Two Tunics

And the crowds asked him, "What then shall we do?" And he answered them, "Whoever has two tunics is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise. -John the Baptist (Luke 3:10-11)

     So... I may have done something a little crazy.

     I am an adjunct instructor of theatre at a small Baptist university in Missouri. Every three years we take our students to New York City so that they can get a taste of the life there and participate in workshops that help them understand the industry. As an added bonus, they get to perform an hour long showcase there.

     Six years ago, I was a student on this very trip. We were the first group to go ever. The budget was small and we were trying to keep costs low, so we stayed in a church located in Hell's Kitchen. The bunking area was up about five flights of stairs that we had to climb each night (which, believe me, involved a lot of wailing, nashing of teeth, and one member declaring that she would "sleep on this landing"), but before we could even enter the building we had to step over a homeless person who slept on the stoop of the church.

     When people ask me why I didn't try to go to New York, I always tell them that I went to New York on this trip fully intending to come back. But the city smells like urine. It just does, and no one can convince me otherwise. It is a beautiful and vivacious city, and I love it, but it smells like urine. But that is not the real reason I decided I couldn't go to New York. It was because of that homeless man.

     That homeless man reminded me that there are people, actual people, that live on a sidewalk. And some of them live on the church steps. Don't get me wrong, this church is great and they reach out constantly- they just can't help everyone. It makes me wonder, though... why did that man chose that spot? It could have been random, of course, but was he thinking, "If anyone were going to invite me in, it would be a church"? And night after night we all, all eight southern baptist students, stepped over this man. Once in the pouring rain.

     Then there was the girl who looked to be about my age who was sitting by the line that led into the theatre where we were going to see a Broadway show. I looked at her and I couldn't shake the urge to speak to her. But I knew better. This girl was probably mentally unstable or addicted to drugs and I wasn't going to waste my time talking to some strung out person who would probably cuss me out and not even remember me the next day.

     I'm telling you, reader, that girl haunts my very dreams.

     I'm getting a second chance with this trip. I'm packing as little as possible and then I'm going to pack every shred of winter clothing I can fit into my suitcase. I've asked my church to pitch in and I already have more than I can carry myself. I'm going to carry and wear these items from place to place and I'm giving them away. I am going to watch and pray from place to place. I'm going to get down on my knees in front of the homeless, look into their eyes, and ask them what they need. And then I am going to give it to them (hopefully). And then I'm going to sit next to them and talk to them about their lives. I want to know how they got there, who they were before, and what I can do to help. I'm going to buy them coffee and breakfast and we're going to have communion together on the sidewalk.

     This makes me so uncomfortable. But I was poor until Jesus made me rich. I should identify with these people more than I could ever imagine.