In my short life, there are many things I’ve forgotten, many which I remember vaguely, but only a few which I think back upon with great clarity. One of these unforgettable occasions was when my soul was rocked to the core by a beggar on a bench with a braided beard who had the most tender eyes of compassion I’ve ever seen.
You may recall that I have recently been writing about the Beatitudes found in the fifth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew. Each one is a truth to encourage us to search our hearts and see if we are truly in the blessed way. So far, we’ve learned what true salvation looks like—seeing our sin, and mourning over it. We’ve also begun to see what walking with God looks like, and what we ought to be pursuing, if we’re the Lord’s.
Today’s Beatitude forces us to look at our compassion toward others:
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.” Matt. 5:7
It was a January day, almost 17 years ago. Dusk had settled over the frozen land as the raw wind blew bitterly cold, freezing everything in its path rock-hard. I had travelled to the city to bring my daughter to gymnastics training. After dropping her off, I headed to the grocery store downtown—a necessary stop while in the city. As I stepped out of the car, the icy air nipped my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. I dashed toward the store—the warm glow of its lights beckoned and offered warmth.
As I approached the door, my eyes met those of a man sitting on a bench near the store’s entrance. He was dressed in brown, shabby, dirty clothes, ripped and ragged. His face was weathered and worn. A wiry grey beard, which pierced through deep wrinkles, was braided to a thin point and, stiffened by the cold, jutted out at a strange angle from his chin. His russet and wrinkled hands, wrapped in red fingerless gloves, clung to a jar he held out. “Can you help me, Ma’am?”
I mumbled an apology, lowered my face to my chest, and pushed through the doors of the store, where I was relieved by the sudden blast of heat.
Before my shivering body could absorb the warmth, my heart was cut. That sword, the one that separates bone from marrow, pierced through my heart: “I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat.” It came from nowhere and stopped me cold. I’d heard the Spirit could do that, but in those infant days of my Christianity, I had never really experienced it—until that moment.
Oh LORD! Forgive me! I wailed in my thoughts. What do you want me to do? I can’t give him money, what if he drinks it away? I decided to buy him some food.
I raced through the store, praying the Lord would keep him on the bench until I could get back outside. I strived to anticipate what would be helpful to the man. Questions swirled through my mind: Was he homeless? Did he have a place where he could prepare food? Did he have a can opener? Did he have a knife? Oh, the things we take for granted!
I scurried from aisle to aisle, scanning the shelves for appropriate items. Into the shopping cart I tossed bananas, chocolate milk, bread, peanut butter, granola bars, oatmeal cookies, sandwich meats, and some other items which would be hearty, warming, and somewhat healthy. I grabbed a few necessities for my own house, hastened to the check-out, and dashed outside, hoping the beggar was still sitting on the bench.
And he was. Thank you, Lord!, I whispered.
As I pushed my cart toward the bench, the bearded beggar gestured for me to sit down in the vacant space next to him. My shaking hands took the bags of food and set them there instead of myself. He looked confused.
“These. This. This. is. for you,” I sputtered, my barely audible voice shaking—afraid of what, I do not know. “Food. For you, sir.”
My nostrils caught the icy air now filled with the warm, sour aroma of alcohol from his breath. His gentle eyes looked deep into mine. He took my hands, cold and exposed in the arctic evening air, and put them between his own to warm them.
“It’s too cold for you to have nothing on your hands. Do you have any gloves?” were his words to me.
Wait! What?
“Yes. Yes. I have gloves. I. forgot them. in my pocket.” I quickly replied, before he offered me his own.
Then he took my right hand, brought it to his lips, and gently kissed it. His weathered face exuded…. love?….compassion?—how could it be?— as he whispered, “May God bless you.”
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.
Suddenly, the air didn’t seem so bitter. Dazed in unbelief at what just happened, I slowly made my way to the car. As I drove away in the January darkness, I glanced back at the bench, but I couldn’t see him. How did he disappear so quickly? Maybe I just couldn’t see him through the blur of tears that filled my eyes and poured down my cheeks, thawing my frozen face.
These words of Jesus came to life that day; these sanctifying words burned deep as I saw their truth with my own eyes:
And the King will answer them, “Truly I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers, you did it to me.” Matt. 25:40
May I never forget.
Take Up and Read:
Proverbs 19:17
Isaiah 58:6-12
Matthew 25:31-46
Luke 6:27-38
The Light for My Path 
🙏🏻 This was powerful!
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Praise the Lord! 💕
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