Gentle and Lowly

I have always been fascinated by the person of Jesus Christ. In a world obsessed with success, the alleged Creator of the universe didn’t seek to spend time with the rich or famous. Instead, He chose to dwell among those whom society had looked down upon: drunkards, tax collectors, and prostitutes.

I’ve been striving to understand that character, one that is gentle and lowly. And I found the true weight of that effort during an eight-day mission trip to Buenos Aires, Argentina.

The first person to sit across from me was a man named Miguel.

As soon he sat down, I could tell he was on the verge of breaking. I still remember his words: “I’m homeless, and I’m just trying to get a job so I can take care of my wife and my daughter back home.”

I don’t think I realized what I had signed myself up for. I mean, what did I expect? What could I do? What could I possibly say to fix this? Feeling completely overwhelmed, I could only manage an uneasy smile. I thanked him for his honesty and asked if I could hold his hands while I prayed for him.

I could’ve been loud to express my desperation. I could’ve been eloquent to impress Miguel. But before God, there was no one to fool. “God, there’s absolutely nothing I could do to fix Miguel’s life. I can only ask for provision.” I started to tear up, feeling a weight of compassion for this man that I could not have manufactured on my own.

Following Miguel, I found myself having to pray things I’ve never had to worry about before. Food, protection, the basic necessities of life. I had walked into that cafe carrying a set of quiet, ugly assumptions–that homelessness was a choice, or a result of not working hard enough. I was humbled to come across men and women who had lived “normal” lives until unforeseen circumstances, entirely out of their control, stripped away their finances and even their families.

To this day, I still have my doubts. I will probably never see Miguel. I’ll never know if he got that job or if my prayers made any difference. And that I suppose is the very essence of faith.

I always find it funny when I start to see others around me live as if they got to choose their physical looks or the families they were born into. While I am in control of my day-to-day life, so much of life is simply outside of our hands.

As much as I want to be mindful of people like Miguel, the reality is that there isn't much I can do for them–at least not yet. But even if I can't fix a life today, I can choose to live with humility, so that if the time ever comes where I am in a position to offer more than just a prayer, I won't hesitate to take it. Until then, I try to live with a heart that stays tender for the lost. After all, the only thing separating my life from theirs is a grace I didn't earn.

One Day Cafe — Buenos Aires, Argentina

The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.'