I have a problem with hobos. First, let me say I like the word “hobo” way better than “homeless” or “less fortunate” because it sounds like they are choosing to be a hobo. They want to “ride the rails” and travel the country in a box car with a jaunty bandanna, cute dog and a hobo sack tied to a stick.
I know the truth is most “hobos” have mental problems, drug problems, many are vets and it totally sucks.
Here’s my problem. When I see a guy standing on the side of the road with a sign that says “Homeless Vet Need Food God Bless” I feel I really really need to give him a dollar, or five or ten because I’m afraid he might be Jesus. I constantly think God might be testing me, sending His son down to test me.
If I was God, that’s what I would do. It’s the perfect way to find out what’s in a person’s heart. Do you really want to help or do you want to look away, ignore or judge?
Some times I see guys on the side or the road with a sign, asking for help and I reach into my pocket quickly. Sometimes, I’m kind of slow or hesitant, because I don’t believe the people are actually poor, looking for a job, hungry or needy.
But what if I’m wrong? What if my judgment is off, what if it is Jesus? That’s what drives me crazy and makes me worry for my own soul. I look at people, their signs, their clothes, their expression and I judge.
Judging is wrong. I don’t know what they’ve been through, I don’t know what’s in their heart. How could I presume to think I know anything about their heart. Deep in my heart I know I shouldn’t judge. That’s God’s job. My job is to help.