They all were there yesterday.

Five or six sat on the bench facing the door of the food bank, waiting for us to open up, but it was still early, an hour early in fact. They sat very still, not even talking to one another. Perhaps it was the heat of the afternoon that made them sit so silently. Or maybe it was the sameness of being there again this week, just like last week and just like next Wednesday would be. They looked like a row of unidentified birds on a wire watching the shaded window, listlessly waiting for the sound of the door.

These were the ones who come early week after week. One woman consistently arrives early enough to be the first on the list. I wondered why it was so important to her – but I have learned that the poor have their own unique reasons for what they do. I’ve learned not to question them or ask for reasons. Mostly I’ve learned not to judge. Wednesdays may be the only time when she is first for anything.

“The poor will always be with us,” Jesus said. They will be with “us.” Jesus included Himself in that simple phrase. The poor will always be where Jesus is and where He calls disciples to be. He meant that the poor are always with us right here, right now, not somewhere else. He implies that s there is a hungering, impoverished need for Him. We too are poor without Him. I wonder if He saw these souls in McCall, perched on the bench, surely thirsty, needing food, needing connection to others. Above all, needing Him.

I walked from the car and touched one or two of them in quiet greeting. Sometimes I don’t have to say a thing. They know me well, as I know them. “Ma’am, can I have a drink of water,” one of them asked. He looked overheated and flushed. Of course. I’ll get you some. No need to wait. There is water overflowing and available.

Inside the building they all were there:
My friend Jayne was in charge this month. She had a large group of volunteers working to get the shelves stocked, the produce arranged neatly, the refrigerators cleared. Most from this church have come before and return to help out. Usually, volunteers are the ones blessed by God with more prosperity, with more of the good things in life. Working at the food bank changes people. Perhaps it is recognizing our many blessings and being thankful that we walk in different shoes. More likely, it’s understanding that except on socio-economic levels, “the poor” includes us also, just as Jesus prophesied. Whatever wealth we possess is temporal and fleeting for at the end of life, it is all scattered straw. Knowing our inescapable poverty should drive everyone equally into the Lord’s arms.

They all were there yesterday: The retired California policeman working the door and carrying boxes of food out to the cars ; the girl- woman holding her six month child in arms, smiling that things were going well for her; her doped up kid brother whom she brings along because he won’t come by himself; the man who patiently waits in his wheel chair at the door and never says a word; the ex mayor putting donations away; the stylish woman who took photos for the church bulletin; the tongue- pierced teen on her cell phone; the woman who works at the care center who quietly said she’d had to kick out her meth using daughter; again; the volunteer wearing perfume; the man wearing booze; the ladies breaking down rice and garbanzo beans; the Hispanic father taking beans and rice home; the children getting play money for the market; the new families signing up in my office, reticent to reveal themselves.

We were all there both giving and receiving food, but like the multitudes around Jesus really seeking acceptance, comfort, shelter, healing, forgiveness and love. I was blessed to be among those poor ones whom Jesus loves and looks upon so kindly … and for a few hours got a glimpse into the kingdom of heaven first hand.
Friede