"God will reward you," said the clerk in the market 30 minutes ago, as he bagged an apple, a banana, a bagel, and a bottle of Honestly Tea. "I'm already rewarded," I replied. The man sitting on the edge of the parking lot across from the store had approached me a few minutes earlier for money. I told him I would buy him food. This puzzled him, but then understanding that I would go in the market and buy him food, he thanked me, but he also asked if I could give him a dollar for the bus. "No," I replied, "just food". He was waiting for me outside the market. I handed him the bag and a dollar bill. "God bless you," as he offered his hand. "God bless you," I replied, accepting his hand. I had just paid $42.80, including tax, plus a $5 tip to the man who cuts my hair and a $3 tip to the woman who shampoos it. I get it, trust me.

“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’
“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’ (Matthew 25: 44-45, NIV)

Here’s a worthy challenge for anyone who claims to be a practicing Christian. I’m talking about walking the walk, and indeed, not about talking the talk. I’m talking about putting our money where our mouth is. I’m talking about missed opportunities.

Puzzling it is how we the masses can go through life mouthing the words of the prayer that the man Jesus taught, “...your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” without understanding that the kingdom is very much in this world, very much now. And what we supposedly are praying for is that we, the very very we, will come into our own in realizing this dream of God, expressed in a prayer that is fundamental to the faith we claim.

Ah, missed opportunities. Last Sunday, I spent the better part of a day with two friends. Four of us had begun celebrating one friend’s birthday the night before with a quiet early dinner at a nice mid-priced restaurant in Old Town Albuquerque. Before leaving my house for dinner, we watched the running of the Preakness, the second leg of thoroughbred horse racing’s Triple Crown, a sport and an event where wealth is on display, with no pretense otherwise. After an early evening, marked by good wine, great food, and best of all, the good company of friends, people retired in their respective dwellings in the Nob Hill area of Albuquerque. None of us is rich, but we are blessed, oh, so blessed.

The birthday celebration continued on Sunday with brunch at a nearby restaurant, owned by the same brothers who own the place where we had eaten the night before. Tom and I had already eaten, but I joined the other two friends, and the three of us walked to and from my house, then joined Tom at an open house for a home we had watched morph from a small, 1940s adobe guesthouse into a two-story modern, state of the art green dream. Asking price, a mere $375,000. This led to a driving tour of the Nob Hill and Ridgecrest areas so that one friend could show us other houses that he dreams of owning. Oh, to decide, oh, so many choices—even though the choice itself might not be so realistically achievable.

Finally, three of us made our way to a microbrewery on the edge of downtown. The afternoon was hot, and a cold pint sounded really good. We were greeted in the parking lot by a woman who appeared to be of Native American heritage. She looked a little distant in the eyes, her behavior bordering on frenzy, and she was asking for money because she claimed to be hungry. She didn’t appear to be under nourished, she appeared to be clean, including her long straight dark hair peppered with gray. We quietly said, “we have no money today”. After getting our beers and heading out to the patio, we saw the woman approaching a car of people leaving the place. Following a brief exchange, the car, holding mother, father, and child, pulled away and the woman appeared to be holding a handful of change. “I should go to McDonald’s and get her something to eat,” I commented to one friend. She responded, “that’s really kind of you”—or something like that. It didn’t seem like any big deal to me. Put your money where your mouth is.

Did we go to McDonald’s? Did we say anything different when we headed back to our car, the woman waiting again to ask for money? The one friend said, “you already asked us”. The woman’s reply—”...it don't hurt to ask”. And we left. No McDonald’s, no extended hand. All that we ended up offering to this missed opportunity was the speculation that the woman wanted, indeed needed, the money for alcohol or drugs. We’ll never know. Yet, one thing I do know is that I failed to see this woman as who she really is, regardless of whatever challenges she faces daily. “We must see Christ in every face,” offered the preacher, a long time ago. Last Sunday, I knew I was falling short, just as I have many times when faced with a similar challenge. Sometimes I answer the challenge; most times I do not.

I thought I had resolved for myself the struggle many, most of us face when we are panhandled on the street. Probably everyone has been burned by people claiming need, a need that turns out to be something different than their claim. The resolve I thought that I had reached many years ago—give and let go—doesn’t track so well for me. We’ve all learned that when someone asks for money for food, we should stop, say “I’ll get you some food, what would you like?” I did that one morning at McDonald’s many months ago. He was traveling, laden with backpacks and a musical instrument, and he was hungry. It was not a life-changing experience—at least, not for me. I have no way of knowing what it meant to the other guy. The friend I was riding with told me cynically that the guy had ripped me off. Maybe so, but there was something in that act for all three of us. We just have to figure it out.

One stone does not a building make. So from where I sit, my monthly trip to deliver jars of peanut butter and cans of tuna to one of the food banks here counts for something. But it’s not enough. It can’t be enough, regardless of how much I give, which is modest by any standard. Everywhere we look we see people in need. And trust me, I’m not interested in hearing flippant judgments about choices. “It’s all about choices,” some crow. There but for the grace of God, goes John Bradford (16th century English Reformer and martyr). We must see Christ in every face. At some level of consciousness, each of us wants others to see Christ in our face. Namaste.

R. Harold Hollis—Albuquerque, NM (May 24, 2012)