Canon Fodder

So I had what some Christian friends I know might call a “divine appointment” the other day. As fast-food places go, Chic-fil-A is by far one of my favorites. I like that the food somehow manages to “feel” a bit more wholesome, if not healthy. I like that they’re closed on Sundays and give their employees a break from the grind. I like too that it reminds me of home (Texas) and for many of my 15 years living elsewhere there wasn’t one around, such that when I did find one when traveling, etc. it felt like going home. Oh, and their “eat mor chikin” ad campaign with the cows has been a favorite for some time. Anyway, in keeping with their “family values,” the new Chic-fil-A near us has a “family night” every Tuesday. If an adult buys a combo, you get a kid’s combo meal for free, and they usually come around and give balloons to the kids and sometimes free ice cream. In a simple and blatantly consumeristic way, it’s kind of fun.

So I went with the “fam” this past Tuesday and had an unusual encounter. As we were sitting there eating, I noticed a guy come in who looked a bit disheveled. I watched him for a little while and saw that he approached several people to ask them for something (presumably money) and was rebuffed at every turn. Finally, perhaps in desperation, he went to the condiment stand and began pocketing a copious number of ketchup packets. That was my opportunity. I sidled up next to him and began getting some ketchup of my own (which I didn’t need). He looked at me out of the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything. So I said, “how’s it going?” He mumbled something that I didn’t hear very well and that I don’t remember now, and then asked me for some change- less than a dollar. I apologized and said I didn’t have any cash (I didn’t) but that I would be happy to buy him dinner. He quickly thanked me and we went over together to order. He got a combo meal- extra large of course, and ordered a side of cole slaw to boot. He thanked me again and we bumped fists after I paid. I then said “enjoy your meal” and went back to my table.

Naturally, I’ve thought a lot about this incident, and what follows are those thoughts, in no particular order. Part of the fun I had in doing this was in watching the reaction of the person who rang us up. She was the same girl who rang up Kirsten, Samuel, and I, and she no doubt had observed the “disheveled guy” making his rounds and being rebuffed. So she knew what was going on, and seemed pleased. Still, I’m sure that what I did was much more about “helping” me than it was about helping him. My impromptu act of slightly conspicuous, but meager, generosity didn’t solve any long-term problems for this guy. I “offered him a fish;” I didn’t “teach him to fish.” He seemed genuinely thankful for the “wholesome” meal, and for that night at least, his hunger was sated. Still, I’m sure my act served more to relieve my guilt about my way of life than it did to do any justice in regard to the guy’s misfortune.

Of course, I keep referring to the person I helped as “the guy” or “him,” etc.- and herein lies part of the problem I have with my way of life, and how it was exposed in this encounter. I didn’t even get his name! I could have, and should have, but I didn’t want to call any extra attention to what was happening, and I wasn’t quite sure how to play my part in it all. On the one hand, I think I did well playing my part. He didn’t come to our table and ask for anything so I had every opportunity to ignore it all until he went away. To use a sports analogy, I “let the game come to me,” and when a very natural moment came for me to intervene, I did so. All I had to do was seek him out and approach him in a natural way (we’re both just two guys getting ketchup). I felt good about that.

If my situation was different, though, I would have followed up. Once he sat down and began eating, I might have gone over to see if he wanted some company. I then could have introduced myself and gotten his name. I might have asked about his situation and if there was any more I could do to help- for instance, “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” Depending on what he said, again- if my situation was different- I might even have invited him over to stay in one of my (currently) 2 empty bedrooms. This is all, of course, connected to my dream for “intentional (Christian) community” in which a number of folks share one roof. I didn’t feel comfortable, for obvious reasons, inviting a stranger whose mental status, etc. was unknown to me to stay the night, knowing I had to get up early and go to work in the morning potentially leaving him there alone with my wife and young son. If there were other folks around, though, particularly other men, well that’s a different story.

Even though I’m quick to say that my street and many of those around me are very “working class,” the fact remains that I live in a de facto suburb with all of the reputed material abundance that goes along with that, and this is something I’ve felt extremely guilty about since the day we moved in. This relates to my “problem” with the ‘burbs. The relative material ease and comfort of those who live there masks, if it doesn’t cultivate, a poverty of spirit that I think makes it hard for folks to realize their neediness, particularly their need for reconciliation with God, humanity, and the world. Moreover, it’s hard to answer God’s clarion call to do justice in an environment that promotes and is made possible by subtle, but no less devastating and entrenched, injustice.

After reading Shane’s new book, I followed it up with Justice in the Burbs, which was also very good, if a bit more modest in its aim and approach. It was a good, helpful read though I struggle with its concluding implications. I like that it reminds me that doing justice is something that can and must be done wherever you happen to find yourself- and if you find yourself in the suburbs, well- “welcome to your mission field.” I like too that the mission it’s referring to is as much about the missio dei as it is about the Great Com(mission), as this is just the kind of Christian life I endeavor to live. I like that the book reminds me to start small and make incremental changes that will add up over time to bigger ones. One has to start somewhere after all. With this in mind, there is a lot that Kirsten and I are again talking about doing to change our life now, and we are thinking ahead to the bigger changes we can make in the future (with one big change coming soon, Lord willing, when our first foster child comes- whenever that will be).

Still, maybe because I tend to be an “all the way” kind of guy, I’m troubled by the “out” the book’s conclusion gives me, namely, permission to remain in the ‘burbs and do what I can from there. I think it’s just too easy to get caught up in the way of life that suburbia compels and miss most opportunities to meet, know, and love Jesus in “the least of these” altogether. This brings me back to my encounter on Tuesday. Part of what strikes me about it is that it was such a rare opportunity. You just don’t see too many “down and out” folks in Cuyahoga Falls, as suburbia is designed to isolate the “have’s” from the “have not’s.” So I was very pleased, relieved even, by this interruption to my leisure, and I am motivated to cultivate a life in which such an encounter is the rule, not the exception.