Helping Strangers

I know that some of these people have developed their own culture where they travel the small town roads, telling their sad stories to the preacher, and living off the Lord’s people’s generosity.

I’ve been a minister long enough that I have learned when these folks are lying. If they say they fought in Viet Nam or the Gulf war, they are usually lying, especially if they offer to show off their bullet holes. If they say they’re from New York on their way to Seattle for their aunt’s funeral and they spent all their money on car repairs, they’re lying. And if they say that they have had cancer and “here’s my scar where they did the surgery,” they’re lying.

I have no problem turning these people away.

But some things are not so clear. On rainy days in the big cities, when business is not good for the prostitutes, their pimps send them out to the churches with a sad story in order to get money. I was always in a quandary in these cases. I admit I occasionally gave something to these women, just to save them from a beating when they went back to their pimps.

Another time a woman came to me who needed help with her electricity bill. I knew this woman. I saw her working part time for two different stores and she did every kind of odd job in town to make ends meet. It was satisfying to help this woman.

Then there are things that happen that keep me from writing off all strangers who ask for help.

A man on the street once approached me, asking for help. When I got close to him, I could smell the beer reeking from his body. I asked him if he was hungry and he said yes. We went to the Dairy Queen where I bought him lunch, spending money I could not really afford.

After he told me his life story, and we were about to part, he pinned me with a bleary-eyed stare and said, “Because you helped me today, you’re gonna git a blessin’.” I nodded and said something along the lines that God had already blessed me, but he insisted that I would receive something special that day.

We parted and I went to the hospice office where I served as a volunteer chaplain. When I walked in the door, the director took me to her office and said, “Someone asked me to give this to you.” She took my hand, put a wad of cash in it, and refused to tell who my benefactor was.

The Bible says that some have entertained angels without being aware of who they were. The angels blessed their hosts for their hospitality. Was the drunk an angel in disguise? I like to think so.

He reminds me to consider carefully the stranger that passes by.

I admit I get awfully suspicious of strangers who come to the church building for money...