. Single mothers. Was I in a position to help any of them?

Sadly, my first thoughts were concerns for my safety. Even though it was just a short half-mile walk from the Pike’s Place harbor area to my hotel, homeless or no homeless, it’s a big city for a small-town girl on her own. I had to be smart and nonjudgmental at the same time.

On my last evening there, I was taking pictures of the sunset on Puget Sound. I knew I had to hoof it back to the hotel to be beat darkness. But something in that sunset spoke to me. God was showing himself in the beautiful array of pinks and oranges. Was I overlooking other ways he was showing up – through people, maybe?

On my brisk walk back, I knew I had to slow down for one person. At least one. I stopped in front of an older gentleman in a wheelchair whose crude sign indicated he’d had a stroke. I’d seen him every day but walked right on by. That time, though, I placed some money in his hand and simply said, “May God bless you, sir.”  Then went to my hotel room and prayed for him.

As we focus during Advent on the coming birth of Christ, let’s not overlook the fact that he’s already here. We just need to open our eyes – and our hearts – and look.