Did I Fail a Test from God?

Every day, we are tested. Regardless of what you believe in spiritually, we are tested. It may be a test of our patience, our kindness, our knowledge, etc. The other day I was tested and I can’t help but feel that I failed. It’s kept me up at night and has been a swirling thought in my head that can’t seem to dissipate. This man, this scenario, and this interaction have been replaying over and over. It doesn’t help that I have OCD. But I think, regardless of my diagnosis, I would still be contemplating this.

For background knowledge, I am a Catholic school teacher and have been at the same school for ten years. During my summer months, I struggle to be sedentary and need to find something to do. The past few summers, I have worked at the school doing maintenance work around the campus and the church. I’m also a father to two wonderful girls.

One day last week, I was working a job outside with the actual maintenance man, Greg. It was a hot and humid day, and Greg and I were digging and working to fix our church’s sprinkler system when a man came up to us. The man was carrying a backpack and wearing a hat that was plastered with American flags, with the brim tilted up. He was wearing cargo shorts and a shirt that just said “Jesus” in big letters. The man was beyond sun-kissed, and his shirt was soaked in sweat. The one odd thing that stood out was that he was wearing black Chelsea boots. I thought it odd at first, but after our interaction, I reconsidered it and realized that those shoes were probably the only ones he had. It was obvious the man was homeless and was about to ask for help.

“Good morning,” the man called out to Greg and me.

“Hi, how you doing?” Greg replied in a less-than-stellar tone. Now, it may be important to point out that Greg is in his 70s and has been at the school much longer than I have. Our school is relatively close to the city (a short bus ride away), so Greg has had his share of dealing with homeless people and drug users who were told to vacate the property while school was in session. He took the lead in this interaction.

“Is there anyone at the church who can help me? I’m homeless and looking to get back to Reading,” the homeless man inquired.

Greg answered, “Unfortunately, our pastor is on vacation. He would be able to give you some help.”

Now, at this point, I don’t know how to read the situation. I couldn’t tell if Greg was brushing the guy off or was being sincere. Unfortunately, in our society, many people are taught to avoid the homeless and the panhandlers because more than likely, they’re going to use their money to buy drugs or whatever their vice is. It is truly unfortunate because there are people who are in desperate need of help, but there are also those who seek payment for their next high. And when he said he was trying to get to Reading, I worried that he was the latter of the two. As Reading is a big hub for drugs.

What Greg said was true, our pastor was on vacation, and he is the one I know who can give the gift cards and charity we have to the poor. But I also knew that another priest was in the rectory and thought maybe he could give the man some help.

An internal dialogue played out in my brain while this all occurred. Regrettably, my cynical side decided to speak out. “Should I tell them Monsignor is in there? Is this guy really looking for help? Is he wearing a Jesus shirt because he is truthfully religious, or did he wear it to sway favor with us? Reading is two hours away from here. Why is he here? Can I trust this guy? Is he being sincere?”

The man looked disappointed and continued to press Greg. “Well, is there a church around here I can go to for help?” the man asked.

Greg pointed him to a church that is half a mile down the road from ours and apologized that he couldn’t help more. The man understood and went on his way. After a minute or two, I told Greg that one of the priests was still in the rectory. He admitted that he had totally forgotten about him and asked me to look for the man. I searched everywhere I could, but couldn’t find the man.

While I was searching for the man, I walked past our church steps and wondered if it was all a test from God. If it was, I think I failed miserably. I spent the rest of the day in a state of daze and melancholy. My work ethic was lethargic at best. I kept replaying what I did wrong. Why didn’t I say anything? I had seven dollars in my pocket; would it have been wrong to have given it to him? I had a gift card to McDonald’s; couldn’t I have offered to buy him a meal? Isn’t taking care of the poor and homeless one of the things we preach in church, and I even preach in my classroom? How can I preach but not practice?

I was sickened with myself and frankly still am. I hope the man made it to the church down the road, and I pray that he is okay. Unfortunately, I have been conned, duped, and tricked by all types of people, so I have a hard time trusting anyone. But, after my cynicism left, I couldn’t help but wonder what I could’ve done. How I could’ve helped this man who was in hard times. Isn’t that what Jesus would’ve done? Isn’t that what any good person would’ve done?

So, to the man I briefly had an interaction with this last week, if you are reading this, I am sorry. I should’ve helped you; I should’ve spoken out. I am deeply sorry I didn’t. Please know that I hope you found shelter and water and are back in safety. Even though I don’t know your name or much of anything about you other than our two-minute conversation, you changed my life, and you are in my thoughts and prayers.