We weren’t allowed to touch. We weren’t allowed to take pictures. “It’s important,” they said, “to treat them like people, not projects.”
I get it. Homeless people are people. But I naturally touch people, even strangers, to communicate something to them. Pictures? They’re not trophies. They’re reminders, often as prompts to again feel again what was felt at the moment they were taken, something that’s especially useful when you want to “get back there” emotionally.
The instructions came in the time leading up to my moment of deployment as a volunteer with a ministry to homeless people under the bridge in my hometown. I was happy to follow the rules, even if they felt counter to who I am.
After orientation we were asked to sign up to work at a particular station. I chose the book table. My hope was that this might be a place to talk to people about ideas. Other stations served food or gave haircuts or handed out clothing. All good. But I wanted to talk to someone.
As you might imagine, when someone would approach the table they’d look to see what was there. If I was going to talk to someone, I needed to draw them into a conversation and actually be genuine about it. Fortunately my life has prepared me for just that…to be able to greet complete strangers, and doing so with a heart full of love.
“How’s that salad?” I’d say, pointing to a bowl of pasta salad one lady was carrying.
“Beautiful dog!” I exclaimed to another.
I wasn’t alone working the book table. Sometimes the only thing I could do is sit back and stay out of the way.
Sometimes I would pray for the conversation that one of my peers was having. Sometimes I’d see someone a ways away and just pray for them.
“What kind of stuff do you like to read?” I asked one man.
He told me he liked reading about healthy living. I learned that he tried to do the right thing, even as he lived in a way that meant he didn’t get to be very choosy about what he ate. He also said he liked to read stuff that tried to figure out how we got here, stuff like Stephen Hawking’s ideas about where the universe came from. I paused. My instinct was to want to tell him about Jesus, but I hadn’t earned the right.
I made more small talk. He was holding a ticket with a number on it, one I learned was his place in line to get some clothing. He said he didn’t get to shower often, so he’d get clothing so he could wear something clean. He’d “donate” what we has wearing so it could be washed and recycled back to someone else who needed it.
It was the one conversation I had that night that had a real connection. At one point my arm raised, unconsciously, to put my hand on his shoulder. I stopped. Ooops! That was almost a rules violation. We weren’t supposed to touch. I remembered one of the instructions we were given.
If people are to be people and not projects, relationship is important. I didn’t know if I ever would be back, but even a short interaction is a form of relationship.
I teach people about relationship in a professional context. Relationship starts in the heart. It also starts with a name.
Learning someone’s name humanizes them. And like faces and voices, we get dialed into names at a very young age.
It’s the opposite of the dehumanization that happens when we look at people in terms of faceless groups. In all of history, one way that oppressors wage wars is to lead their people to look at another group in a way that dehumanizes them. It’s easy to look at Hitler and see what he did. It’s less easy to look at ourselves and admit that we have our own version of “all homeless people are…” or “most black people are…”
There were lots of instructions that night, and the ‘rules’ were for the safety of the volunteers and those being served alike. All good, all positively motivated. Still, though, I was struck with this one thing that seemed most foundational, more essential than all of them: to ask for someone’s name, their identity that’s attached to all of who they are, their story. I knew this is what I wanted to do. It’s what I had to do.
I didn’t get to take a picture so I could remember how badly I want to serve people and perhaps be prompted to do so again. I didn’t get to say “love you” by putting my hand on his shoulder. But then I remembered to do the one thing, the One Thing, that I could do and would remember.
“I’m Roger,” I said. “What’s your name?
“Ramon, “ came the reply.
I’d love to tell you that at that moment the heavens opened and we were greeted by a host of singing angels. But it was not to be.
Still, I couldn’t help but think about Jesus’ words in Matthew 25 when, on the day of judgment, there’s someone standing before the judge going, “Lord, when did we see you hungry or needing cloths and not help you?”
To some he’ll say, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you didn’t do for me.”
To others he’ll say, “Hey, you were pretty awful at the book table that one time, but I told you that you don’t have to be awesome for me to work through you. Why don’t you come over here? I want you to meet my friend Ramon.”
ForTheHope is a daily audio Bible + apologetics podcast and blog. We’ve got a passion for just keepin’ it real, having conversations like normal people, and living out the love of Jesus better every single day.
Roger Courville, CSP is a globally-recognized expert in digitally-extended communication and connection, an award-winning speaker, award-winning author, and a passionately bad guitarist. Follow him on Twitter -- @RogerCourville and @JoinForTheHope – or his blog: www.forthehope.org.
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