I have this image burned in my mind of this person, barely distinguishable as a woman, sitting on an empty doorstep in Berlin. She had bandages and cloths wrapped around her feet and her shins were bare. The skin covered in sores and blisters. Peeling and cracked. I thought for a moment as I stared that perhaps this was what leprosy looks like. She looked at me and said something (or wailed it really) in Turkish. I looked at her helplessly and shrugged because i couldn't think of a single think i could do for her. And i walked away.
After a few yards, I looked back and watched her as one person after another passed her. Those that noticed her recoiled as I did. My heart broke as i watched her wailing, holding out her hands. I don't know if she wanted money or healing or just a kind word. Her face was frozen in an expression of such complete sadness. As if she had wept for so many years that not only had her tears dried, but her face had taken that mournful shape permanently.
I figured she was born in the wrong time. A time when not only would the passing people be helpless to heal her, but wouldn't even care. Could I have sat with her and tried to pass some peace to her? A peace that I didn't fully feel myself even if i could have expressed it. I could have given her some change but it just seemed so trite and meaningless. I wondered how long she had sat there and if anybody even knew who she was. Sure my heart went out to her, but my hand didn't and that breaks me over and over.
This isn't some motivational blog to go out and help the homeless. I'd be the first to need it if it was. I guess I'm just trying to make sense of this strange incident that I cannot seem to forget. I wrestle with this feeling of complete helplessness but also the conviction that I should have done something for the poor lady. These sort of people were the exact people that Christ and his disciples healed and we're supposed to have that same kind of faith? Sounds all good in theory but, confronted with a living example of that kind of deep hurting, I shrank away like everyone else that passed her. Afraid i would contract the same disease she obviously had. Or maybe I just didn't want to smell her. I don't know. The point for me isn't what specifically stopped me from reaching out my hand. It's that I barely even considered stopping.
I'm wrestling with that part of me that is afraid of faith and stepping out. Hope this all makes sense.
9 years ago
4 comments:
There is a sad beauty in how you write about this woman. The wonderful thing about conviction is not the guilt that goes along with it, but the knowledge of grace and the fact that someday there will be another woman. Convictions are conceived with the past and born in the future. I don't think God convicts us to make us feel bad so much as to move us forward in our journey of faith. So what will you do next time?
That's definitely something I can't answer. I just pray that my character is shaped into one that would be willing to sit on that doorstep in the future and really love a person like that. It's a tough thing though and my first response is never the right one.
I think at least in part that is the answer, the uncertainty. That openness is what God is able to work through. You won't know the answer until next time, but if you leave yourself open, I think it will be the answer you want. And maybe all she'll need is for you to sit with her, that's a gesture beyond words or money. Just being with someone for a time can mean so much.
no words...
Have a great night Pieter.
<3, Robin
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