Giving Jesus a Ride

My roommate from college left for the foreign mission-field exactly one day before we did, and despite the fact that she is working for Jesus in a very different part of His world, I'm always surprised how much her sentiments and experiences mirror my own.

Her most recent post is no exception...

Giving Jesus a Ride--Bex S.

I’m not good with beggars. I always feel so guilty I feel when I see the desperation in a beggar’s face. I feel violated when they stick their grimy hands in my face or worse grab my arm and plead with those so sad eyes for just ten cents. I always feel like I made the wrong choice – whether I give something or I don’t. Either I am denying a person a meal, or I am supporting a system in which poor children, and disabled persons, and grandparents are sent out to the streets to sacrifice their pride in seek of food. I can’t stand giving someone something and a dozen others rush over, hands outstretched, demanding in the name of God that I help them too.

And do you know what I hate the most? I hate it when they are grateful. I can’t stand the feeling of begrudgingly handing over that ten cents (or sometimes twenty cents!) and that little old lady in front of me grasps my hand in surprise and joy and won’t let go before she finishes a two minute monologue of every blessing she’s every heard. I always feel so stingy and arrogant, as I reluctantly share from my plenty and she is so grateful for so little.

So I mostly avoid beggars. I look down, turn away, close the door, and when I give something I try to not make a connection. It’s just too hard.

But then we met Jesus. Our team leader saw him first. We were all in the UN store buying expensive candy bars and chips and Rob struck up a conversation with him in the dusty side-of-the-road parking area. His legs are paralyzed and stuck in a permanent position, folded to the side. In a land of no wheelchairs, he uses his hands to scoot himself along on his butt, dragging his legs to the side, all the while keeping a white jelebiya spotless. He had finished his work, begging, for the day, and needed a ride to the market. We were going right by so Rob told him he could get a ride with us.

As he climbed in the car, I was a bit surprised – it would have never occurred to me to give him a ride. We chatted casually, he seemed like a really nice guy. On the eight-minute trip to the market the irony did not escape me that we had a man named Isa, the Arabic name for Jesus, sitting in the back seat. And isn’t this how we are supposed to treat the poor, the sick, the naked, the hungry – Jesus Christ himself?

A couple weeks later Brenda and I saw Jesus again. Before going into the shop we offered him a ride, he smiled and thanked us. When we went outside, Jesus and two other definitely-not-handicapped guys piled in the back seat. They offered no explanation, but carefully perched our leftover restaurant food on the seat between them so it wouldn’t fall. Brenda and I hesitated, boundaries stretched – is this what loving your neighbor means? But we were already committed, so we headed to the market and tried to make conversation with three people very different from us. They told us how much they enjoyed Ramadan. And remarkably, they were the only people we talked to during the month who were honestly open to understanding our beliefs also.

But this week, it finally occurred to us to ask about Jesus’ situation. He’s the oldest of seven children – all the others still in school. His father is gone, so it’s his responsibility to support the family. And I glanced back at this guy, just over twenty, unable to walk, who is joyfully carrying the burden of six siblings and a mother, in the only way he knows how – begging. He has no other options, either he begs, or his family is hungry, out of school with no future.

And the world flipped upside down. Because these people – they’re people. They’re Jesus. The one who was hungry and I didn’t feed, was thirsty and I didn’t give water, was a stranger and I didn’t invite in, was naked and I didn’t clothe, was in prison and I didn’t visit, was in need of a ride and I looked away. How many times have I intentionally ignored Him because I was tired?

But this isn’t a story about guilt – I already have enough of guilt, and it doesn’t usually prompt a positive change. No, this is a story about learning, and stumbling, and failing, and living to follow Jesus. He already knows this weakness – that I don’t know how to love beggars. And he knows that a ‘try harder’ attitude will get me no where. So, this story is just about the journey – the step by step, tiny revelation by tiny revelation, walking closer and closer and learning to breathe His grace.

Because even meeting Jesus, the Camel-land one, will not change how I treat beggars. There are still too many people, too many needs. And I don’t think Nazareth Jesus met all the needs he saw. He didn’t heal everyone, or fix all the problems, or stop all the wars, or feel guilty about it. But he cared, he saw, he loved, all.

And even if I am not called to give to every person who asks, I am called to love. My calling is to look into their eyes, to acknowledge that they are as human as I am – with both the brokenness and holiness. And there are a few who the Lord will specifically put in my path, like Camel-land Jesus. There are a few who He does ask me to feed and clothe and visit and let in and give a ride to. And my job is not to worry about the thousands I can’t help, but to be sensitive enough to the Spirit, to really help those few I am asked to help.

And then, crazy as it is, I am the one who benefits more than the one I ‘help’. Because I don’t think Camel-land Jesus knows my story, or even my name – many people help him everyday. But I have benefited from his story and his life. I get to know this very normal, though disadvantaged, guy. And every week I can learn about this nation and life here. It’s good to have my boundaries stretched, my doubts relieved, and to learn that beggars aren’t all threatening. And I look forward to giving him a ride again next week. It’s nice to have Jesus in the back seat and chat with him awhile.