Homeless in the City

We were in Dallas last weekend, visiting Dan, our oldest son. We enjoyed seeing his new apartment. Lesley went to a bridal show, at the Dallas Market Center, and I managed to see three Half-Price Bookstores in the same day. On Sunday we attended the contemporary service at Highland Park Presbyterian Church, and discovered that it's not just in Lake Jackson that folks show up late for contemporary worship...
After the service we drove around for a while, mainly because Dan is thinking of getting a new car (new to him, that is). Then we went to a La Madeleine for lunch. Nothing special, just a family enjoying a meal together.


Except that the table next to ours looked like it had been hit by a tornado. There were lots of plates on the table, mostly with bread crusts and the little pots of jam that they give you free in La Madeleine. There was a newspaper in a state of great disarray, and a jar of honey, and a glass of iced tea, with lemon. I thought that somebody had abandoned it all until I saw a glove poking out from beneath the paper and, balanced on a chair, a walking stick. It was of the kind used in institutions, eminently sensible, but without an ounce of grace or beauty.
Then she came around the corner, a little old lady with a dreadful old coat and a hat that may have been fashionable in the Eisenhower administration. She had tried to apply make up, but presumably had done so without a mirror, because she had missed! She had no teeth. Her shoes were cheap pumps, tattered and worn. I was reminded of George Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London, an in-depth look at homelessness from between the world wars. Orwell wrote, from personal experience, that the worst thing about being homeless was having to be always on the move. There was no place you could just stop and sit down. No place to call home.
Our lady was stopping at the tables to talk to guests.
She spent a long time talking to four people at the other side of the restaurant, then, she turned to come back to her table. She did not speak to us.


I've seen hundreds of homeless people over the years. I like to think that I've helped a fair number of them. I was really gratified to think that the staff at La Madeleine would have the humanity to leave her alone. She was doing no harm.
What concerned me, when I think about it, is that she would not come to us. Do we look so worldly, so hard? In sizing up the customers, why should she not bother with us?
I slipped her a few dollars as we left. She thanked me quietly. As we went back to the car another homeless man shuffled by outside.
Can't we do better than this? Poverty and affluence side by side. How can we think we will not be judged? "In as much as you did not do it for one of the least of these," said Jesus, "you did not do it for me."