We live in an era of safe Christianity. It’s a sanitary, hands-off, from-a-distance kind of lifestyle onto which we’ve pasted the name of Christ. We won’t consider dangerous or self-sacrificial situations for the cause of Christ. Any person who might be dirty or have a bad past is not worthy of our time — we only peer at them through our holier-than-thou fence and possibly cast some spare change in their direction. But if we’re living this way and calling ourselves Christians, we’re committing some serious false advertising — because Christ’s life on this earth could not be characterized by the words “safe” or “sanitary.” His life was radical, dangerous and anti-cultural. I wonder — if we truly realized that we are called to imitate him and that kind of lifestyle — if we would still claim to follow him.
This whole topic has been pounding in my head since an experience I had with a homeless man a few weeks back. My internship boss sent me out on a story about a local restaurant closing, so I drove into downtown Springfield to find the restaurant and see what the closing sign on the door said. When I was there, a homeless man approached me and asked me if I was the one buying this building because he was looking for work. I told him why I was there and he asked if I could spare any change for some food. I gave him what little money I had on me — nine cents — and asked if I could pray for him. Then he and I started talking about his life.
His name is Glenn and he has been homeless for four years. He has a bum leg that he can’t afford to get fixed and must use a crutch. He sweeps the Marathon gas station parking lot for a little money in the mornings. Sometimes, gangs of teenagers beat him up for fun. He’s on the waiting list at a shelter, but until then he sleeps in an alley. He attends a church but no one talks to him or looks at him. And the last time he ate was two days ago.
My heart broke for this man. I immediately thought of Matthew 25 where Christ said that when his followers fed and clothed the needy, they were feeding and clothing him. I looked at Glenn, and I did not see a smelly, scary homeless man; I saw a man made in the image of God who was starving. And I couldn’t leave him that way.
So I asked him if I could buy him some dinner at the Taco Bell across the street, and he looked at me like he must have heard me wrong. “Oh no,” he said, looking at the nickel and pennies I’d given him. “You have already given me so much.” And he meant that. I told him that God had provided me with resources so that I could help him — that I just wanted to show him the love of Christ. He said, “I didn’t know that existed anymore.”
And as I looked at this man, this brother of mine, and back at my car, I knew that the safe thing to do would be to leave him in this parking lot, get some food and bring it back to him. But I felt the leading of the Holy Spirit — crazy as that may sound — telling me that it would be ok to let this man in the car. When I told him I would give him a ride he protested strongly. He said, “Don’t let me in your car! I smell bad and I’m dirty, and you probably think I’ll carjack you.” But I told him that he was my guest, and when I told him he could sit in the front seat he was baffled. He smiled at me with his sparse set of teeth as if I was the first person to ever notice him, to ever treat him like a fellow human being.
When I told this story to a friend of mine, who I hoped would be touched by this man’s plight, I only got an earful about how unsafely I had acted … even though it was broad daylight in a busy area and the Taco Bell was directly across the street. She said he could have given me a disease or stolen my car or GPS. But honestly, if he tried to steal my GPS or my car, I probably would have just given them to him along with my wallet. He needs it all more than I do. After all, Luke 6:29 says that if a man takes your coat, you should give him your shirt also.
And I know that that wasn’t the “wisest” thing to do, and it’s not an action I plan on applying to every encounter I have with the homeless. But the Holy Spirit stirred my heart to help this man, and I did it. I felt that God wanted me to treat this man like a person by driving him in my car instead of treating him like some diseased creature I would leave on the curb and slow down long enough to toss food at. Christ touched and healed people with leprosy, and that wasn’t safe or sanitary. He ate with prostitutes; he had a tax collector — who was known for stealing — in his inner circle. He knew that those people needed Him, and no fear of disease or injury or stolen property would stand in his way. And I wanted to do that. I wanted to live out real Christianity, not the too-pristine imitation.
Because honestly, what are so-called Christians doing right now? We sit in our multi-million dollar churches with built-in coffee shops and talk about how sad it is that people are starving and dying; we may even set some bills in the offering plate for them as it passes around. But heaven forbid we set foot in the “bad parts of town” that need God’s people more than they need cash. Heaven forbid we sit and eat a meal with them, let them into our cars, invite them into our homes where we may be in danger. Because where in the Bible — that we so ardently claim to follow—does it call us to sacrifice our comfort or safety to bring the love of Christ to others? Oh yeah. Everywhere.
I once heard a well-known pastor named Charles Ware say that the church’s work should be Monday through Saturday, and that Sunday is merely coaching time. Too many Christians live like Sunday is their only work day—that going to church is all they have to do. Ware said that’s like going to a football game where all that happens is the coach training the team and telling them how to play the game but the players never actually play. A football player can’t call himself a football player if all he does is sit and listen to someone tell him how to play. And we Christians can’t call ourselves Christians if all we do is sit and listen to a pastor tell us how to live the Christian life. We have to get our hands dirty, put into practice what we are hearing. Otherwise, we’re just posers. And we can’t get upset when nonbelievers call us hypocrites and two-faced, because we are. If you’re not going to play football, don’t call yourself a football player. And if you’re not going to live a life like Christ, full of risks and self-sacrifice, don’t call yourself a Christian
