The poor you have always with you

It was a crisp morning a few years back, and the streets were largely empty. I was early for a meeting downtown and I planned to pick up a coffee on my way.

I had forgotten to bring cash. And then I noticed a man on the corner. Did he have a sign? Or perhaps it was his clothing and demeanor that suggested he wasn’t heading to a meeting, but instead was probably unhoused, facing another day on these streets.

I hurried by. I didn’t even have a couple of bucks to give him. But my softly nagging conscience suggested I could ask him if he’d like some coffee. I could pay for it with the same credit card I would use for mine. But instead, I journeyed on and put him out of my mind.

But I didn’t really put him out of my mind, did I? Because all these years later I still wish I had paused and done that simple deed.

Here’s another. My daughter and I were once visiting a university she hoped to attend. We went out one evening to a pizza place someone had recommended, and later, making our way down the few short blocks to our hotel with a pizza box, we saw an old man sitting against a building, surrounded by his possessions.

“Let’s give him our leftover pizza,” we said. He accepted and we headed home.

When would we have eaten those leftovers anyway? What bothered me later was that we simply handed him the pizza and walked on. Could we have spared a few moments to talk to him as one person to another? We had time, we were not in a dangerous place, and he, an old man sitting on the street with a pizza box, was hardly a threat.

Pope Francis once said we should give to everyone who asks. This was in response to someone that suggested money might be used on alcohol, cigarettes or drugs. The pope implied that simple humanity overrode those judgmental concerns.

But if you live or work in a big city, you’re probably overwhelmed by need at every street corner, every intersection. We become inured to need. People become invisible, part of an unhoused “problem,” or part of an immigration “crisis,” not individual human beings with unique life stories.

In the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and John, Jesus utters the words “the poor you have always with you.”

Some people interpret this to mean, “Yeah, there will always be poor people around.” But others see Jesus’ emphasis differently. Jesus tells his disciples they must always be with the poor, one with them. That’s where a disciple belongs.

It’s easy, living in the suburbs or a quiet neighborhood, to forget this.

We can’t all go to our Southern border and help the Catholic agencies assisting immigrants. It would be unrealistic to hand money to every person on the street. We individually cannot solve the housing crisis.

But somewhere in your community, there is a chance to be present to those who struggle. A parish near me hosts lunch for people on the streets three days a week. Many parishes have St. Vincent de Paul societies which provide direct outreach to people in need.

Sometimes I wonder what prevented me from buying that man a good coffee and a croissant. What did I fear? How much would his humanity and my own humanity have benefited from that gesture? He forgot about my passing by immediately, but I remain with the knowledge that it wasn’t an opportunity he had missed, but an opportunity I had missed.

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