Editors Note: In the following weeks, you are going to read the story of one man's journey across America in search of the poor and homeless. You may read the stories and consider them pure fantasy. Or you may read them and feel their truth reverberate in your heart. In either case, know that the names of all involved are fictitious, but the stories are all too real. Men and women across the country today struggle with similar circumstances. And much like the traveler herein we are called to care for and help those in need, meeting them where they are, just as Jesus did.
The dead leaves crunched under our feet as we walked, their veil of frost torn apart with our steps. We wound our way past naked trees and brush to find what I needed to see. I had never been this deep into their land, and my heart wondered why.
The late February wind was forcing itself through the trees as I finally made out a clearing in the distance. We started to walk more deliberately until we could see the area clearly. I could make out shapes and figures and approached cautiously as my guide beckoned me with her flashlight to move faster. She only wanted to return home and had agreed to take the time to bring me after much consideration. To me it was a blessing, for the community that I was visiting meant more than she could have ever known.
I stepped out from the trees and into the middle of the village. Several voices greeted my guide as we arrived, and as she threw her light around I could make out my share of questionable gazes. The men and women that saw me looked considerably cautious, wrapping themselves tighter in their coats and blankets and tending to their personal affairs. Even though I knew several by name I was still an outsider. It was clear with their stares that they made sure I knew it.
For many years I had run the homeless ministry through my church, and many of the men and women in this particular encampment had come for food and fellowship on the dark, cold nights of winter. Where they lived wasn't far from my church geographically, but emotionally it was worlds away. For in this clearing amongst a heavily wooded area, surrounded by high and middle income homes, these unfortunate men and women made their lives. They lived together, rarely in harmony but always with the understanding that they stood a better chance together than alone. Their homes were seven and eight person tents surrounding a common area, where firewood, clothes and other necessities were stored. They had canopies to keep the rain and snow away, though effectiveness was lost when the weather turned violent. These men and women warmed themselves with kerosene heaters and camping stoves within their tents, an effective weapon against the cold that could turn deadly if the ventilation was poor.
In fact it was death that brought me out here on this frigid evening. Though I had only intermittent relationships with these men and women, I had been laid emotionally low by news I received weeks earlier. As I thought back to that day, my guide called for me to join her near one of the tents.
"Here," she said, pointing down. I stared down at the crushed leaves and twigs laying next to a torn tent. She didn't need to say anymore, for I knew what I was looking at.
As I stared down, I thought about the night I heard the news. I had come to know one of the men that had just started coming to our dinners this winter. He was an older man, the father of five, none of with which he had much contact. He had struggled for years with alcoholism, drug use and a myriad of other destructive behaviors, and was seeking even the smallest glimmer of hope to bring him out of his spiraling life. I had thought that perhaps our ministry could be the answer. I had thought that we were doing something different.
But as I came to learn, he had made the same gesture of repentance to dozens of others before, only to fall back into the grip of his struggles. That was why on that particular night several weeks ago he drank what was described to me as his weight in vodka and fell asleep without the proper clothing outside of his tent. He never woke up.
His death was ruled a result of the elements, and very little fanfare was made outside of the campsite. As I came to find out, it wasn't the first time something like this had happened, and it wouldn't be the last. I listened as in the distance I heard the cars and trucks on the nearby interstate, and wondered if any of the people in those vehicles knew just how close they were to such a tragic event, and if they did, would they care?
I had brought a bag of essentials for the men and women, and passed them out as I prepared to leave. The night was growing colder and darker, and as I looked into each dimly light face I wondered if they could sense my helplessness. What I offered them that night was fleeting, something that by morning would be forgotten. I could not meet all their physical needs, and I had barely scratched the surface with any of the emotional ones.
I sheepishly wished them farewell and made my way back out of the woods. My mind was consumed with what I had seen and what it all meant. For the next several days I had trouble concentrating at work or at home, thinking about the man that died and the ones still living on the edge of society. My meager offerings were less than I wanted to give, and even if I gave all it would not amount to much. I felt compelled to go back to see if there was something more I could do.
I finally made my way back to the encampment, this time during the day and without a guide. I had several bags of necessities in tow, including food and water. I was determined to give more in the hope that it might do some good. I caught myself rushing through the trees wishing that my haste could make things better.
I finally saw the clearing, and raced as fast as I could, lifting the bags high so as to not scrape the ground. But as I reached my destination I stumbled from surprise, dropping the bags and standing with my mouth agape. For there was nothing in the clearing save for some trash and abandoned rags. The campsite was gone. Bits of debris and a lone canopy draped over a withering oak were the only remnants of what had been a struggling community. I stood bewildered, and quickly turned my head as I heard the snap of a branch across from me. It was one of the men I had met the other night, as shocked to see me as I was to see him.
"Where is everybody?" I blurted out, foregoing a proper greeting.
"They all gone," he said, walking towards the canopy. "The police moved them out two days ago. Said something about it being unsafe because of what happened to Bob." The man was referencing the deceased as he gathered up the canopy to himself. "Can you believe this shit happens in 2010? They rushed us out so fast I couldn't take it all. I just came back to get what is mine."
I was dumbfounded, and wasn't sure what to say next. The man had what he came for, and looked at me and the two bags next to me.
"You need help with those?" he asked.
I was caught off guard at his question, then looked down at my bags. "Oh, these were for everyone. Do you know where they all went?"
"Here and there, I suppose. I really have no idea. Could be anywhere by now."
I was completely lost, and looked over at the man. "Then I suppose these are yours."
The man perked with curiosity, and I offered to carry them to wherever he was going. But he declined, letting me know that in light of what happened, he would rather not be followed. He asked me to just leave them, and he would return. His paranoia was high, but I couldn't blame him. He had lost a place to live. Yet again.
I did as he asked, and walked out of the woods. I pondered what had happened, and realized that I would not see many of them again. As I drove home, I reckoned within myself my own attitudes towards the poor and homeless and those that I publically stood for, being a representative of Christ and the church.
I had never been completely given over to the essential need to battle homelessness tooth and nail until my last breath. I knew those kind of people existed and had even ministered with them. But my personal views always ended up being a strange brew of my own creation. I had a healthy mixture of wanting to help those in dire circumstances while believing that the best way to truly help the poor and homeless was not to become one of them. As I came to grips with this, I knew I needed a fresh and healthy look at what it was Christ said about the poor. I needed to see what it was that I was truly working for, and why it was that Bob's death struck me so profoundly.
I opened my Bible and scoured it for what Jesus said about the poor. I turned to John 12:8. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me. I flipped to Mark 14:7. The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. I jumped to Matthew 26:11. The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me.
I was overcome. The preposition "always" jumped out at me and grabbed hold, refusing to let me avert my eyes. If the poor will always be here, if they are going to be everywhere, then I had no choice but to help them. I could not assume that somebody else would help and I could just wait and witness the end of poverty and homelessness altogether. They were always going to be in need. And I was always going to need to help.
It was in that moment I made a decision that would drastically alter the course of my life. No force on heaven or earth would have convinced me prior to that moment that I was going to drop everything and journey far beyond my comfort zone. But through the blur of the next few days I had made a decision and I was going to see it through. I knew the homeless and poor in my area. But I needed to go and see more. I needed to look the poor and the homeless in the face and hold their hands and hear their stories. I needed to know who they were, what they needed, and what Jesus would have me do. I had to show them Jesus with skin on, not just utter convenient words to the wind and hope they may fill a man's belly or keep him warm.
So I planned my sojourn. I threw together a all too rushed carload of necessities and made the necessary arrangements at my home and work. Nobody understood why I was doing this, but that didn't matter. I was going to travel across the country, visiting cities and towns, burgs and hamlets, reaching out to those in need and bringing their stories back. If asked at that point what I hoped to accomplish I would have been at a loss to answer. But I was set on a path that would open my eyes to a world that I truly didn't know, but one that far too many people did. So I set out that brisk late winter morning to meet the always people. To meet Jesus Always People.
