I did something terrible.
Driving to and from work in San Francisco, there are - inevitably - people begging in the street. Not on the street. In the street. At large intersections, men (it's almost always men) wander between the lanes of cars, holding signs, endangering themselves and others when the light changes and the traffic moves. It's not legal - there are laws against panhandling in traffic because it's so dangerous. But it is pathetic.
I still haven't figured out what to do about the hungry people who intersect with my life. I am so fortunate. We are so fortunate. There is nothing, nothing so special about us that entitles us to be free from hunger while others are not. It is good to be grateful for our blessings, to pray for those who do not seem to be equally blessed, and to work for the betterment of others. I need to work on that third part.
The other day I was driving home, and I had a snack in the car. Munching away, I approached the corner of Market and Gough, and there he was: the guy with the shopping cart. He is often on that same corner when I'm on my way home from work. When the light turns red, he walks up the row of cars with his sign, hoping for a handout. (He, unlike his brethren at Mission and Van Ness in the morning, stays on the sidewalk.) I knew he was there, but I did not look. In fact (and this, to me, is the shameful part) I put my hand up to my temple, as if I was shielding myself from the sun, hiding from him. It was not the sun that was blinding: it was his pain. I had food right next to me, but I gave him nothing. I pretended that he had not touched my heart. I pretended as if it didn't matter. I pretended that he didn't matter, and I drove away.
Driving to and from work in San Francisco, there are - inevitably - people begging in the street. Not on the street. In the street. At large intersections, men (it's almost always men) wander between the lanes of cars, holding signs, endangering themselves and others when the light changes and the traffic moves. It's not legal - there are laws against panhandling in traffic because it's so dangerous. But it is pathetic.
I still haven't figured out what to do about the hungry people who intersect with my life. I am so fortunate. We are so fortunate. There is nothing, nothing so special about us that entitles us to be free from hunger while others are not. It is good to be grateful for our blessings, to pray for those who do not seem to be equally blessed, and to work for the betterment of others. I need to work on that third part.
The other day I was driving home, and I had a snack in the car. Munching away, I approached the corner of Market and Gough, and there he was: the guy with the shopping cart. He is often on that same corner when I'm on my way home from work. When the light turns red, he walks up the row of cars with his sign, hoping for a handout. (He, unlike his brethren at Mission and Van Ness in the morning, stays on the sidewalk.) I knew he was there, but I did not look. In fact (and this, to me, is the shameful part) I put my hand up to my temple, as if I was shielding myself from the sun, hiding from him. It was not the sun that was blinding: it was his pain. I had food right next to me, but I gave him nothing. I pretended that he had not touched my heart. I pretended as if it didn't matter. I pretended that he didn't matter, and I drove away.
When I returned home, I took the leftovers of an inedible casserole flop I'd made a few days before, and I dumped it down the garbage disposal. More food wasted. More food that will feed no one who needs to be fed.
O, the disgrace.
Lord have mercy.
O, the disgrace.
Lord have mercy.
1 comment:
I have done this too. We have all done this. We look away because our human hearts are not capable of taking in all the pain in the world. We are not able to help everyone who needs help; in fact many people, like that man on the street, cannot even help themselves. Your reaction, which was to protect yourself from witnessing more pain, was perfectly normal, though perhaps not what you wanted from your best self.
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