I was supposed to be the helper

I met two folks without homes on Tuesday. The first was a woman – early 40s maybe – sitting along the side of Hungerford Bridge. Pretty much the exact spot I had thought I was meeting my friend for the concert that night. (Turns out I said Waterloo Bridge, thinking Hungerford Bridge … drat.) I stood by for a bit looking out for my friend – then seconds became minutes and I still hadn’t acknowledged the woman. She called out with a wavering voice, “Change please.” As I waited, I saw a woman convince her husband to wait as she went to talk to the woman sitting on the bridge. They talked for a long time. Eventually the woman left, and I’m not sure if she ended up giving the woman on the bridge any change. As I waited, someone else stopped and chatted to the woman. Eventually I did the same. I forget how I started the conversation, but I essentially just checked in on her. She said she was needing money for a bed and breakfast that night. (Bed and breakfast?! What about something a bit cheaper?!) I asked if there was one close by, she explained there was one in Victoria. I eventually left the conversation without giving her anything.

Eventually finding my friend five minutes before the concert started, I went in to hear the beautiful soulful sounds of Vusi Mahlasela and Ladysmith Black Mambazo. My soul was stirred. I had no idea what most of their words meant, except for the brief nod they gave in way to a translation before a few of them, but the music still moved me. Something about South African music reaches right to the gut of me. There’s a mix of sentimentality from my time there, a bit of “coming home”, but also a large sense of resonation that occurs from this music which seems to resonate with all of humanity and bring us all together once again.

After the concert, I explained to my friend that since I saw this woman still sitting on the bridge I wanted to go and escort her to the bed & breakfast and pay whatever she still needed for the night. My friend was fine to go along. I asked the woman how much she needed yet and she said 9 quid. I asked if I could walk her there and she said “I’m really sorry, miss. You all look really nice and all, but last time someone walked me I ended up getting my front teeth kicked out. I’m really sorry, but I don’t walk with no one anymore.” I could understand her reasoning, and was really sorry that someone punched her teeth out! (And sure enough her front teeth were missing) I hadn’t wanted to give a handout; I wanted to help her along. So I searched in my purse for a 5er to “be safe” but all I found was a 10er, so I gave her that. She thanked me and said she’d get up and leave soon, once I left.

My friend and I went for a chat and as we were parting ways afterward, I decided to check up on my friend to see if she was indeed gone. She was, and a new person was sitting on the bridge. I walked up to him and asked him if all was alright. He said yeah, the police kicked him out of the place he usually sits and said they’d lock him up if they found him again. Was begging illegal? I didn’t even know. He said that it was. I clicked my tongue. I asked if he had a place to sleep for the night, and he said yeah – there’s an overhang over there (pointing back across the bridge). I said alright, introduced myself and shook his hand, and went home.

I had been reminded through earlier encounters that just saying hello and not ignoring a person can be something, even if you don’t give them money. I hope to walk around my neighbourhood at night, especially if I can find a friend to walk with, and see if there’s anyone sleeping under the stars each night. You find a lot of beggars in central London, but don’t often find them a bit further from the tourists. It’s a lot harder to offer help, develop a friendship, or share a bed with someone in central London that you hardly run into then it would be to learn from someone close by in my own neighbourhood.

But I learned something extra from these encounters. I had always assumed that I needed to speak to these folks so they wouldn’t feel ignored for another day. But what I found out by standing next to this woman on the bridge for ten minutes or so waiting for my friend, was that others DO stop and talk. Several persons also offer change. Sure the majority of folks still walk by, pretending not to see. But what I saw is that God is already at work with these persons. I am not the initiator (duh!). I was reminded, just by standing next to a person asking for money, was that this world still includes many good-hearted people. I also realised that I had just stumbled onto an active piece of God’s love in action. I hadn’t expected to experience God’s love – I had expected to show God’s love. I was to be the giver, not the receiver. I figured once I would develop a friendship with those in extreme poverty, I would certainly be a recipient, but I hadn’t expected it to start right from the beginning of meeting a stranger.

I also then realised that I was assuming what these people needed. I expected they needed friendship, or a roof to sleep under. But really, I was only making assumptions. When I asked the second man if he was alright, if he needed anything, he said that he was alright, and had a place to sleep. I don’t know what these folks need. So now my new resolution is not to just smile, just pass, or just give the money. My resolution is to sit, join them in the waiting (if they’re ok with that), and ask what they need. Or even what they want. Although I would be disapproving if the first woman spent the 10er on alcohol (and unfortunately I smelled alcohol on her breath the second time I spoke with her), I have that option each day – to spend my money in ways I wish. Who am I to say how others spend their money? It’s my responsibility to share love, to spend time and energy – which cost more to me than a quid or two popped in a cup – it’s not my job to be a crusading “helper of the poor” by assuming their needs when I’ve not asked them, nor lived their life or been their friend.

On Wednesday walking back from choir, I saw a fellow putting up porn in a phone booth. I went in, took it off, and ripped it in shreds and put it in the rubbish bin. If there’s a next time, I’ll call out to the man and either shout how dare he shame his own mother (and all women) by his actions … or if he’s close enough, tell it to him in a conversation. I feel as soon as I am fully open to the movement of the Spirit, God places opportunities in my path. One step at a time.