With the homeless, or against them?

If my pastors have one common theme, other than the generic Jesus/church/love/compassion, love to chat about giving. Giving outside one's means. Being a joyful giver. Give what God's given you, give like there's no tomorrow, givegivegive.

Makes sense. I have my share of material things and I find that they don't really make me that much happier. (Though there are those rare comics and movies which make me explode with gooey happiness.)

Anyhoo, apparently the next two services at Quest will be about giving. Challenging us to donate beyond our means. Since the economy is less than fluffy, half of our offerings will go to homeless shelters/food, and the other half will go to help out those in our church community who find themselves in a financially complicated situation.

I tend to think that I'm used to doing my part. I may not give extravagently around Christmas, but when God calls me to pony up here or there, I do okay. Make with the fundage. Let's just say I'm not the worst human being on the planet.

Transfer train of thought to my work. I work in a coffee shop with quite a few homeless folks around. They smell, their money smells, and I've had food spat on the floor, threats made... Look, some of them are quite nice. But some of them quite obviously have mental states that are not the norm. On Wednesday, a fellow of "suspicious" attire and manerisms ordered a tall coffee for his friend, and he wanted a white mocha. I told him it was $5.16, and he pulled out a $5 bill and some change. He left $.15 on the counter, and I asked him if he had one more penny. He then growled, threw an extra dollar in change at me, snatched back his $5, and pulled out a $20. During this transaction, he muttered that I was a, "...", uh... well, it was two words, both considered vulgar, and suggested a gesture which I don't plan on ever engaging in. (Let's just call it "rude" and move on.) He then went to pick up his drink and told my supervisor that someone should talk to me about my attitude. (I have plenty of 'tude. But I assure you, it was not on display for him that day)

Next day? Thursday? He shows up again, clearly recognizes me; as I do him, and orders his white mocha. Looks at me suspiciously, takes his change, and walks away. Through Wednesday and Thursday I had some non-fluffly thoughts. "This is the kind of people they want me to donate to? This is the kind of jerk who can't even treak me like a human being? This mentally defunct twerp who swears at me for no reason at all? I'm supposed to care about his well being when he seems to have $20s to toss around on fancy drinks?"

I didn't wish ill will on him. I don't really desire for anyone to be hit on a bus. But I wasn't in the mood to be his new best friend. I was ready to never see him again. I can get people banned from the store. I can get security to ban people within a 3 block radius. Technically I'm the victim of abusive behavior, and therefore am entitled to respond in a safety-first manner. Basically, I have the right to refuse service to anyone.

But that's not really the Christian way, now is it? Jesus was more than cursed. I figure until I'm physically assaulted, I'm doing pretty swanky. (Oh, relax, parents. I'll be fine. Sheesh.) I may not like the guy, but I'm still supposed to love him. Care about him. Make sure that I hope for the best for him. But do I have to give him money?

Well, big picture? It's not him. It's thousands of people around who are perfectly nice people too. He's in there, sure, but there's a whole mess of folks just trying to get by and feed their family. He's just the squeaky wheel. Still, do I feel like helping him? Like I'm supposed to?

I looked at my bank account. There's a figure that popped in my head. A figure that seemed unrealistic. Especially since I had an envelope from my dentist at home, one more epilogue in my 4 month waiting period with insurance. My dentist never mails me a plastic envelope unless it is a bill. My hopes for meeting that figure will low... Until I opened the envelope this morning. It was a check. (!) For several hundred dollars. (!!!) Maybe they'll adjust the figure later and as for money back, but I doubt it.

In the meantime, it seems that I have this calling to give, a group that is in need, and the means to do it.

Kinda makes a better-left-forgotten grudge seem rather pithy, doesn't it? I mean, God worked it out so nicely, the least I can do is follow suit, huh?