It was a familiar moment.
With our worship service finished, I'd stepped out of the doors of my sanctuary, where I greet each of the congregants as they depart. It's a pleasant enough thing, one of those rituals of church life.
As I stepped over the threshold, I saw a man standing at the edge of our parking lot. White, middle-aged, and a tiny bit worn, he'd clearly been waiting for the service to conclude. The moment he saw me step from the church, he bustled forward eagerly, making a beeline for the dude in liturgical garb.
He introduced himself, earnest, eager, and intimate, shaking my hand. "Can you help me out today, pastor?" He leaned in close to ask if we could talk in private. I agreed, and when the line of parishioners had concluded, I stepped aside to hear him out. In this case, it was that he had cancer, that he'd lost his job, that he was three months behind on rent, but needed only one month right now so that he could stave off eviction.
As it so happens, my little church (along with the other churches in our town) works with a local nonprofit that can handle emergency financial requests. Housing assistance, utility assistance, emergency food, all the needs a person in crisis might have. They pay the utility or landlord directly, and provide connection to other service providers for longer term support, including emergency medical and dental helps.
I said, "Sure! We work with this organization to help folks out, one that might be just what you need." I started to describe it, and how it works.
I was halfway through my third sentence when all the expression left his face. I mean, it was like flipping a switch. The smile and the eager light in his eyes just went Click. He grunted out something that I didn't quite catch, turned on his heel, and walked away briskly without another word. Beelined back to the parking lot, back to his car, and drove away.
That was that.
I was offering to help him get exactly what he said he needed, but...well. That wasn't what he wanted.
It got me to wondering, as I reflected on his abrupt departure, what it is that we Jesus folk have to offer those who arrive on our doorsteps seeking something.
There's no question that my visitor had real and material need. Perhaps not the need he was articulating, but this was a soul who unquestionably wasn't doing well in life. But was food...or housing...all he needed? Is that the heart of his struggle, or does that go deeper, to something more essential in his nature?
Does he have a sense of purpose in his life? A community in which he feels belonging? A vision of how valuable he is as a person, leavened with the truth of what a mess we all are, and a path to move from one to the other?
That's kind of what we do, the heart of what it means to be a follower of Jesus.
But again, that's probably not what he was looking for.
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