Walking the Weak

This fall has reminded me so much of fire. We built fires, the fall leaves resemble fire, I've even been more apt to smoke from time to time. Sometimes the fire makes more sense than anything. Somewhere, beneath its burning sweet addiction and the way it melts our eyes.
And so I go to it, the fire. I crave it. I arch the back of my tongue to it. I breathe.

I breathe, and so does the fire.

Samantha liked fire too, you could tell. You could tell by the odor of smoke that hung about her after the service. It might have been there before the service too, I had never been close enough to tell, then. Em had invited her to sit with us after she finished her Bo-Jangles, and Samantha had accepted. She didn't sit through the service, more than a couple times she ducked out and returned a few minutes later. But she stayed. I didn't know why at first, even when she was in the service, she seemed to be nodding off.

Afterwards I knew why. She needed a ride to north Durham. I couldn't give her one, I didn't have a car. I stood with her as she tried to find one though. I learned some things about her, bits an pieces. Obviously she was fond if cigarettes, but there was more. She loved Prince, and her family didn't want her...

Her family didn't want her, and neither did we, it seems. What has the church come to? Is Jesus crying up in Heaven? Has the father turned his face away? It is merely stuck in our direction like the smiles on people's faces when they're eager to help the soul, but not the body? Everyone was eager to ask about how she liked the service, but then she mentioned that she needed a ride, and they'd say "Hm.. I can't think of anyone going that direction.." never thinking that they might deviate from their path a little to show compassion on this woman. That didn't seem to really acknowledge her need, really. It made them uncomfortable.

But in America we're supposed to treat everyone equal right?
No, I finally understand. At some point, treating people equally is an insult.

And then my mind switches back to fire.
Perhaps the fire burns all, but it treats everything with distinction. It devours newspaper. Wood takes some time to catch. It squeezes the moisture out of wet logs.

Separate is not equal, no, but, hell, sometimes equal is not even equal.

But the Church, our mission is to love. God is love, right? We're the manifestation of God on earth, right?
Even without that, Jesus gave us the parable rather directly: Matthew 25:42-45

"For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.' Then they also will answer, saying, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?' Then he will answer them, saying, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me."

So what's the problem, are we just too damn afraid of being taken advantage of?
Perhaps it's a relevant fear, but I feel as though it's putting the focus in the wrong place. Maybe they'll use all the money for drugs, or alcohol or cigarettes. Maybe we're just giving them a ride to their dealer or pimp. Maybe every bit of assistance we give won't directly save their soul, or even their body, but shouldn't the charity be the focus, not the fear? I'd prefer to take the risk of not being completely helpful, than not helping when I could.