"The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’" (Matthew 25:40)
I was in the kitchen chatting with my sister-in-law, and Scout and her cousins were building a fort in the living room, when my cell phone buzzed.
It was my neighbor, warning me about a "strange man" who was walking around our area of the neighborhood, looking at the houses and knocking on a few doors.
We're a close-knit little cul-de-sac, so it's always obvious when someone who doesn't belong starts hanging around. So I thanked my neighbor for the warning and told the kids not to answer the door if someone knocked.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang, and my niece and nephew made a beeline to the door and began waving through the windows to the person outside. My sister-in-law and I rolled our eyes at each other. "Guess that means I need to answer," I said, a little annoyed. Not that I could blame the curious kids; I just didn't want to deal with some weirdo hanging out in our yard.
I answered the door, opening it just enough to talk to him, and not enough for the kids to run past me to the outside. The man on our porch stood about eight feet away from me, but his stench nearly knocked me over. He clearly hadn't bathed in a long time. He looked dirty, too--greasy gray hair that hadn't been cut in a while, and shabby clothes. He was thin, and his face was gaunt and lined. In his probably-grubby hands was a stack of flyers.
He was polite enough; he asked if I was planning to vote in Georgia's senate run-off in January, and I said I was. He asked if I knew who I was voting for, and I non-commitedly said, "I think so." He stepped forward and to hand me a flyer for David Perdue, asking if David Perdue could count on my vote. As someone who rarely shares my voting choices with anyone, I said something like, "We'll see."
I took the flyer, and he thanked me, and I nodded and shut the door.
"Was that the weird guy?" asked one of the kids.
"Yeah," I said. "He was nice enough, but he sure needed a bath." I shrugged and said to my sister-in-law, "Probably a homeless guy handing out political flyers for a few dollars."
And that was that. Until this morning, when I was preparing for my 3:16 Sunday School class.
"The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’"
When I read Jesus's words from Matthew, mind went straight to the man who'd stopped at our house the day before. Dirty, shabby, and probably hungry. And what had I done? I'd barely opened the door. I'd been polite but not friendly. In my mind, I'd written him off as "someone who doesn't belong," and I'd failed to see him as a fellow human being, no better or worse than me. The "Welcome" sign next to my front door was a lie.
Every single morning, I pray that God will open my eyes to the need around me. And yesterday God sent someone right to my door, and I barely gave them the time of day.
Just last week, I wrote about how my heart is changing, how I'm finding delight in obeying God and in helping the homeless. And one week later? A possibly homeless person rings my doorbell, and I dismiss him as some weirdo I'd rather not have on my porch.
That morning, I found myself bombarded by "should haves." I should have offered him some food (we had plenty). I should have given him some money (I had a $20 bill in my wallet at the time.) On the off-chance that he wasn't a serial killer, I should invited him in and asked if he wanted to use our shower. Maybe he would have turned down the offers, but I should have asked. I should have thought. I should have been ready. I should have had my eyes wide-open.
I've found that it's so much easier to serve God, and to serve others, when it's on my terms: When I've scheduled the date to volunteer, when I've prepared the food or the shoeboxes or the bag of gently used clothes. But when it's not on my terms? When it interrupts my day or shows up unexpected at my doorstep in the person of a dreaded canvasser for a political candidate? It's a whole lot harder--not because I don't want to serve, but because I'm not ready. Because my "service" mindset is packed away for a more convenient date and time.
This has been a humbling experience, but I'm ultimately thankful for it. While I feel ashamed at my coldly polite treatment of the stranger, I know without a doubt that my eyes will be a little more open next time. God willing, I will be a little more ready to serve and reflect Christ, no matter what the circumstances.
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