Evangelical Mute

In an area with a sizeable homeless population, I first came upon a man waiting with a cardboard sign at the top of the interstate exit. I see men begging at this intersection so often that I no longer see them. 

But the guy behind me saw him. He rolled down the window of his truck and the beggar came over. Sheepishly the beggar took some folded bills from the man’s hand and nodded in gratitude before sauntering back to his corner. 

I saw that exchange and it made me wonder. Should I have given him some money? It’s not like I’ve never done so. I’ve given money, bought burgers, and even given a few guys who looked needy and lost a ride. 

And then I remembered. I don’t have any cash. So, I had nothing to give.

About an hour later came a second opportunity. Pulling up to another intersection I saw a woman limping along the side of the road. She looked haggard. Disturbed. Her eyes fixed dead ahead as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. She sipped on one of those gigantic drinks you get from a fast-food restaurant. 

I stared at her. She never looked at me. 

It didn’t matter. I had nothing to give her. 

I slowly rolled on. 

Did she see me?

When a song gets stuck in your head they call it an earworm. What is it called when you replay your decisions over and over again? Because for the next 45 minutes of my drive I heard no songs despite the radio being on. All I could think about were my decisions. 

I saw two people in need, but I had nothing to give so I just let them go.

In Acts 3 Peter and John encounter a beggar at one of the gates to the Temple. This man was at this gate daily. The man in the Bible is lame, but he’s like the man I saw at the corner and the woman limping along the road. It’s an area of town and they are always there. 

But the Bible says of Peter and John that they directed their gaze at him (Acts 3:4). They saw him. And they spoke, “Look at us.”

“And he fixed his attention on them, expecting to receive something from them (Acts 3:5).”

He saw them.

“And he fixed his attention on them, expecting to receive something from them.”

He’s the beggar sheepishly approaching the truck behind me. 

But Peter and John are in the same situation as me. They have no change. No cash. No money.

“But Peter said, ‘I have no silver and gold, but what I do have I give to you (Acts 3:6).’”

Then in the name of Jesus Peter commands the man to rise up and walk. Miraculously the beggar is healed. 

Giving is complicated and the ugly side of benevolence is captured well in the book, When Helping Hurts by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert. Our church opened a mission point in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in our community. I had our team read the book and discuss it as we considered how to be helpful, not hurtful in a place of overwhelming need. 

You don’t have to read the book to know that helping can hurt. Our attitudes. Our methods. Having resources with no understanding of the mechanisms of poverty . . . often leads to help that hurts.

But I often use what’s complicated to justify my blindness to what’s simple. 

I can see but I don’t look. If I turn the other way, do you still see me? Maybe that’s why the woman never glanced at me. She’s been ignored numerous times by guys like me . . . experts on giving . . . people with resources well-aware of the complications of charity.

Disturbing.

Even when I don’t have cash, I stay silent. 

But why is it that when I don’t have anything to give, I also think I don’t have anything to say?

A pastor.

A preacher.

An evangelical mute.

So here’s what’s stuck in my head now. What if I had just pulled over and said something? Share the gospel. Share the Bible verse I read that morning. Ask how she’s doing?

I don’t know. She might have thought I was disturbed. She might have just kept limping along as if I were not there. 

But what if I had shared Christ and like the man in Acts 3, she was healed. Whatever made her limp . . . whatever it was in her mind that made her look so hardened to the world around her . . . what if he had risen up to walk in the power of Jesus’ name?

I was short on cash but what about:

Attention?

Compassion?

Encouragement?

Conversation?

The Gospel?

What might it have done in her to know that someone was paying attention. 

She doesn’t care about the books I read on poverty.

She doesn’t care about my experiences as a pastor with the complications of charity.

At least I don’t think she cares, but how would I know? 

I have no idea what she cares about because I didn’t give her the one thing I had – a few moments – the hope of Christ – the gospel.  

I wasn’t empty handed but I just drove away.

I can’t get that out of my mind.