Written by Heather Moline for EM's Cross-Cultural Training Resource on "Human Dignity,"
now available for free here.
Last fall, I was visiting my hometown for a holiday weekend when my friend invited me to an inner-city outreach program. The Saturday morning event took place in a vacant parking lot on the corner of Washington and 2nd street---when we arrived there was music playing, a line forming for hot chocolate, free hot dogs, children's games, and an assortment of lawn chairs scattered between the faded yellow lines. Everything was well organized, in fact, multiple local churches and charities had come together to host the event and everyone seemed excited to get out into the community.
But I immediately noticed something strange.
The volunteers stood around awkwardly, hovering above the "needy" that sat clustered together in the chairs---homeless men, tired moms, and children in mismatched mittens.
Even though there was a lot of commotion in the parking lot, very few people appeared to be interacting. Trying to get a feel for where I fit in, I wandered over to the hot chocolate line and grabbed a pre-poured, Styrofoam cup. After one sip and burning my tongue, I spotted an empty chair next to a woman and a little girl.
"Can I sit here?" I asked.
"Guess so," the woman said, motioning for the little girl to come sit on her lap.
"Hi there," I said, "How old are you?"
She looked at the woman for approval and then back at me, "Six and a half," she whispered, burying her face behind her pink scarf.
"Is she your daughter?" I asked the woman.
"Yep."
"What's your name?" I asked the little girl.
"Tia Anne Brown," she said, peeking out from behind her scarf.
"That's a beautiful name, Tia. Nice to meet you, I'm Heather."
She nodded and smiled.
"She's really cute," I said, taking another sip of my hot cocoa.
"She's cute when she listens," the mother said.
I sat with Tia and her mom, LeAnn, for several minutes in silence. I got the feeling that she didn't really want to talk, so we just sat together. Tia and I began playing some sort of hybrid peek-a-boo, winking game---and before long she was standing next to me, telling me about her teachers at school and why M&M's with peanut butter were her favorite kind of candy.
Eventually, the volunteers left their posts and rallied together to begin delivering hot chocolate refills, candy canes, or school supplies to those seated in the chairs.
The three of us sat together and eventually, LeAnn and I began talking. We didn't talk about anything important, really---just the weather or the song playing through the speakers, or how much cream we put in our coffee.
The conversation eventually shifted to deeper topics. LeAnn began talking about the broken school system, the tough economy, and what it's like to be a single mom. I mostly listened, unsure of what to say.
As we talked, volunteers walked by, offering us more hot chocolate. We both got a refill and Tia took a handful of Bubble gum pieces from the bucket as it passed by.
"Only one, Tia!" her mom scolded.
"It's okay, she can have as many as she wants!" said the volunteer before moving on to the next child.
LeAnn rolled her eyes.
Then, another volunteer approached holding a Bible. "How are you, miss?" he asked me, crouching down on one knee to look me in the eye.
"Good. How are you?" I said.
"I'm just wonderful, thank you for asking. And how are you, mam?" he said, tilting his head toward LeAnn.
"Fine."
"Well great, ladies! Glad to hear you're doing so well. I just wanted to take a few minutes and see if I could talk with you about something..."
After a long pause, he blurted it out, "Do you know Jesus?"
LeAnn flinched, turning her chair slightly away from him. The guy looked startled, but then fixed his attention back on me.
"Yes, yes I do," I finally said.
"That's wonderful to hear! And do you go to church anywhere regularly?"
"Yes, I attend church with my family when I'm not traveling."
"I see. A traveler, huh? What kind of traveling do you do?"
I couldn't help but feel a little put-off by his tone of voice and the way he smiled and tilted his head when he listened to me, never blinking his eyes. At this point, Tia's mom had totally checked out. I glanced to my right and saw Tia following the volunteer and grabbing another handful of Bubble Gum pieces.
"I travel for my job," I said, hoping he would move on and let me continue my conversation.
"Well great! And is this a steady job or would you happen to be looking for part time work? Our church has a job placement program for people who are..."
I cut him off before he could finish.
"I work for a non-profit organization based out of Seattle," I said, trying to control the edge in my voice. "This is my hometown. I travel around the U.S. and also internationally, helping coordinate volunteers. I just graduated last spring from a Christian university."
He blinked, "Oh, yes... of course. And you're volunteering..."
"Just hanging out," I said.
For the next few minutes we talked about which church he attended in the city. It turns out we graduated from rival high schools, although he had finished a few years before me. The conversation was fine, just casual small talk---although he seemed a little embarrassed to have learned that I was not, in fact, homeless. We finished with a stiff handshake and a see you later before he moved on to the next row of lawn chairs.
I spent the rest of the morning chatting with LeAnn and playing high-five games with Tia. But I couldn't help thinking about my interaction with the volunteer.
His tone of voice. The way he looked at me with pity. The way he assumed I was unemployed or unsaved, or both.
And then I felt angry. Angry at the way that he had treated me like a cold-call subscriber for his charity. It was embarrassing, the way he labeled me so quickly. The way he thought he could fix my pre-determined problems without first learning my name.
Then I began thinking about the other people that he may have stepped-on that day. People who really needed to hear his message of hope, but couldn't get past his patronizing tone or sympathetic glance.
People whose biggest need is not a handout, but real relationships. People who need friends to cheer them on, to hear their stories, to play with their children, and to just love them like people. Because they are---they are people.
And after I stopped being angry with the volunteer who had insulted my pride, I started re-examining my own past. Had there been times, in my excitement to serve or to evangelize, that I had talked to someone in that same pitiful tone? Had I ever jumped ahead to deep, spiritual conversations in an attempt to fix someone's heart without ever taking the time to first understand their story?
I shuddered at the thought and the realization. I had been one of those people.
God, forgive me.
As I gave LeAnn and Tia a hug goodbye, I felt like we had made a genuine connection that morning. I hoped that LeAnn felt encouraged. I hoped that Tia had fun and that I was able to speak some sort of truth into her life---telling her that she was smart, that she should keep working hard in school.
And I trust that God used me, even if it was in a small way.
Since that strange experience in the parking lot, God has continued to teach me about how he wants me to love and share his message with other people. He has taught me about the importance of dignity and how, as someone who desires to serve others, I also have a big responsibility to represent him well.
Without a doubt, there are times when God can speak through complete strangers to influence our lives in radical ways. The right word at the right time. A divinely arranged meeting on the city bus or a casual conversation with someone in a coffee shop. He's great at orchestrating these kinds of moments when we least expect them.
But, there has to be a balance somewhere---a perfect middle where bold sharing meets authentic connection. And it all comes back to dignity.
In my search for this kind of healthy tension, God has shown me the value of relationships, of being a listener, of putting my own agenda aside. He has been gracious and patient with me as I learn.
He has reminded me over and over again that the way I love other people is just as important as the message itself.
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