It's a Spiritual Thing

Sitting a table in the mall’s food court, my husband Jim and I watched an oriental woman, cleaning tables. At some point, she glanced over and smiled the sweetest of smiles. Her face was that of a child, bright eyes and clear skin. I couldn’t resist, and Jim agreed. Timidly, as we never know how the beneficiary will respond, he crossed over to her hiding a bill in his palm. This bill to us is, in a sense, was just another bill, but perhaps to her, it could be the bill that might buy her week’s groceries. She smiled again, and looked over to me with yes, love in those bright eyes. Was she an angel sent by God just for us?

I struggle with that awful question: How can I use money and not be used by it? How can I give and not feel foolish after the giving. How can I know when I must give to someone less fortunate?

There are many incidents of confusion that I might relate here, but one that comes to mind was a particular incident that happened about 9:00 p.m. driving home through dark, and quiet streets after a visit with a friend. I stopped for a red light at an even darker and yes, scary corner. Secure in my cadallic, I saw this homeless man, or so he seemed, leaning against the wall of a run down building. One knee was bent as his foot rested on the wall He seemed intent on watching passing cars, apparently waiting to catch a stopped car at the light. No other car was in in place with me. The light kept me waiting not far from him.

Suddenly, I felt an onslaught of emotion, streaks of fear, glad that I had electric locks which in one quick press of a button, I secured all doors. All windows were up. I was safe, locked in.

But this man stepped into the street walking to my passenger side. I was conflicted, conscious of the inequality. Here I sat comfortably driving an upscale, air-conditioned car while he seemingly employed his feet for transportation. Sure, there was ample money in my pocket to give him. That’s probably what he wanted. And probably harmless, I, nevertheless, felt that demon of fear. That fear held me, took me captive, emotionally apart from this human being. I failed to reach out and hand him a twenty living in my wallet. Paradoxically, that long wait for the light to change forced me to grab that twenty in my hand. “Give him the damn twenty, I thought. What I did was to press the side window button, slit it just enough to pitch the bill out, forcing him to stoop to the ground to retrieve it. He walked back and away. The light turned green. I revved up the motor and scooted out of there.

So what did I carry home? No great feelings around the virtue of generosity but only feelings of shame. Blinded by fear, I had treated another human like an animal, throwing him a bone, forcing him to stoop to the ground for it. Fear can be an awful distraction from doing the good we want to accomplish.

One friend attempted to console me: “Honey, that was smart. Keep those doors locked.” Was she smart? Maybe. Yet, I don’t pass that corner without remembering that needy young man. One nun friend told me “You weren’t your best You. You’re going to have to live with it.”

There is always someone within sight who can use an extra bill or two. The habit of generosity moves a soul to stretch, to play a vital part in the world’s movement of money. And you and I have to decide when it’s part of God’s direction to send out that money. But when we resist, we have to live with it. It’s a spiritual thing.