Beauty In The City

Took the train into Glasgow tonight to meet some friends for dinner.  It was still light when I arrived at Queen Street Station, and I hurried along the streets thankful I had chosen to wear my big brown coat with the fur lining.  Autumn arrived this week and has begun warring with winter, both of them struggling with each other for the rights to the cold.  Autumn insists that it's his responsibility to usher in the crisp air and biting winds, and winter tells him to just give up the fight and let him come in with all the power of his arsenal.  I avoided them both with my furry coat, but I notice that I and my fellow city dwellers are beginning the winter hunch...both shoulders turned in a bit, head down, hands in pockets, feet moving quickly.

Not quickly enough though, as I noticed a man sitting against a wall with an old coffee cup in his hand, coat pulled tightly around him.  I still don't know yet what is the 'right' thing to do every time you see someone in this situation - especially when in the city, and you pass four or five in an hour.  None of them are ever in the same place twice, which makes it very difficult for any relationship building.  I used to wrestle with this in my mind every time, and avoid it entirely by simply walking on.  But a few years ago that got to me also.  If I'm really a believer in Jesus Christ, and trying to be more like Him, I know for a fact He wouldn't walk on.  Matter of fact, it's pretty clear from everything you can read about Jesus that He was homeless Himself.  No regular place to put His head, no kitchen, no family to take care of Him.  Matter of fact, they all showed up once when He was speaking to a crowd and demanded that He come home - not because they wanted to take care of Him, but because they thought He was quite literally out of his mind.  He went around proclaiming He was God, and they were going to save Him from Himself.  It didn't work, and Jesus went on with what He was determined to do, and here I am two thousand years later with hundreds of people that I don't know how to help who are constantly asking me for help.  I have finally decided on a personal philosophy, and it is just that - personal.  It's not what I think everybody should do, and certainly if it's what we all did it wouldn't be enough.  I think we all have to look deep inside and see who we are, what God has given us, and how we can help, even in the smallest way, these people who sit in doorways and against walls and in bus stations and hold out their hand for help.  Mine is to, if I can, buy them a cup of coffee (or some food), and find out their name.  It has never taken me more than five, or maybe ten minutes, out of my day.  Sometimes I stay and talk, other times I don't.  Sometimes I have appointments to keep and people relying on me, and I don't always take the time.  Sometimes I offer and they say no thanks.  But almost every time they are full of thanks, and I am glad that I met their eyes and did not look away.  Yes, I know all the arguments.  They're going to spend money on drink, or drugs, or whatever.  There are missions and hostels and homeless stations everywhere, and these guys are just professional moneymakers.  You need to really get alongside them and get to know them over a period of time.  It doesn't help to just speak to them the one time, especially if I don't even live in that city.  But if they are anything else in the world, they are a human being made in the image of God, and I cannot think it can be right to always pass by when it is so cold outside.  I wouldn't want to be sitting on a cold ground against a cold wall with religious people passing by on the other side all night long. All this flashed through my mind in a second, so fast I could hardly process it, and I promised myself I'd get him that coffee when I came by him on my way back.  If he was there.

We came out of the restaurant afterwards, and stood for a moment enjoying the sparkling beauty of a city at night.  I love going into a restaurant when it's still light out, and then coming out to fairy lights on the trees, a clock tower rising far above our heads against the blue-black sky, people moving more slowly now, not the crazy rush of employees but the comfortable walk of people who have been well fed.  We smiled at the city and it nodded back, pleased to be of service.  And then I remembered the man I had passed, and my inward promise.  I quailed a little, as you always do when there is something that makes you stand out from your friends, but I've ignored that feeling before to my detriment, and for the love of God, it's just a cup of coffee. So we rounded the corner and there he was, the same man, still collecting.  It was as though my feet stopped of their own accord, and I asked if I could get him something - some coffee, perhaps.  His eyes lit up and so did mine.  It was a very short section of my day.  A few minutes to find a coffee shop, a few more minutes to wait in the queue.  A minute or two for them to make it, a few minutes to walk back, and a minute to ask his name.

His name is John.  He is part of the beauty of the city, tonight.