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Nov
30
Written by:
Keith
11/30/2009 12:46 AM
“Hello sir. I know this sounds weird, but I forgot my wallet at home, and need to catch the BART train. I was wondering if you would be willing to trade these cookies for a couple of dollars.” Shamefully I lifted my eyes from the floor.
He looked at me, and then took the cookies. “Sure brother!” With a smile and an exultation for what I imagined would be his dinner, he stooped down to carefully pick up eight quarters from his beat up guitar case. His scruffy beard was bunched and clumped. Scuffed leather shoes too thin to be warm donned his feet. Worn out pants housed his thin legs. A thin, dirty shirt clung to his chest. And finally, an old jacket completed the wardrobe.
He turned back around and dropped the quarters out, one by one, into my hand. His hands were rough, scratched, no doubt cracked from the wind and the cold. “There you go.” Slowly, I looked him in the face to express my gratitude, and saw an old man, tall, but tired. Wrinkles lined his forehead, eyes mouth. His teeth were yellow, yet not unpleasant. His smile, genuine, his posture, honest, his demeanor, proper and civilized. But what surrounded this man was an aura of lack, of want, of need. And unsurprisingly. He was The Beggar.
To explain how I came to meet this fellow, I need to go back a day, to Saturday, November 21. The Big Game, StanfUrd vs. California. An 11 hour commitment, full of cheers, sighs, stunned silence, groans of hunger, laughter, screams, crashing bodies, falling persons, confetti, face paint, harassment, anger, devastation, euphoria, joy, chants, songs, praises, clapping, rushing the field, confusion. My traveling party consisted of Roomie (Jeff), Tony (my suitemate), and my good friend Lauren. I’ll never forget the game, the heart wrench and entertainment. The day went well (even though we almost got lost), and it seemed like against all odds, (between switching trains, going to a place no one had been before, and being clueless college kids, a lot can go wrong!), we were going to end up back at Berkeley without a lost person (although we almost lost Tony) or another unforeseen catastrophe or unplanned for event. But alas, the probable came true. On the CalTrain ride back, I decided to doze off after an exhausting day, when Roomie turns around to give me a confused look.
“I’m getting a call from you Roomie.” I return his look. It was impossible. I had forgotten my phone charger at home, so my phone had just enough power to make a couple of calls. Plus, I thought I had left my phone back at home. “I don’t know.” I said. So he picks up. The phone call goes something like this:
“Hello, is this Keith’s cousin Jeff?” a voice says.
“Uh, yes this is.”
“Okay good. My name is Michelle. I have Keith’s phone, and I’m just wondering how I can get it back to him. I live in Ashby, and I’m wondering if we can meet up tomorrow?”
“Oh yeah, we’re students at Cal.”
“Great! We can arrange something tomorrow then.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot. I’ll tell him for you.”
“Okay, talk to you tomorrow. Good bye.”
Meanwhile, I’m realizing that I DID bring my phone with me, just in case I needed to make an emergency call. “Fail Keith, fail,” I thought to myself. But all was well. A kind person had found it. Praise God for inspiring good deeds of man!
And then, Roomie and I asked, how in the world did she know that Jeff was my cousin?! I didn’t put it in my phone. And how did she know my name? Mystery of mysteries. Strange. But the next day, my friends Uram and Michael made it clear. Michelle had looked at the recent contacts, and called Uram. Thanks to the Freeborn’s Fabulous Fifth Floor, they had figured out how to get Jeff’s number to Michelle (look it up in the phone! Kelly’s you’re a genius).
So at 6:30pm I zoom off on my scooter, (YES, I ride my scooter at college. It’s faster!) towards the BART station to ride over a stop to Ashby and pick up my phone. And halfway down the hill, I realize in my haste I had remembered to pick up cookies to say thank you to Michelle, yet forgotten my wallet.
“if I turn back know, it’ll be too late. Maybe I can just skip onto the train without buying a ticket, and then pay them back later. Maybe I can borrow some money from a friend I meet up on the way. Is there anyone I can call on a Sunday night that would be at the BART station?” I thought. Horrible plans, yes, but the only thing I had. And then, I realized that by what some would call dumb luck (and I’ll call God’s provision), I had bought two bags of cookies. “I can sell one, and give the other to Michelle!” I thought. Revelation. Problem solved.
Walking into the station, I spotted a man and made him my target. Nice rugged green jacket, denim jeans, slicked hair, cell phone, mid forties, middle class, tennis shoes, nice watch. I approached him as an equal, because shoot, I was one, wasn’t I? My social class and his were at least equal. “Excuse me sir, I’m in a predicament. I forgot my wallet at home, and I’m wondering if you’d be willing to trade me these for two dollars so I can ride the BART.” There. Done deal. I wasn’t dressed like someone who needed to beg for money to live, I didn’t present myself as a street kid. Just a forgetful college student.
“No, I don’t have any money.” Gone. Walked away. Silence. Practically ignored. I was offended, to say the least. And then all those times I had ignored the homeless asking for change, or some food. Or the times I had walked about four feet away from a beggar shaking a cup of change, as if to avoid getting a disease. Or the times I had looked at disgust because of their appearance, smell, demeanor, whatever. Bricks of what had started as indignation at the lying man who refused to give me money turned to self-criticism and reflection. Interesting. I’m the beggar now. I’m the one at the mercy of those who are finishing up a day of everyday labor.
But after my epiphany, I still don’t have any money. But I turn around and what do you know—The Beggar. Sitting with his guitar, peacefully resting. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I will beg from The Beggar. Submit myself to a man who probably has less money to his name than the amount that the iTouch in my pocket is worth. Yes, this dirty, homeless, needy, hungry, poor, abandoned man will be my provider. The middle class man was stingy, ungenerous, when he had much to give. And this man, who has comparatively nothing, gives. Gives. And that brings me to where I started this story.
Well, it turns out I didn’t need that ticket, because Michelle ended up driving over to the station I was at, and dropped the phone off. God save her—she was truly kind. But I had an unused ticket, and nothing to do with it. So on my way out, I dropped it back off to The Beggar, whom I’ll now dub, The Guitarist. He was coo-ing a baby as her mother looked on lovingly. This was an extraordinary man, with a heart bigger and a soul more generous than my own. “Did I help you brother?” “Oh yes, thank you very much. Here, take this, I don’t need it anymore.” He meant help getting a ticket. I meant help getting a perspective.
I reclaimed my phone. But more than that, I gained a key insight to humility. Jesus came to earth, humbled himself, lived homeless, hungry, broke, for the last three years of His life, even though He was and is God, with more riches than the universe can hold at His disposal. He forsake it all, to come to this broken, dirty, sinful, evil, corrupt world of ours. For what? Why?
For you.
And if He had come to earth now, instead of when He did, would I scorn Him as a liar, as a friend of sinners, as a dirty, defiled, man worthy of being beaten and nailed to a wooden cross? My instinct says, “NO! I would never do that.” The smart side of me says, “Yes Keith. You are a sinner. You would do the same thing. You would have yelled ‘Crucify Him!’ along with everyone else.” What have I to take pride in? Nothing, nothing, nothing.
If life is a pursuit of becoming more and more like Jesus Christ, in character, deed, word, and motive, through the power of the Holy Spirit, who lives within every child of the Father God, then humility is the upmost and first lesson to learn. Begging from The Guitarist was the most humbling, (and by humbling I don’t mean embarrassing), thing I’ve ever done. And I say Amen.
God is the Great Orchestrater who used my forgetfulness and seemingly random act of buying two packs of cookies to give me yet another glimpse Jesus’ humility. What a God we have!
So now what to do when a homeless man or woman asks you for money. Don’t give it to them. Much of the time, they’ll go blow it on booze or drugs, and that doesn’t help them at all. Give the money to organizations that are spreading the Gospel of Christ, providing real help to getting these people out of destitution and poverty. Or maybe take things into your own hands, and give them a good meal while telling them the Good News of Jesus. Love breaks down all social classes. To those whom much have been given, much is expected. Christ was homeless, and gave. Read Matthew 5:1-10. Pray on it. You have much to give. We all, have much to give. May you worship in humility well.
Grace be to you.
Keith Fong
1 Peter 1:3-9
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1 comment(s) so far...
Hey, Keith, thanks so much for sharing about this experience with the beggar who was willing to help you with your need of trading your cookies for a few dollars for a BART ticket. I was blessed to read about how God used this encounter to help you experience greater humility as well as tenderness of heart toward the needy.
I think its interesting that one of the reasons some Asian parents (Christian and non-Christian alike) object to there kids going into any sort of full time vocational ministry that requires fund raising (like missionaries and campus ministers with groups like InterVarsity, Campus Crusade, Asian American Christian Fellowship, etc) is their perceived shame in "begging" for support. Instead we are urged to pursue careers which have the highest earning power, status, and security in our society.
God wants all of us who know Jesus as our Lord and Savior to remember His words to His people (Israel) just before He lead them into the Promised Land where they would experience abundant material blessing. "You may say to yourself, "My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me." But remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms his covenant, which he swore to your forefathers, as it is today." (Deuteronomy 8:17-18)
We Asians tend to cultivate an internal subtle pride in our achievements in school and work. But we forget that it is God who grants us the "ability to produce wealth." We take much for granted. But having a sound mind, the ability to study and learn, the opportunity to work and make money, even every breath we take, these are all gifts from God.
And as you shared near the end of your blog entry - "To those whom much have been given, much is expected." (Luke 12:48)
Thanks for the practical advice not to give cash to beggars who far too often will use this money to support some form of substance abuse. Lets direct our financial support to Christian ministries who share practical assistance such as food, clothing, and shelter in the Name and love of Jesus.
But personally we can share some food or even just a bottle of water with a needy person we encounter on the street. Perhaps most importantly, we need to ask God to soften our hearts, that we might experience the love and compassion God has for all needy people in our world.
By Pastor Louis on
12/3/2009 10:27 AM
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