Beautiful and Broken

In a city of great hotels, The Palace Hotel is truly a Great Hotel. Brass rails in the elevators, mahogany pillars at every corner, a stateliness that most hotels can only pretend at. I've never really stayed at anything like it, and I'm grateful to Inspiration for footing the bill for my short stay during the SIIA Conference.

But I had an experience here that deeply troubles me.

Do you remember the story of Lazarus? Not the Lazarus raised from the dead in John's gospel, but the Lazarus in Luke who begged at the gate of the rich man? I think I met Lazarus last night.

After the conference I went to California Pizza Kitchen for dinner, read my book, had a few beers and a pizza, and walked back to the hotel. Outside the hotel there were three homeless people. While one showed me a toothless grin and asked for money, another was slumped against the wall. He was an old man, unable to stir. And I knew that on the other side of the wall he slumped against was this long, grandiose hallway leading to the beautiful garden courtyard in the picture above:

I didn't have enough cash to give something to all three of them (or so I thought), and so I hung my head an walked by the old man.

I went around the corner and into the front lobby door. It was late, so the door you see here -- the one my Lazarus slumped beyond -- was locked for the night.

All I could think of were the words in Matthew 5:42: "Give to the one who begs from you..." (To make sure we don't miss the point it's repeated by a line like it in Luke 6:30: "Give to everyone who begs from you...")

We tend to rationalize this for our own time and place. Even the most true-hearted Christians among say things like, "I'd give them money if I knew they were going to use it for something worthwhile," or "Jesus doesn't ask us to perpetuate their state but to raise them up" (though I never quite see the "raising up part...") or "I'd rather just give them food." This one is weird, because all the times I've said or thought it myself I've not actually had any food in my pockets to hand over, which makes it pretty moot.

As I came back around the front doors I thought, "Jesus didn't ask us to 'Give to those who are worthy,' and he didn't say 'Give to all who will use your offering in a worthwhile way,' and he didn't say 'Give to Christian men and women in need.'" He was painfully direct and succinct: "Give to all who ask."

I had a $20 bill and $2 bill in my pocket. I went down the hall and out the locked door. Down the street I bent over and handed the broken old man leaning against this beautiful edifice the $2 bill. He mumbled his thanks and I hurried on around the corner to the front lobby door.

Why didn't I just give him the $20? I thought about, but couldn't escape the idea that it was enough money to not only buy dinner for all his friends, but also a couple bottles of wine and a six pack to go along with it. And then I was ashamed of myself: Who was I to judge? I should have just given it to him.

Who am I to judge?

Who is more broken, him or me? He has no resources and is leaning destitute against the wall of this glorious hotel, but I who have resources am too troubled by my interpretation of Jesus' word and my sneaking judgementalism to just do the right thing and give him the money.

I went out for dinner again tonight but the old man wasn't there any longer. Not far away was another beggar, sitting by the stairs down to the BART station. The twenty was gone (I'd bought a mocha and a roll at Starbuck's this morning!) but I pressed a five into his hand. I don't feel particularly good about it, but I feel better than I would if I'd ignored him.

"Give to anyone who begs from you...

What does any of this have to do with Mhlosheni? I'm not sure I can see the connection myself. But ever since I arrived at this grandiose pile of marble and wood and brass I've been thinking of the Nhlangano Sun Hotel. It was, frankly, a run-down, musty, fire-scarred and tattered casino-hotel with thin sheets and course toilet paper. But it was beautiful.

There really isn't any comparison in lodgings. They're different worlds, different galaxies, different realities. But just now, as I wrote this at the Palace's nice cherry-wood desk, I think I'd rather be over there.

And I think that maybe -- just maybe -- every person who picked us up there in the morning for our drives into Mhlosheni or dropped us off there after a long day in the ADP would have said the same thing: "Just give him the money."