Standing in Line 2-27-12

Columbia, South Carolina

While in a distant city for a series of meetings I had opportunity to meet a volunteer involved with a feeding ministry, one offering free meals to about three hundred and fifty of Columbia’s destitute on Sunday mornings. I was invited to show up in the morning to see the program underway; even to eat with ‘them.’ Intentionally waiting towards the end of the appointed serving hours, I drove six miles to the cathedral offering hot breakfast. Expecting to find a mostly empty venue where I could easily park, go in and get a bite to eat, and then go next door to the elegant cathedral for a Sunday service, I instead found hundreds of men on site, lined up out the door waiting to get a ticket for a free meal.

In a nano-second I discovered my ego had not yet been right-sized despite working with destitute alcoholics and addicts daily for more than five years. There was no way I was going to stand in that line with ‘them.’ In a fraction of a second, my sense of haughty superiority and privilege was revealed in full measure. Sitting there in my car I looked for excuses to not get out, to get in line, to be among the people; legitimate excuses were found wanting. I even considered just skipping the whole matter, starting the car and driving the three hours home. Fooling with my phone, doing a bit of reading, being self-important, squirming, I finally got out and walked over, hoping to not have to stand outside in that line and be seen. It mattered little that I was in a city new to me and knew no one whatever. Ego and the tyranny of people’s opinion are hard taskmasters.

My wait in line was brief as the serving process was rather efficient. Sitting at a round table with a group of men from the street and a nearby shelter, I was given a lesson in humility by these august teachers. They clearly described needing to be given an opportunity to learn how to fish, not to just be given a hot plate of it and sent on their way. These men expressed powerful motivation to gain employment. One of them had a clear vision for empowering other men on the mysteries of setting up free e-mail accounts and applying on line for jobs using public library computers. One made the acerbic observation that a good number of people driving around town were only one or two paychecks away from joining the group in the soup line. These men were thinking about ways to empower and help each other to stay clean and sober, to gain jobs, to break out of their dependencies. In front of me they admitted worrying about their inclinations to spend what money they get a hold of on cheap hotels, crack, alcohol, and women; owned their need for accountability. I was worrying about what strangers might think of me if they saw me standing in this soup line with my Sunday go-to-meeting clothes on.

In recovery we’re taught clearly the only way to live successfully is to be totally honest with ourselves, to work a thorough program, avoiding half measures, to trust God entirely. In a moment of self-honesty, while listening to these teachers I quickly realized much of my life motivation has been nothing short of insipid. In front of me, a stranger, these men were owning out loud their fundamental character flaws and weaknesses. Hiding alone in my car, I was afraid a stranger might wonder why the well-dressed guy was standing in the soup line.

I have to be honest in admitting some relief at much of the crowd of ‘them’ clearing out, the hired police going back to where hired police come from, the fresh cut flowers being put back on the tables in preparation for the well-heeled and educated of Columbia who would come into the great hall for their coffee and cookies between services. I also have to admit in many respects the crystalline transparency of these men with doctorates in survival made it much easier being with them than a building full of well-dressed people wanting to be self-important, people just like me.

"My brethren, do not hold your faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ with an attitude of personal favoritism. For if a man comes into your assembly with a gold ring and dressed in fine clothes, and there also comes in a poor man in dirty clothes, and you pay special attention to the one who is wearing the fine clothes, and say, “You sit here in a good place,” and you say to the poor man, “You stand over there, or sit down by my footstool,” have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil motives? Listen, my beloved brethren: did not God choose the poor of this world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which He promised to those who love Him? But you have dishonored the poor man. Is it not the rich who oppress you and personally drag you into court? Do they not blaspheme the fair name by which you have been called? If, however, you are fulfilling the royal law according to the Scripture, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” you are doing well. But if you show partiality, you are committing sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors. For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles in one point, he has become guilty of all.”

It’s often stated, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” Sometimes a table full of them shows up. I can only pray I might be ready for what they have to say to me. As it is, I have no recollection whatever of what was said from the magnificent highly-polished pulpit by any of the five officiating priests in their embroidered vestments. I remember exactly what several barely-articulate destitute men spoke into my life with great clarity. I took notes during their lecture.