Smile And Say 'Cheese'

It was just past sunrise when the car radio said, "Cheese will be given out to any person who can prove need at twelve locations throughout the city." Being a copy editor by day, I'm always on the lookout for a dangling phrase, and this one hit me like a five-pound brick of cheddar.

I had just dropped off at the hospital a teenage friend who is struggling through nurses' aide training so she can get herself and her 2-year-old daughter off welfare. She wants to work. She's good with people. She has overcome more pain and obstacles in her life than anybody should have to.

She didn't line up for cheese that day. But she has lined up in too many places on too many days to prove "need," just to survive. The red tape the poor in our city and this country have to wade through would strangle any of us.

You've got to prove you're poor. As if it's something to be proud of. As if a multitude of people would line up and stand outside for hours on one of Washington's most bitterly cold days for a chunk of cheese if they didn't feel some sort of desperation.

The thought of it grieved and angered me: people trying to stay afloat in a society which provides no jobs then blames them for being unemployed--and a hypocritical charity that undercuts all dignity.

For a long time I've had a particular loathing for charity. Yet the scripture, "Give to all who beg from you," always flashed in my mind like a neon sign whenever someone on the street approached me for some change. "You need change, all right," I would say to myself. And with a certain smugness I reminded myself that I had made changes in my lifestyle, moved into a low-income neighborhood, joined a community, devoted my life to helping bring God's kingdom of justice to earth. So don't bother me for pennies. I'm striking at the systemic roots of the problem.

But Esther nagged me like a headache. Alcoholic, homeless, incoherent, she hovered at 13th and U Streets and zeroed in on me for handouts like a pigeon after crumbs in the park. I confess reluctantly that some days on my walk to work I crossed to the other side of the street to avoid her.

But most days Esther gently cornered me or grabbed my arm and walked a block with me. She always asked for money, and I always had my rationalizations for refusing: 1) She'd just misuse it anyway, 2) I'd only be creating an unhealthy dependence, 3) There are agencies that handle her kind of problems, 4) I only receive a paltry allowance each month anyway, and it's to spend on me.

I too was asking her to prove her worthiness. What got to me finally was a realization that Scripture doesn't say, "Give to those who beg as long as you know they won't spend it on cheap alcohol" any more than it says, "Love your enemies as long as they're not Russians developing nuclear weapons."

I settled on a compromise. Esther always told me she needed money to get to a doctor, so one morning I gave her a bus token as my contribution to her life. The next day she tried to sell it to Lindsay McLaughlin at the same corner.

I didn't see Esther after that, but I developed a new technique for my giving. Realizing the cruel, faulty logic of Reagan's economic program, I launched my own "trickle-down" campaign. I started subtly dropping pennies, nickels, and dimes at 13th and U whenever I had some extra change in my pocket, hoping that either Esther or one of the myriad of kids who hang around the corner market would take some delight in coming across an unexpected treasure, trusting the Holy Spirit to get it into the right hands. I gave this up when Joe Roos and I were walking to work one morning and his face lit up with glee at discovering a dime.

Giving to Esther is not enough. The answers to poverty are indeed complex. But that shouldn't create paralysis in our hearts. There's something wrong with a society that forces some of its people to beg; but there's something equally wrong when we find a certain self-satisfaction in reminding ourselves of how much we have sacrificed for justice.

As a community we at Sojourners recently studied the Book of Acts. We were struck with the early church's generosity among themselves and toward the needy. Danny Collum commented, "You can legislate justice, but you can't legislate mercy."

He was right. The changes we've made in our lives are important, but it's simply not such a big deal to give things up--and heaven knows how much more we have to learn about dispossessing ourselves--if it's making us selfish about what we have left over. Of what value is our sacrifice if it's not creating in us more openness to the Spirit, to generosity and mercy?

We have found ourselves ironically caught in the truth of that cliched phrase we've heard so much from others: "It's not how much money you have, it's your attitude."

Perhaps we have discovered a new and profound 20th-century wisdom in Matthew 9:13--"Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.' " As we give of our time, energy, and resources, we must be careful not to cut off the victims while we're so busy hacking away at the roots of injustice.

Joyce Hollyday was associate editor of Sojourners when this article appeared.