by Barbara Berry-Bailey

After packing the last article of clothing into my daughter's duffle bag, I flopped on the sofa and propped up my feet in satisfaction. She had been talking about this outdoor education overnighter since school began in August.

She wanted to pack the really cool pair of pajamas, but the weather reports warned of frost. No, I decided; so the yellow fleece sleep sack got packed. I made the switch after she went to bed. I might not win the Mom of the Year Award, but the mental picture int he little thought bubble above my head of her shivering in the cold Wisconsin woods told me I made the right choice. Enduring the inconveniences of outdoor living — rain, burnt food, latrines, pumping water, starting fires — builds character. Shivering in the cold all night, however, is beyond mere inconvenience. With that thought, my mind wandered, and I began to think about how homeless people make it from one day to next, especially when the weather reports warn of frost, snow, or wind.

I recalled a song by pop musician Phil Collins that used to be played many times a day on radio stations across the country. Its lyrics described the situation between the haves and the have-nots: "She calls out to the man on the street, 'Sir, can you help me? It's cold, and I've nowhere to sheep. Is there somewhere you can tell me?' He walks on, doesn't look back; he pretends he can't hear her. Starts to whistle as he crosses the street; seems embarrassed to be there." Remember that song? Have you ever seen that woman?

No excuses for not getting it
For many of us, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus is one we would rather not think too much about. Perhaps it is because the parable divides rich from poor, feast from famine, us from them. Perhaps it is because we are uncomfortable with our own plenty. When trying to understand a parable, we do not analyze the whys or wherefores of every element. A parable is a story told to make a point; a single principle comes to bear, and a single moral is deduced. The rich man ate, Lazarus starved. The rich man was healthy, Lazarus was so sick that he could not shoo away the dogs. The rich man was living it up inside his luxurious compound and did nothing to alleviate the suffering of Lazarus who was barely alive outside the gate.

If, in an attempt to be fair, we set aside the meaning of the parable to analyze the rich man’s situation, he is still convicted. He knew Lazarus by name, and he knew of Lazarus’ station in life — a low-life, have-not. After the rich man dies and is tormented in Hades, he believes Lazarus should cater to his needs. Even in Hades, this clueless, nameless rich man does not get it.

Where are we in all this? Do we get it? What do we do about the hungry ones we see, whether they are on the street or on our Sunday worship bulletin covers? Some of us opt to look away or order our lives in such a way as to avoid seeing them altogether. But, by doing so, we are choosing to be clueless. However, according to the parable, not getting it is no excuse.

A dollar and a prayer
There was this old woman beggar who used to stand at the entrance to my subway station in Washington. Every day, I would walk past her. I could see her pale, wrinkled face beneath the stocking cap that covered most of her white hair. In the winter, she wore short boots and a knee-length coat. I am certain her legs were always cold. I remember wondering, "How did she end up like this? Did she not have children to take care of her? Did she neglect or abuse them and now this was her punishment?" She was there every day, and every day I would silently wonder about her. Then, one day, she wasn’t there. And that scared me because my silent questions did nothing to help her. When I would walk past where she usually stood at the entrance of the Foggy Bottom station, I was keenly aware of the empty space. She was definitely "the least of these" for whom I did nothing but walk by and wonder.

Then, weeks later, she was there again as if she had never been absent, standing in the same place. This time I looked in her eyes, not just at her hat or her hair or her coat. I could have asked her name, talked to her, and learned her story, but I did not. I was too caught up in my Washingtonian lifestyle and appearances to do that. But I gave her a dollar that day and every day thereafter until I took a job in another city. I do not know her name; which is why during my intercessory prayer, I pray for those "whose names we do not know."

Teaching the world to fish
Truisms are complicit in our inaction: "Give a man a fish; you have fed him for today. Teach a man to fish; and you have fed him for a lifetime." We can even proof-text our lack of involvement by using Scripture, dragging Jesus into it so that we might feel better. After all, didn’t Jesus say, "The poor will always be with you"? So maybe we could just drop spare change in the small box at the checkout counter. But even as we show our credit card to pay for our week’s worth of groceries, we know deep down that those quarters dropped in the box would not stretch far enough to feed the few people living in our own home. How, then, could it feed the starving multitudes?

Jesus was faced with hordes of outstretched hands begging for help and expecting to be healed. The word "many" is used numerous times to describe the multitude of people who approached Jesus for help or healing of some kind. In Matthew we are told that "many crowds" came to him for healing, and Jesus cured them all! Now, there are many in just one crowd; Jesus faced many crowds. Even Jesus, who gave, fed, and cured, must have felt overwhelmed at times.

However, unlike Jesus, we simply cannot give to every individual who comes up to us and asks for a handout. There are no easy answers. But if you are a part of the solution; that is, if you are involved some way in teaching hungry people to fish, you might find some peace and sense of balance when you encounter the hungry.

A dollar a day will go a long way to feed hungry people all over the world. If everyone reading this article right now would pledge to give $365 to the World Hunger Appeal, that money could feed hungry children not only "over there" but "right here" as well. A domestic hunger grant through a congregation could feed an old beggar woman at the Foggy Bottom Metro station.

You may not be able to heal and feed them all, but you can do something about some of the ones right at your gate or subway stop.

Rev. Barbara Berry-Bailey serves as associate director for worship at the ELCA churchwide office.