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Every weekend and holiday I work at a homeless shelter. After the women leave early in the morning (I wake them up, give them breakfast, and otherwise help them get ready for the day), the place is pretty quiet. But this past Saturday and Sunday were exceptions, ones I will long remember.
Midafternoon on Saturday, a man rang the front buzzer. It was cold and raining, and he said he was from out of town and that some lady on the street gave him directions to us. I explained that we were an evening shelter, and that he would have to come back later in order to get a bed for the night. In the meantime I offered to make him some sandwiches and coffee. While I was doing that, my coworker struck up a conversation with the man. Apparently he was from Missouri and had traveled by bus to Buffalo to see a long-lost relative. But when got to Buffalo, he could not find the relative, and as he was going back to the bus station he was robbed and beaten by a gang of teens. For the past three days he had been hitchhiking his way west. When he got to us, he was exhausted and could go no farther. He still had signs of the beating. He was scared and near tears. He said he had never been in such a predicament ever, and did not know what to do.
He ate, and we gave him directions to the day shelter where he could wait out of the weather until it was time to come back for the evening.
On Sunday morning, I saw him again -- doing laundry in our laundry room. He looked like a new man. Someone had found him a fresh change of clothes and shoes, and he had gotten a good night's rest and good meals. He just looked terrific and happy, such a startling contrast to the day before. He stayed at the shelter all day, helping out wherever we needed it. In exchange, he was assured of a bed Sunday night. First thing today, he was going to meet with a case manager (one of the best) to arrange for a bus ticket back to Missouri. As I write this, that is where he most likely is -- on a bus, going home.
Simple story, but as I reflected on it Sunday evening, it struck me how I actually got to take part in modern-day Good Samaritan parable. This is what Christ was talking about. This is what Christ calls us to do -- help those in need, whenever they cross our path. It is an awesome and quite humbling feeling. It is also a very blessed feeling. I will never see that man again, but I will always remember how he touched my life.
Then, on Sunday morning, a woman called and asked if we took food donations. About an hour later, her husband and three kids (ranging in age from maybe 8 to 4) were at the gate. Two of the kids had institution-sized cans of green beans and fruit cocktail, and the youngest had a 12-pack of Campbell's soup. It was all they could do to carry them, and they did not want any help.
As I was getting the food from them, the dad said that the idea to donate the food had come from his son (the 8-year-old) who "all of a sudden has started worrying about the homeless, and wanted to do something." Dad's words, and he said he had no idea where this idea came from. What makes this even more heartwarming is they drove across about two counties to get to us, just to drop off three items of food, all because of a little boy's selflessness and heart. Again, another humbling and awesome moment of time.
"And a little child shall lead them."
Christ IS in this world. He is in the stranger at the gate, and the little boy. He is present to us; all we need to do is look and be watchful for the opportunities.
This board has been a little contentious on a few threads lately, so I hope this rambling essay gives us all a message of hope and peace as we begin Holy Week.
A blessed Easter to all.
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