PREACHING ABOUT POVERTY:
Singing His Blues

by Eugene Palmore, M.Div. Student, Union Theological Seminary, and Music Department staff member, The Riverside Church, New York City. 

This sermon was published in the Fall 2000 issue of the "African American Pulpit."

Text: Matthew 25:35-45

It was around 1985 when I first met him, somewhere in the Time Square area, along 42nd Street. He was a homeless man, a sight not unusual for this particular area of the city, and one New Yorkers had grown accustomed to in general. His appearance was haggard, worn. He reminded me of a ragpicker, a common sight during the depression. A ragpicker was someone who picked rags and old discarded clothing out of the garbage and used them. Yet it was clear that this man, whom I’ll call John, was making a serious effort to look presentable, trying desperately to hang on to what was left of his dignity. Still, his clothes were dirty, ragged. Some items were way too small, while others were clearly too big for him. Add the fact that he smelled horribly, John presented an honest example of a desperate and destitute person. Yet despite all of this, here he was trying to look dignified in a rag tag outfit of pants, shirt and tie, and jacket, with a hat and an oversized winter coat. Nothing matched. His shoes were almost non-existent, and he didn’t have on socks. Were these clothes all he had left of a once productive life? Who knows?

Yet, there he was, somewhere along 42nd Street with his hand out, asking for money or food or whatever. Most of us assume that whatever is drugs or alcohol.

"Got any spare change, Mister? Ma’am, a penny, a nickel? Can anyone spare some food? I’m hungry and I just want something to eat."

And when John talked, he would look at you and then avert his eyes, looking slightly to either side and just below eye level. The expression on his face was one of embarrassment, ashamed to be here at this place at this time and moment in his life. Nothing in his wildest imagination could have convinced him his life would come to this. But still he kept on. "Got any spare change, a nickel, dime? Any food? I’m hungry."

But what really drew me to John was not so much what he had on or what he looked like or that he smelled or even what he was doing. What really got to me was the way we, everyone who encountered John, reacted to him. No one looked him in the eye. We denied him, yes - but not face-to-face, not eye-to-eye. We did our very best to look away, making an effort to ignore him, to pretend he wasn’t there. What’s more, our actions seemed almost second nature. When John approached us, everything else suddenly became more important. When he spoke, the sounds of the street all of a sudden grew louder and drowned out his plea. "They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway", or so the song goes. But not as bright as when John’s dirty, outstretched hands reached to us. Then these same lights seemed to get brighter, and John’s outstretched hands got pushed aside, lost in the dazzling, blinding lights of 42nd Street, in Time Square, in New York City, the city that never sleeps.

When we began to smell him, the aroma of burning pretzels or honey-roasted nuts suddenly grew stronger and more inviting. We would walk past John and mumble something like "Sorry, I don’t have anything," if we say anything at all, and then waltz right into a souvenir shop or a restaurant or some other place and spend obscene amounts of money only to run into him again on the way out. This time, while trying not to look at him, say, "Sorry, I don’t have any change."

I witnessed this. And to my surprise, I was caught up in this drama. I didn’t want to look at John either. I didn’t want to be bothered by his presence, his words, or his condition. He was an intrusion. Yet, for some reason, his presence at that very moment in my life, this entire scene or little drama seemed to be too coincidental, too planned. For just before my encounter with him, I had passed a Salvation Army representative giving his spiel, asking for donations and quoting the Bible. He quoted the Gospel of Matthew.

"..for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing… …Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these…you did it unto me... ...For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty  and you   gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger  and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me…Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me."

So now because of some weird coincidence, some weird convergence of two seemingly unrelated acts - the Salvation Army representative’s words and a homeless man’s presence, here was John, not only asking for money or food, here he was unknowingly throwing Jesus up in my face! It was hard enough dealing with John, now Jesus has to show up! Here was Jesus telling me how I had ministered unto him by ministering to those like John, and in the same breath telling me how I had done just the opposite by refusing to help someone like John. I didn’t want to deny Jesus because he was…well he was Jesus! But I would deny John. Better yet, I wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence, just like everyone else. And by doing that, I refused to see Jesus… in John.

But why? Why wouldn’t I, why wouldn’t we look at John or deal with him humanely? Would we have responded differently if we had encountered John in a neglected neighborhood, one as desperate and desolate and disenfranchised as he was instead of being surrounded by the bright lights of Time Square and 42nd Street?

Looking at John and hearing the words of Jesus made me think of Genesis 4: 9, when God asked Cain where his brother Abel was and Cain replied, "Am I my brother’s keeper?" And for some reason, I’m wondering if John’s presence made us all feel a bit like Cain? Are we, should we be responsible for John and all those like him?

And so this drama with John continued, and I thought I had escaped. But John caught me. I wasn’t fast enough to avoid his eyes and he looked dead into my eyes and I into his. He caught me, and I couldn’t turn away, not even if I tried. And that is when I realized something. When I looked into his eyes, I could no longer feign ignorance. I couldn’t plead the Fifth. I could no longer give excuses about my lack of involvement in a matter as simple as giving to someone in need. Just by asking for my help, John involved me. And that was part of my dilemma.

Because I know Jesus, place my faith in Him and proclaim Him, I had been exposed by the truth of these three men, the Salvation Army representative, John and Jesus. They were telling me that I could no longer stand on the periphery. I had to choose sides. They were telling me, each in his own way, that "Either you do or you don’t, you will or you won’t. You are your brother’s keeper." I had to choose sides. But I didn’t. I was afraid, as I suspect many of us are when confronted by someone like John. We’re afraid so we shy away, trying our best to avoid contact and confrontation.

And this haunted me the rest of the day. On the subway ride home, I wrote a song about John called "Singing His Blues." In part it goes,

"The pain on his face spoke a truth I couldn’t erase He lives in the shadows of his life His world is a constant hide. Then I looked into his eyes I felt the magic just disappear So why do I feel helpless too? His life is his own, why won’t he leave mine alone Now he’s got me singing his blues."

It dawned on me that when we encounter John, John somehow it makes us sing the blues, makes us feel the blues. Whose blues? Your blues, my blues, John’s blues, our neighbor’s blues, the New York City blues, Jesus’ blues…

My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me!?

Daddy…Sweet Poppa… Everlasting Father...Don’t… don’t leave me, don’t go - Jesus’ blues… What?! You jus’ gon’ forget about me? Why you got to go!?

Daddy…Daddy - Jesus’ blues… Where you goin’!? Don’t leave me here…alone…down here. Daddy…Daddy!?

Whose blues? John’s blues…Jesus’ blues. Your blues and mine too!

I realized that at that moment when our eyes met, I became homeless too, and John’s blues became my song. John lived the blues and I sang them for him and with him, because that’s all I could feel at the moment. You know how at certain times, when emotion just over runs you and you just don’t know what to do? For some of us, all we can do is cry. Others of us begin to eat constantly. Others go shopping. Some sleep all day. Some of us even try working ourselves overtime just to deal with whatever it is that’s got us so uptight and upset. Well, at that moment, the only thing I felt, the only thing I heard, the only thing I saw was the blues, the weary blues, the traveling blues, the "ain’t got no where to go" blues, the "homeless blues".

As some of you know, I read and collect comic books. And in one story, a man lay dying on the street, an innocent victim of violence. As he lay there, his friend tried to reassure him.

"Be still. An ambulance is on the way. We’re going to get you to the hospital."  He looked up at his friend, smiled and said, "It’s too late for that. Besides, Heaven so bad a place to lay your head, when the world says you ain’t got no home."

John’s blues became my spiritual blues because my spirit was troubled. When I looked into John’s eyes, I became homeless and hungry and thirsty. And I didn’t like it. It frightened me. Then I began to realize how often I try to avoid confrontations like these. When on the subway, one of the reasons I always carry something to read is not only to pass the time but to also occupy my eyes in case someone comes along asking for anything. If I’m looking down, I won’t have to look up. But John caught me that day. Jesus caught me. "What ever you do not do to the least of these, my children, you do not do unto me." When I looked at John, Jesus looked back at me and asked, "Do you love me? Feed my sheep." Jesus may have meant feed them food for the soul, give them water for the spirit. But I’m willing to guess that he also meant when someone is hungry, or homeless, when someone is needy, give what you can. John didn’t ask for my life or any one else’s that day. He just wanted a helping hand. But I was afraid. So I turned away.

"I saw him and I shied away, I turned my back ashamed afraid; Cause I looked into his eyes and felt the magic just disappear.  So why do I feel helpless too? His life is his own, why won’t he leave mine alone And he’s got me singing his blues. Singing his blues and I don’t know why Singing his blues maybe I should cry. I’m singing the blues inside his head. And singing his blues just makes me afraid."

A few days later, I was back in the Time Square area. Again I came across that same Salvation Army soldier, still preaching, still asking that we help the needy. I walked across 42nd Street, headed for my appointment but also hoping I would run into John again. But he was gone, and it bothered me. John haunted me…"His life is his own, why won’t he leave mine alone." Jesus fingered me…"Whatever you do to the least of these my children…" So I looked for John, but he was gone. And I apologized to Jesus for not being there for him and not being there for John. And all I wanted then was absolution of some sort, but my pity party was cut short when a woman and her child walked past, asking for help, some money or food. And there was Jesus, one more time, saying to me, "Whatever you do…feed my sheep, feed my lambs…"

Jesus is telling us that we can no longer stand on the sidelines and wait for those like John and this mother and child to go away and disappear. In the Gospel of John, Jesus reminds us, "You always have the poor with you…" Always Jesus? Always. They won’t just disappear. And if we choose to do nothing, it says more about us than it does about those who need not only our compassion but also our help. Jesus fed five thousand people with two fish and five loaves of bread. If Jesus is who we say He is to us and for us and in us, if Jesus IS our Rock In A Weary Land and our Lily in the Valley, our Bright and Morning Star and our Candle In The Dark, if Jesus is our Rose of Sharon and our Balm in Gilead, if He’s our Way, our Truth and our Light, if Jesus IS our Savior And our Redeemer, if Jesus is all that to us, then through our faith in him, we can help feed at least one hungry soul. If Jesus IS all that to us, then we can begin to get rid of our fears and guilt. We will no longer be afraid to look John in the eyes. We won’t be afraid of his presence in our lives and we won’t be afraid or unwilling to help when we can. And when we do this, when we help the John’s of the world, then our lives will be forever changed because we will move closer and closer to being more like Jesus. Our lives will be better and the world will be a better place because we helped somebody along the way. How does the song go, "If I can help somebody…". Jesus says "…for when I was hungry…you fed me and gave me drink."