As I had so many times before, I walked past the homeless man, a pang in my heart as I saw his blue gray eyes gaze in want at those who simply passed him by.
I was one of those people. And like the many times before, I did not stop to help. The typical concerns plagued my mind. Wasn't it unsafe for me as a woman to help a homeless man. All I had right now was money, and even that was in the form of a debit card. Even if I did have cash, wouldn't he just use it to buy alcohol or drugs? And I comforted myself with the thought that I was not fueling some neurotic addiction. Perhaps my passive brush off was better for him after all...
But the image of him kept coming back to me. And the same thoughts that usually plagued me after I have come to the conclusion that what I did was right, began to haunt me. How had he gotten to this point? His misshapen appearance, and eyes ever wanting, with nothing to fill his mind, his heart, or his stomach. Was he, like so many Americans, out of work because of the economic downturn? Did his parents kick him out? Did he have a wife or kids?
To this day, I don't know his story, and likely never will. I was disappointed in myself.
As I ventured into the local Starbucks for my lunch break, I sat down and opened up my Bible. I have been reading through Luke. And that day, it just so happened that the passage I was reading was the story of Lazarus, sitting at the gates of the rich man, his sores so bad that even the dogs licked them. All that Lazarus wanted was to eat of the scraps of the rich mans table, the leftovers. But even that he was denied.
Most of us are familiar with the story of Lazarus, the rich man ends up in hell and Lazarus in heaven. As he rots in hell, the rich man begs Lazarus to "dip his finger in water and let it touch the tip of his tongue". In short, the rich man is miserable and he begs that Abraham and Lazarus tell his ancestors that God does exist and that heaven and hell are very, very real.
Abraham's reply: They have the prophets, but not even if a man was raised from the dead would their hearts believe.
How striking! The poor man seated at the hand of one of one of the greatest men of the Bible, and the rich man burning in hell. The prediction of Christ's resurrection laid out before both of them.
The story was convicting enough. And I soon began to tear down the street searching for the closest ATM I could find. I took out some money for the homeless man I had seen. My Lazarus. I would not neglect him.
For the first time in my life, those thoughts that had plagued me became a non-issue. This was not about me, or about the homeless man, this was about whether or not I had enough faith in God that He would use the funds as a blessing.
But that's still not entirely what the story of Lazarus is about. Sure, it's about doing unto the least of these. And of course, it has to do with loving and caring for the poor, and speaking up for the oppressed. But more than anything, it was about recognizing that Christ is so much bigger than my finite mind and actions.
As I rounded the street corner, and looked at the spot where "My Lazarus" was seated, I saw that it was empty. I had missed my chance. He was gone. I have not seen that homeless man again. I ended up giving the money I had extracted from the ATM to another homeless man, but it still struck me that I had literally missed my chance.
And I was distraught. Again.
But I had learned my lesson: Whether I gave money, or food, or something to drink, or a blanket, I have the proof of Christ right in front of me and it's just got to be shared. Even if a man is raised from the dead, and He was, many will not believe. But the next time the Holy Spirit brings an individual, homeless or not, to your attention, perhaps it's because that homeless person is one of the few, like Lazarus, that will see the light of heaven. If only you will share...
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