Homeless and The Sprit

(Written in Feb 2011.)

This experience with the Holy Spirit occurred in San Francisco. I was in the city in November 2010, and although I had been there a couple of times before, it seemed that there were more homeless people and panhandlers on the street that I remembered. I typically carry something in my pocket (dollar bills, change) specifically to help them out.

This November visit to San Francisco, however, was different. There were so manypeople asking for money. I found myself asking how I could possibly help them all. Moreover, I really began to ask myself whether I was truly helping individuals by giving them small amounts of change or just a dollar. What did they use this money for? So many of them must turn to illicit substances to numb the pain and self medicate from the horror, shame, embarrassment, and general hardship of living life on the street, without a job, without a home, and without anyone to care for them. Was I giving money away to help them? Or was the money hurting them?

That’s a question I’ve struggled with before, but I had always felt that it wasn’t my place to judge what they do with the money. The scripture is fairly straightforward in my view. Matthew 25:34-36: “‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father… For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

I took those words seriously. Always have. When I looked into the eyes of a homeless man, I have always felt that I could be looking into the Lord’s eyes. And my conscience (…or is the Holy Spirit?) never let me forget that.

This time was different. In November, I was perplexed, confused, and didn’t really know how to help all the people, and I let all the hoopla go to my head as to whether I was really helping or actually hurting the homeless by giving them money. People have told me, “you’re just throwing your money away…they’ll only use it for alcohol.” I let that get to me. For a very short time, it raised enough doubt that it paralyzed me. I didn’t know what to do. So, I did nothing. I spent more time passing them by than helping.

I was in San Francisco for about three days and then headed home. No homeless people benefited from my pocket change in November.

I had to go back to San Francisco in January 2011. It’s odd that two conferences that I attend would be held in the same city so close to one another. But it’s happened before and so it wasn’t any big deal. Yet I knew that I was leaving San Francisco in November with an unresolved issue. It bothered my deep, deep down in my soul. Perhaps it’s because I knew I would have to confront these same people, in the same city, again only a few months later.

I was stuck. I didn’t know what to think. I thought to myself – I could easily give away hundreds of dollars to homeless people while walking on the streets of San Francisco. It pained me deeply to pass them by. But I honestly was conflicted… I did not know what to do.

I prayed to God and asked Him to forgive me for being confused, for being ignorant, for not hearing the Word if in fact the Word was there for me to hear, and for not being obedient to His will if it was His will for me to help the panhandlers. I prayed for guidance, for help, and most of all…for clarity. I badly wanted to help them, but I just didn’t know what to do. It was a clear reversal of my own little “personal policy” and my convictions. God, I really need to hear from you.

So, it’s January 2011, and I’m back in San Francisco. I arrived in the morning. By evening, I was exhausted. I’m not fond of traveling… it tires me and I get motion sickness easily. That evening, rather than go to dinner with friends, I decided to go eat comfort food by myself. I wanted to walk to my favorite burger place (…and for most who go to the big city, there are a million other eating establishments preferable to my little burger joint). It’s a 50’s-style diner that isn’t expensive, isn’t fancy, but it is quick and it is familiar. I wanted to eat my usual, a cheeseburger and a large bowl of fruit, and then leave so I could go to bed.

I set out to walk the 10 or so blocks from the hotel to the restaurant. I hadn’t solved my homeless problem yet. Because I was so tired, I decided that I couldn’t deal with it tonight. Instead, I opted to ignore everyone on the streets (even those who did have homes!). I put my ear buds in, started the music on my iphone, and began the long walk to the burger joint. I wanted isolation; I wanted to walk without any interference; I wanted to not deal with anything. I started my music, put in my ear buds, looked straight ahead making no eye contact with anyone, and walked toward the restaurant.

The sun was setting, it was around 5:30 or 6, and thousands were getting off work and crowding on to public transportation. It was getting cool outside, so I walked at a reasonably brisk pace. I sang along to my music. I shut out the world.

Then, things changed.

I arrived at a corner where there was a red light. I stopped with all the other people who were walking and waited for the sign to cross the street. I stood there for about 15 seconds when something brushed against my leg and caused me to look down. Sitting on the ground, just to my right, was a homeless man. My eye went straight to his right wrist, where the following words were tattooed in a gothic font with bright red letters: MIKE STEVENS

There are NO words to describe to you how my heart literally dropped. I was stunned. The name was tattooed across his wrist in such a way that the last part of the name would have wrapped around his wrist to a point where I could not see it. Perhaps it said MIKE STEVENSON and I couldn’t see the last two letters. But why split hairs? Right there, in the middle of downtown San Francisco, at a red light, where up until now I had ignored every single person during the crowded rush hour… and for one instance, one split second, one defining moment, I looked down and I saw something almost identical to MY name tattooed on THIS homeless man’s wrist.

There was a split second of disbelief… I did a double-take, and then for probably five seconds, I stared in shock at what I was seeing. I lost any semblance of what was going on around me. All I could process cognitively was that here I am standing next to a homeless man with the words “MIKE STEVENS…” tattooed on his wrist.

I couldn’t let this go. I couldn’t ignore this and just keep walking.

So, lacking any real presence of mind, I bent over, touched the man’s wrist, and pointed at the tattoo. The man looked up at me. He was about 30ish, brown hair, a bit ragged… but very lucid. In his hand with the tattooed wrist he held a small bucket, fairly light in color, with a just a handful of coins in it. In his left hand, he had a cardboard sign asking for money to help him get back to Portland. And oh by the way, on his wrist, he had my name tattooed.

I didn’t say a word to him after I pointed at his wrist… but he looked up at me to give me an explanation. I removed one ear bud from my ear. As I pointed, he started telling me about the tattoo. He told me that Mike was his best friend who had killed himself about a year ago. The tattoo was his way of remembering their journey together… to remind him how special Mike was in his life.

I asked him something, perhaps about Portland, but I confess that I don’t remember what he said. I was so captivated by the idea that I was in the middle of this gigantic city, in rush hour, in the dark… and that God gave me an answer to a question that I desperately sought. I often ask for a clear sign from God; I don’t always get a clear sign… certainly not one this clear. Yet, there it was.

Me: “God, what am I supposed to do for homeless people?”

God: “Here’s the answer.”

The stoplight changed and the crowd around me started to cross the street. I knew I had two one-dollar bills in the right pocket of my blue jeans. I told him what I had and that I knew two dollars wasn’t much, but I asked him a less-than-intelligent question as to whether the two dollars would help. Seriously?... this is the question I ask him?... would $2 help?

He told me, graciously with a smile, “Anything will help at this point.”

So I reached in and put two one-dollar bills in his bucket, wished him luck, he thanked me, and I headed off toward the restaurant.

I was stunned momentarily.

I asked for clarity from God.

He answered.

I shouldn't be so stunned should I?

"Days pass and the years vanish and we walk sightless among miracles.

Lord, fill our eyes with seeing and our minds with knowing.

Let there be moments when your Presence, like lightning, illumines the darkness in which we walk.

Help us to see, wherever we gaze, that the bush burns, unconsumed.

And we, clay touched by God, will reach out for holiness

and exclaim in wonder, “How filled with awe is this place and we did not know it.”"

From the Jewish Prayer Book entitled Gates of Prayer (1975, p. 170).