A Wednesday encounter

During lunch hour yesterday, I went to get myself a drink somewhere near my workplace when I saw a man sitting on a wheelchair outside a bank. I didn’t really look at him. Just caught a glimpse and noticed that he was shabbily dressed, with a mug in his hand, sitting there passively, maybe asleep. His right leg was missing, probably amputated. Must be a beggar I guessed. I passed him by quickly, just as I have done in similar situations before.

I walked passed a bakery and saw a nice sandwich on the shelf. I bought it and went back to the man. He received it and thanked me, and I walked off almost immediately without a word, having done my “good works”.

I have always struggled with encounters like this, especially if they approach me to ask for money. Should I give or should I not? Sometimes I give, other times I don’t. If I don’t, I would inevitably try to justify myself – What if he is a cheat? What if he spends on vices? Am I giving just to ease my conscience? But no matter what, whether I give or not, I would be feeling lousy after that, but just for a short while. Okay, maybe I would feel a little better if I give, but I still don’t really feel good about it. I knew why I feel bad if I don’t give, but I realised that something is amiss even when I give.

I think Roy McCloughry can shed some light here when he comments on the problem with the welfare system:

As mediated through the welfare state it means that every individual has to be treated like every other individual. Our survival needs are the same. But respect also means that I treat each person as unique, giving deference to the character and situation of each person. The fact is that no system can treat people with individual respect. It is the virtue of the system that it processes people with great efficiency because it is able to fit them into certain administrative categories. Each story told with feeling becomes a series of holes on a computer tape. Having a story which is unique may mean that the system cannot cope and will refuse provision. Only when the rules apply will provision be made and only where real people fit the models of people in the system can lives be reduced to payments.

No system can deliver love. What people are looking for is to be drawn into a set of relationships. In a community people learn about each other’s needs and how the uniqueness of the individual bears upon our common needs. This is why being dependent on the welfare system often feels like rejection. The person behind the grill at the benefit office wants no relationship with you. He will not put on his coat and invite you out for a drink to discuss your problems. You are a client.

(Roy McCloughry, ‘The Eye of the Needle’ [Leicester: Inter-Varsity Press, 1990], p. 73.)

I guess I’m no different from the cold welfare system if I’m only giving (even in obedience to what Jesus commands us to do) but fail to build friendship with the person. In fact, I can just swiftly get over and be done with my so-called “act of charity” and leave my “beneficiary” in a state of total rejection. No wonder I felt lousy about the whole darn thing during those times! Now back to the Wednesday incident…

Then I realised I hadn’t gotten my drink, so I decided to drop by at 7-eleven before I head back for work. Then something began to stir within me. The Holy Spirit? I sensed that I must take a step further this time. I bought two packets of orange juice and went back to the man. As I approached him, I saw him talking on his mobile phone. Usually, I would be suspicious of a so-called destitute person who owns a mobile phone, but not this time (I don’t know why). I sipped my juice and waited for his conversation to end. Now I had a clearer view of him. He was dark in complexion, with sores on his face and hands, and many of his teeth were missing. His left leg was swollen.

He ended his telephone conversation, and I asked, “Are you a Malay?” as I overheard him speaking in Malay and also from his darker complexion.

“No, I’m Chinese Baba,” he replied in clear English.

“Oh, I thought you are a Malay (Muslim) and wondered if the food is okay (halal) for you.”

“I eat anything. Beggars don’t choose what to eat,” he said with a hint of resignation. Some passers-by dropped money into his mug, which contained some dollar notes and coins.

I introduced myself and found out his name (let’s call him John – not his real name) and that he stays a few blocks from my home – a neighbour! John related how he used to sleep in stairways before a lady let him stay in her rental flat. “She is not around most of the time,” he said. “She only comes back for prayers once in a while.”

“She’s a Christian?” I asked expectantly.

“No, she worships (a pagan god),” he replied. I felt angry as I thought about that reply later that day. Why must it be like that? What is the church doing? Why spend millions of dollars on beautiful church buildings but left justice undone? As usual, I’ve got no answers.

“You are not working today?” he asked.

“I’m having my break. I work with people with intellectual disabilities.”

“They must be worse off than me! Harder for them to find work,” he said. All that while, I noticed that John did not have any eye contact with me.

I asked John how long he had been in his present situation, and he said about two years. But he definitely looked like he had been suffering for a long time. He said he used to work in the entertainment industry, but now nobody wanted to employ him when they saw his condition.

“So what do you do during the day?” I wanted to find out more about him.

“I came here to beg on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. I go for dialysis on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, four and a half hours each” he replied.

“NKF?” I asked instinctively.

“Yes, but it’s not free you know. I haven’t been paying them for some time already because I can’t afford it.”

“So how?” I asked.

“Ah, I still go lah. What to do? If I stop, I’ll die!” John lamented. He said that he goes to the dialysis centre by taxi, and many taxi drivers had pity on him and did not ask him to pay.

What he said set me thinking that no matter what happened in NKF, it still serves its purpose for people like John. Without NKF, he probably would not have survived till now.

“Can I visit you at one of your dialysis sessions?” I asked.

“Sure,” John replied and gave me the location of his dialysis centre and his mobile phone number.

“I need to get back to work now. Hope to see you again,” I said.

“God bless you.” he said. I headed back to work as I pondered on the whole incident. Many questions were left unasked during that brief encounter, and I hope I can get to know more about John when I see him again.

That night, during our church’s weekly prayer meeting, I shared with the group about my encounter with John. My pastor said something like this in response, “In Acts 3, Peter and John said to the lame man, ‘Silver and gold have I none, but what I have, I give to you.’ The lame man was healed in the name of Jesus. Whether you have the level of faith or not, you can pray for the man on the spot and expect him to get better. It’s easy to give him things, it may be a little harder to talk to him, but it’s most difficult to pray for him on the spot, which is what I encourage you to do.”

Yes, I should have prayed for him, which I intend to do when I meet him again. But in my opinion, the most difficult thing is not praying for him, but in becoming his friend whether he gets better or not. And that’s the thing we must do. (See my posting on 1 October 2006.)