The Weak Helping The Weaker

A few days ago I had an encounter with someone I don't think I can ever forget. You see I live in Florence, Italy (pause for ooo's and aaah's). But Florence is not a vacation for me. I'm not here as a tourist. I don't just hop from museum to museum, or run around with a ridiculously large and over-priced camera hung around my next taking pictures of every other building that's a least a century old. Neither do I tour churches day in and day out or sit and meditate from sun up to sun down in the Tuscan countryside admiring the beautiful vistas, and sampling the local wines.

Although, I do occasionally indulge in a morning cappuccino (10 times better than Starbucks and less than a Euro!), and digest some delicious handmade pizza, I am not here to just become part of the moving scenery of tourists. I am here to work. Not as some cool jet-set, American Ex-pat, who decided a 6-figure job and a mini-mansion in the burbs was too much to bear, so I booked the first flight over the pond to come find myself again in the tranquility and simplicity of Italian life and culture. I am here as a missionary.

So as you can imagine, my view of this city is quite different than most. If Jesus is boring to you or you stumbled onto this blog about Italy thinking it would give you some travel tips, well this is probably where you will stop reading and move on. That's fine. If you were looking for a travel blog, here's Rick Steeves- https://www.ricksteves.com/europe/italy. Buon viaggio! Ci vediamo!

If you are still here, let me tell you about my personal encounter. I think it might just change your life, or at least your perspective. A few days ago, I passed one of many beggars that I see daily on my way into the grocery store. She was not aggressive, but solemn, sitting on the sidewalk, head down, wrapped in her scarf and worn coat to fight off the bitter chill in the air. At first I walked past her like everyone else. Many beggars in Florence are controlled and used by the Mafia, but not this women. She was too old, too frail to present a threat to anyone. If fact, she was so undesirable, that she almost seemed to blend into the faded paint of the building behind here.

Just beyond her, not 100 feet or so were 2 guys in brightly colored smocks stopping people headed into the supermarket and asking for donations to some relief organization. I tried to dodge them, but the narrow sidewalks of Italy funneled me right into them. I ducked my head quickly, avoiding eye contact, and said a quick, "Ciao!" as I squeezed past and hurried into the store. I routinely went through the store buying the things I needed. This is the daily routine of Italy. No once-a-month mega grocery haul from Sam's or Costco. You buy what you need for the day and maybe a few staples, and that's it. For one thing, you have to carry it, or fit it on a scooter, or bike, and no one wants to walk half a mile home with a bunch of groceries. Even if you could, your refrigerator is much smaller. This is Italian life at it's most basic- daily survival.

I went through the check out as usual, paid, bagged my stuff, and exited the store onto the same street from which I have entered. There she was again. I would have to make it past the smocked relief org. marketers. That wasn't a problem. It was this crumpled woman, pushed against the building with her small, empty plastic cup that froze me in my tracks. I didn't find it so easy to dismiss her this time. Somehow I saw her, and in contrast it seemed no one else did. She was alone, and I was griped with fear.

I knew I had to do something, but I didn't have much. Just a few coins left in change from the store. I was thinking, my bank account is almost empty, and my daughter doesn't have a winter coat. I don't have enough for rent on the 1st of next month. All my excuses seemed so lame. Suddenly, I identified with this stranger. She and I were not so different. She was an outsider. So was I. She was being ignored. I felt the same. She was a beggar. So was I. Her campaign was a cup. Mine was on social media. But it made no difference. The parallels were too obvious to ignore.

I know I had prayed "Thy kingdom come.." thousands of times, but now the kingdom was staring me in the face. When Jesus said he would come again, and build a new kingdom, he said he would take the rejects of this life and promote them, and the prideful he would make low. In that moment, I was staring into the eyes of a future queen in the kingdom of God. How could I ignore her. I grabbed my coins, and ran to her, bent over, and dropped them in. The clanking sound as they echoed in her empty cup was deafening. All the world seemed to freeze around me and go silent as she raised her face to look at me. She pushed back her hair and scarf to reveal a worn face, lined and leathered from the fight of life. I smiled and told her "God bless you - Dio ci benedica!" She smiled back and I walked around the corner and let the tears flow hot down my frozen cheeks.

I wondered to myself, if I can't meet my own needs here, who will meet hers? Who will fight for her? As my emotions and thoughts raced over the 5 minute walk home, God begin to write her story on my heart. It took several days to finish, but I published a poem on Facebook called "Broken For The King." A lot of my friends read it, and said how much it meant to them. But only one challenged me to go back, find our her name and talk to her about how I could help her more. Today I did just that. I went back to her. I squatted down and looked her in the eyes. I dropped a few more coins in her cup, told her God bless you, but then I asked her - "What is your name?" She said, "I'm Maria." I introduced myself, and told her I was an American studying Italian. Somehow I don't think this will be the last time we talk. I hope it's the beginning of a new friendship.

Today I had less than $15 in my bank account. I spent $7 on groceries for the day. I thought to myself, God if I had more, "I would just buy her a bunch of groceries, and then walk her home." Wherever home may be. If she doesn't have a home, maybe she could stay with my family until we could find her a home. God said to help the weak. I did what I could, but it was more the weak helping the even weaker. I ask myself, if I am not here to see Maria, who will? Who will make sure she is cared for?

Sometimes we are waiting on God to do things for us, and He is asking us to risk all we have, then He will take the little and make it much. In Mark 6 the feeding of the 5000 is recorded. The disciples were getting antsy, as the people were restless and hungry. They came to Jesus with a problem, expecting a solution. Jesus turned the question back on them with a command, Mark 6:37 (NIV) "But he answered, 'You give them something to eat.” They recoiled at the enormity of the task, and said it was impossible. Jesus asked them to take an inventory. What they had wasn't nearly enough - 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. That didn't matter. Jesus took what they had and feed thousands, and still had leftovers.

Sometimes we don't give because it seems what we have compared to the need won't make a difference. We shrink back in embarrassment and fear. Jesus is calling us forward to do what we can, and trust in faith that He will make it enough. Someone has to be brave enough to go first. On that day on the hillside, it was a young boy with just enough food for a few. He was the only one among the crowd of men and women who had the courage to bring what he had to Jesus, and believe that He could make it more than enough. Don't let fear of embarrassment and inadequacy hold you back from doing what you can to help God's work go forward. Follow the prompting of the Holy Spirit and give.