South Melbourne, Australia, April 1983.
I was driving along Clarendon Street in South Melbourne on my way to Castlemaine to visit my parents. As I stopped at a traffic light I noticed a man lying on a bench seat on the footpath beside the road. It was early evening and by his rough appearance and the fact that he was holding a bottle wrapped in newspaper confirmed my immediate suspicions — he had a drinking problem.
As soon as I saw him I felt a twinge of compassion towards him. But like so many other people, I had other places to be and other things to do. As I watched I saw two policemen approach and instantly I felt relieved. After all, it was their responsibility to clean up the streets and make sure men like him got a chance to be somewhere safe for the night. As I sat waiting for the traffic lights to turn green I couldn’t believe what I saw. The two police strolled up and when they reached the man, both of them turned their heads the other way, as if not to see, and walked right past. I felt a sudden stab of conviction in my heart and a verse from the Bible streamed through my mind: “If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need, but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?”
Right then I looked up and the traffic lights turned green — and I had a decision to make. I knew that if I drove off I would have no peace, so I turned left, drove around the block, parked the car and walked back to the man. As I approached him I felt completely inadequate… and a little foolish. What was I going to say? What was I going to do? At the very least I could drive him home — if he had a home. I found him sleeping solidly and at first he didn’t respond to me at all, so I reached out and gently shook him awake. He awoke with a start, swearing and cursing at me for disturbing him. The smell of alcohol on his breath was overwhelming and I recoiled a little.
I can’t remember exactly what I said to him — probably something no more profound than, “Mate, are you OK?” But what happened next amazed me. Still lying on the bench seat, the man went quiet, looked up and fixed his eyes on mine. Then his eyes filled with tears and he said to me, “J.C. sent you didn’t he?”
…the man went quiet, looked up and fixed his eyes on mine. Then his eyes filled with tears and he said to me, “J.C. sent you didn’t he?”
I suspected that I knew what he meant but I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. I asked him to clarify, “J.C? What do you mean?”
“You know, Jesus Christ, He sent you didn’t he?” he said.
A little taken aback, the only reply I could think of was, “Well… yes, I guess He did”.
As I helped the man back to my car (and tried to ignore my fear that he might throw-up inside) he wept and poured out the sorrows of his heart. This was a man who through years of pain had turned to the only source comfort he had known: the bottle. But this random act of kindness from a stranger was all it took to break him and lead him through tears of repentance to ask God for mercy and forgiveness.
From that experience I learned some valuable lessons: Charitable acts are not just the obligation and duty of all believers — they are at the very core of God’s heart of mercy and are inseparably linked to the whole message of the gospel of Christ. A gospel preached without accompanying acts of love and mercy will lack the imperative urgency which flows from the heart of God towards lost humanity. Ultimately a message without practical mercy will have no power or lasting credibility in the world at all.
Charitable acts are not just the obligation and duty of all believers — they are at the very core of God’s heart of mercy and are inseparably linked to the whole message of the gospel of Christ. A gospel preached without accompanying acts of love and mercy will lack the imperative urgency which flows from the heart of God towards lost humanity. Ultimately a message without practical mercy will have no power or lasting credibility in the world at all.
