Something Has Changed

The other day I went to a run-down motel to pick up the belongings of a homeless man named Dwayne who has been part of our Reunion community. He had been sharing a room there with a man who was living on meager disability checks. Dwayne paid him about $15 a day to share a room, money he earned selling The Contributor on street corners. Dwayne has been in the hospital for weeks and is now in the respite care program at Room In The Inn. The roommate is moving back to his home state, and Dwayne asked me to go get his belongings for him.

I took some boxes and plastic bags and gathered his stuff. Two small boxes of books and papers. A few large bags of clothes. An electric blanket. Some personal items. I carried it all down to my car and packed it tightly into my trunk. As I closed the lid, it suddenly occurred to me…I just loaded a man’s entire earthly belongings into the trunk of my car. The trunk of my car.

And this was not a nameless homeless person we might stop to help or serve in line at a mission. This was my friend Dwayne. I see him every week in our home. Most Wednesdays we grab a burger and talk about life. I had everything my friend owned in my trunk.

Something has changed in my ministry these last few years. I’ve been involved in some way in ministry to the poor in the city for many years—whether starting a tutoring program for inner city kids in Milwaukee, or serving on the advisory board of a Houston charity, or preaching for a church with a food and clothing pantry in Nashville. I have considered myself a compassionate person with some level of understanding of the issues faced by the poor. I guess I would have considered myself a friend to the poor.

But something has changed these last three years. It all seems more personal—which might be expected since I now work for an inner city ministry—but it’s more than just my job. And it seems more complicated—I’ve learned so much more, and realize how little I still know (my father always said that the value of an education is not what you know, but what you know that you don’t know)—but that’s not what I mean either. The change is something more than greater knowledge or deeper involvement.

What has changed is that I used to serve the poor—now they are my friends. I don’t mean I am friendly to them (I think I always was). I don’t mean that I know them by name. No, I mean we are actually friends.

They have been in our home, and Judy and I have been in theirs. We were invited to her son’s wedding. He has slept in our guest room. Her little girls call us Miss Judy and Papa. I was up in the middle of the night talking him out of suicide.  He came to our home for Thanksgiving Dinner. We’re friends.

I’d feel better about that, but I keep wondering why I was near the poor for so long, but not close to them. Is it just that we moved into a transitional neighborhood? That’s surely a part of it. But I know it’s more than that. We’ve chosen to make friends with people who happen to be poor—not because they are poor, but also not because we have a lot in common (isn’t that the usual basis for choosing friends?). We have chosen to make friends with people in our neighborhood, and our neighborhood is diverse. We’ve chosen to make friends with people we are meeting in our ministry—and we’re ministering to people from more diverse backgrounds than ever before. We’ve chosen to make friends—not just to be friendly.

And I see poverty differently now. It’s not just about political issues or social causes. It’s not just about theological positions on social justice. It’s not just about feeling compassion or showing mercy.

No, now it’s about our friends.