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Ministering to Jesus
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Trek 2008 – Ministering to Jesus
By Cheryle M. Touchton
The Pocket Full of Quarters Lady
I was homeless and you gave me no bed, I was shivering and you gave me no clothes. Matt 25:43 Message
How does one get homeless? I’m not talking about being in between homes - I’m talking about not having a safe place to lay your head at night. How does someone get the point that they wander the streets during the day, ducking for cover when it rains, and begging strangers for money? Is it addiction, laziness, or a demon perhaps?
As I ask those questions, I realize the answer doesn’t matter. What matters is that the homeless exist and the Bible says we are to take care of them. In fact, it says when we ignore them and leave them shivering and without clothes, we are ignoring Jesus.
“Wait!,” you cry. “I’m not going to enable their behavior by helping them. They should straighten up and get a job.”
I’m ashamed to admit that I too used to walk by them. In fact, mostly I didn’t even notice they were there. I was vaguely glad there were shelters but I didn’t think much about them. Like most people, I looked right through them.
Then one day, I watched my spiritual mentor roll down her window and give a homeless man a dollar. I was surprised.
“I don’t do that,” I said smugly. “I’m afraid that they will use the money to buy drugs or alcohol.”
“Have you read what the Bible says to do?” she asked quietly. “We are supposed to help them. When I give money, I ask God to put the money to its best use. Sometimes I pray with the people that the money will be used well. That relieves me of the responsibility for what happens to that money.”
I went home and searched the scripture to found out she was right. To my horror, I realized that when I ignored the homeless, I was ignoring Jesus. Now, I have trouble walking past the homeless without speaking a word or giving food or money. Never would I want to leave Jesus hungry and shivering in the cold.
My nephew Bill, my dog Belle, and I went to the grocery store and bought supplies. We made goodie bags that included water, a dollar bill, a tract about how to become a Christian, a card containing scriptures about overcoming addictions, and two granola bars.
It was raining and we found several homeless people huddled under Jacksonville Beach’s outdoor stage. We walked over and offered our gifts.
Was that Jesus I saw shivering in the wet rain?
As we walked up, one of the men said, “Hello Belle.”
“We met you yesterday,” I said.
Belle started to walk over to greet him and another man backed away in fear.
“Are you afraid of dogs?” I asked.
His name was Shorty. Shorty was indeed afraid of dogs. He was Muslim, wreaked of sweat and liquor, had a large scar across his bald head, and talked with the confusion of one who had spent years soaking his brain in alcohol. We offered Shorty our gift and Belle gently coaxed him into petting her.
“They gave me your card from yesterday,” Shorty said. “It says pocket full of change. I need change. The card was for me.”
Was that Jesus confused and scared of a gentle dog?
Another homeless young man saw we were giving away something and rode up on his bicycle.
“I remember you,” I said. “Mike. You don’t talk much.”
He nodded, looking down.
Was that Jesus standing so quietly while desperately reaching for the gift?
A vacant eyed stringy headed old woman sat on the ground shivering and muttering to herself, “He’s Muslim. He’s Muslim. He’d better find Jesus or he’s in trouble.”
I assumed she was muttering about Shorty. “You’re right,” I told her. “Jesus is the answer to everything. Life on earth is hard but if you invite Jesus into your life, there is a place waiting for you in heaven.”
Was that Jesus who grabbed the gift and hid it behind her back?
Bill and I stood there in the rain laughing and talking with these lost sheep. They confessed their needs and mistakes. Most had some kind of religious background and all but two claimed to be Christian. Little by little, they’d nibbled their way farther and farther from the shepherd until they were all well and truly lost.
One man complained, “I just spent 30 days in jail for drinking on the beach. It was in a McDonalds cup. How did they know it was beer?”
“Lucky guess,” I laughed. “Drinking on the beach is against the law. At least in jail you had a place to sleep and weren’t getting wet.”
“Yea,” he quipped. “But I don’t want to be sleeping in jail.”
“Then don’t drink on the beach again,” I teased.
He laughed and admitted I was right.
Had Jesus been sleeping in Jail?
I asked if I could pray with them. Everyone agreed to pray but Mike. We formed a circle and I held Shorty’s damp dirty hand.
“I want to pray,” Shorty announced.
“Not if you’re going to pray to Allah,” I said. “This prayer is going to be to Jesus.”
“I’ll talk to Jesus,” he agreed. He did. His ramblings didn’t make much sense to us but I’m sure Jesus understood.
After Shorty finished, I prayed. Shorty’s trembling weak hand squeezed mine as I rebuked the demons that drove them to drinking on the beach, carried them to jail, and caused them to wander lost through the streets. The chorus of amen’s let me know I’d hit nerves. I prayed for their salvation and gave what we evangelicals call a “sinner’s prayer.” Mike stood outside the circle but he bowed his head through it all.
Was I praying with Jesus?
We walked away and my dear 17-year-old nephew and frequent ministry companion Bill said, “That was really fun. I enjoyed it. I was surprised but I didn’t feel unsafe.”
“Bill,” I said. “Thank you for going with me. Sometimes I think you are the only relative who really gets me. I love you.” I wondered when I should break the news to Bill how much like me he really is. I decided to wait and let God reveal it in His own time.
Did we help anyone? Did anyone receive Jesus, stop drinking, or decide to get a job because of our gifts? Probably not, but we were obedient. Besides, they are my neighbors. Most likely, I’ll have a chance to talk with them again. I’m certain if they see Belle and me, they’ll seek us out.
Were we in danger? Maybe. I know that some of the homeless are armed. I was careful, fully aware of my surroundings, and on the alert but so was the prowling lion. Something could have happened to us but we were obedient anyway.
As I told my husband Bob this story, I said, “You’re probably not going to want me to bring any of them home with me.”
“Well,” he said quietly. “I’d rather you didn’t.” I thanked God for a husband who so totally supported a call from God he couldn’t possibly identify with. I also knew that if God told me to bring them home, Bob would understand.
I believe the Bible. It says that what we do for others, we are doing for Jesus. Bill, Belle, and I had the privilege of ministering to Jesus. How much better could a day get?
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Cheryle M. Touchton is the Director of Pocket Full of Change Ministries. For more information or to schedule a speaker for an event, go to www.pocketfullofchange.org or call Gail Golden at 904 316-5462.
This ministry exists because people like you are called to help fund the work of the kingdom. To help keep the Pocket Full of Quarters Lady on the road as a traveling missionary, send your tax deductible contribution to Pocket Full of Change Ministries, POB 51205, Jacksonville Beach, Florida 32240.
© Pocket Full of Change Ministries
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