Spare Change

This week Jenn and I stayed in her dad’s sweet flat near a very bustling Oxford Street. For those unfamiliar with Oxford Street it’s home to the fantastic department store Selfridges, three glorious H&Ms, the flagship Top Shop store and my new favorite French Connection. Today we went to Camden town, easily one of the coolest spots in London—if not the world—in my opinion. It’s a lively hub with an odd mix of punk, gothic, narcotic-lovers, tourists, falafel selling, incense burning, random foreign and British people. I cannot describe it. Ever. Just put it on your top places to visit. Apparently a lot of people do because I saw a sign in the tube station there today that said more than 55,000 people come through the station every Saturday. That’s a heck of a lot of people.

The thing about both these places is that they are full of people who appear to be homeless. People who sit on the curbs, curl up on the benches or generally stand with empty eyed gazes watching the crowds move by, often holding an empty, dirty Starbucks cup and hoping for your spare change.

And all week long, I’ve walked past every single one of them. I haven’t paused to offer help. I haven’t even dropped the change in my pocket into one single cup. They have been as invisible to me as they are to almost every other one of the literally thousands of people who pass them all day long. Every single day.

I do not feel good about this. My reasons for not helping are not good ones. I don’t drop my spare change because to me, that seems ridiculous. If you truly want to help someone, you pause, you offer them help. You buy them food. You ask them how much money they need. You ask them their name and where they’re from. You show them that you care because not feeling invisible probably means more in the long run than a few spare pence.

And so I hate the change dropping method. But then I don’t pause for two reasons. One, I am afraid. I know this is stupid. They’re homeless. They’re barely clothed. What will they do to me? My fear is obviously irrational. My second reason is also a sort of fear. And this one, I’m even more ashamed of. I’m afraid of what other people will think. Will they think I’m attempting some kind of ‘holier than thou’ charitable giving effort? Will they wonder what the crazy American is doing with the homeless man? Again, pathetic excuses.

My God is very clear on His feelings about the poor and the way I am supposed to treat them:

“I was hungry, and you gave me nothing to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me nothing to drink. I was alone and away from home, and you did not invite me into your home. I was without clothes, and you gave me nothing to wear. I was sick and in prison, and you did not care for me.' "Then those people will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty? When did we see you alone and away from home? Or when did we see you without clothes or sick or in prison? When did we see these things and not help you?' "Then the king will answer, 'I tell you the truth. Anything you refused to do for any of my people here, you refused to do for me.' – Matthew 25.

When, in the past, I have paused to help someone like this, I have never regretted it. I’ve never felt threatened. I’ve only felt like I was doing the right thing and so I’m pretty ashamed of how I’ve behaved this week. I don’t think I’ve done the right thing at all. But, I don’t like to waste time feeling guilty. If I was going to spend time with my guilt, there are plenty of other things in my life I’d probably be focusing on to be honest.

So, I guess I’m just going to try to change. Something that’s obviously going to make me a little uncomfortable, but well, if we’re going to be honest, just posting this entry makes me feel uncomfortable. (In case I haven’t made it clear, I worry about what other people think of me and I fear this entry makes me seem a) like a jerk who ignores homeless people and b) a little preachy).

I guess the thing is though, whether you think of Jesus as your savior or just as a nice guy who lived 2000 years ago and had a lot of pretty decent advice, if you’re reading this, I assume you’re a member of the human race (except you Rosie, thanks for reading pup!), which means you can appreciate the fear of being invisible and the pain of being so poor you put aside all pride to beg for money. And if by some chance, you consider my rambling thoughts here the next time you pass that guy with his cup, then I’m glad I wrote this.