by Greg Kneller
We Christians are pretty good at justifying the bad rap we feel we get in society. What we see as being holy and pure is often perceived as egotistically separatist, elitist, and self-righteous; and, be it right or wrong, perception is everything. After thirty-four years in Christendom, I have acquired an increasing scent of cynicism which calls into question much of what I believe and challenges those of us who believe it—look not too closely and you’ll find a fair amount of ego here also.
Recently, while reading Tom Davis’ Red Letters: Living a Faith That Bleeds, I was called to the carpet. Tom references first and second century Christians who gave to all who asked and they never asked why. I immediately justified my position of being gracious to those in need if I could guarantee they wouldn’t spend it on drugs or alcohol. There are many things wrong with that logic, however. First, it usually kept me from giving instead of causing me to give. It also puts me in charge…as if? And, it is a condition. I understand that we don’t want to support a lifestyle of which we don’t approve, but again, it’s not about me. God clearly commands us to give and give freely. So here was my challenge.
I told God that I wanted to give to someone in need without any judgment. I went looking. It was Sunday morning, and I figured I should be able to find someone in need before I got home from church. As I dropped some stuff off at Goodwill, I gave the cash to a worker who must have needed it—and I hope he did, but I was restless. There was still a lot of judgment in me and in that gift. I had found a guy whose circumstances told me he could use the help—I judged that he needed it, and he didn’t even ask for help.
Two days later I turned 41. I planned a fun evening of Chinese take-out and movies with my family. My son and I were rushing home for the big event, and it was raining. As we rushed to the car, a tall, thin man came up to me and literally asked, “Hey man, can you help me out? I’m trying to get home to my family in Chicago, and my car ran out of gas.”
Uh, oh.
“I’m forty-nine, and I lost my job, and my wife is waiting for me. If I could just get home tonight, I can send you a check in the mail,” he quickly and somewhat convincingly speaks. I’ve heard this before, I thought. I tell him I have no cash, and I turn to leave (my son is now in the car—watching). But, as I do I remember—give to anyone who asks without judgment. I pause. I ask him to wait five minutes. We rush to the ATM and rush back. I pull up, and the man is still waiting, and he jumps at the sight of my truck. I hop out of the truck with the door still open to give him the cash. “Thank you so much. You’re an angel,” he says as his smile breaks through the dark rain. I tell him I’m surely not and that I hope things work out for him. He asks me if there is anything he can do for me, and I tell him there isn’t. He says it’s a wonderful day and that I really helped him a lot. I tell him it was indeed—my 41st birthday. He congratulates me and gave me a hug. I can smell the alcohol still on his breath, and I again resist judgment and the urge to fill his stomach with food rather than his hand with money. Carl tells me that life has been hard, but that I made his day and that he would like to pray for me if I would also pray for him. We agreed; we embraced; and we departed—Carl with a damp twenty and a lighter step, and me with some thoughts to reconcile.
I don’t know what Carl did with the money, but that isn’t my concern. God asked me to give and give freely; I asked God to provide that opportunity, and He did. I’ve been praying for Carl. Whatever his need was that night, it was met just a little through me. My need was also met. Interestingly, it was easier to give the cash than it was to resist running from Carl or living up to our aforementioned Christian stereotype. Yet, as I continue to ponder that moment and look forward to more, I am struck with this: Carl found a person who would meet his need; I opened my heart, my wallet, and my mind; and my son witnessed a moment that he will not forget.
