I TURNED AND THE HOMELESS MAN WAS GONE... -Part ONE-

A witness during the Nuremberg war crime trials shared his experiences with the court. He, along with several other Jews, had escaped the gas chamber in Wilna, Poland, and in fleeing the Nazis, sought refuge for a time in a Jewish graveyard. During his time of hiding, the man, a poet, described the details of a birth he had witnessed in one of the graves. A young woman gave birth to a boy, and she was assisted in the delivery by the 80 year old Jewish grave digger. The grave digger, seeing the boy child, and hearing his first cries, carefully wrapped the babe in a white linen shroud and prayed: 'Great God, hast thou finally sent the Messiah to us? For who else than the Messiah Himself can be born in a grave?' Three days later the poet witnessed the wrenching scene of the baby sucking tears from the mother's cheek, as without the necessary nutrition she was unable to produce milk for him.

After three days the grave closed in on the baby and he died. The scene again turned to hopelessness.

In the Christian faith, however, the hope is alive, for Jesus Himself said, and we have the witness in ourselves, that, 'after three days I will rise again'; after three days our Saviour was re-born, raised to life, in a grave. While the story is complete in itself, there is a poigniant reminder here for the contemporary Christian.

I attended an ecumenical lecture last week sponsored by the Jesuits and heard, what I suppose many Christians are already sensing, that the plight of today's homeless is by many being paralleled with the holocaust. The world points to the Christian and says: 'I remember a similar lack of concern when thousands were destitute, dying. If your Saviour has really come, why all this suffering, and why the Christian's indifference?' John Stott has said that the greatest indicment that can be levied against a Christian is to be called 'no different from the world.'

Just over 20 years ago Salvationists from around the world met in London and revelled in a week-long celebration of arrival. It was in a sense an arrival to more than just our centenary; it was in many respects our arrival into an areana of respectability. General Fredrick Coutt's words in that celebrationheld in New York's Cathedral of St. John the Divine in October 1965, echoed the Old Testament words that: 'We who are not a people, have been made a people.' An editorial article in The Officer magazine published the same summer states that: 'William Booth's cry for arms long enough to reach the rich on the one hand and the poor on the other has been gloriously achieved in the Army.' We had arrived. But inherent in any such sentiment is the danger of complacency, of resting on laurels, of delegating responsibility to others.

I have no ready answer for what has happened in society to move us to where we are. However, one need not be a social scientist to focus on the change that has taken place. In the few years since we celebrated our arrival I wonder if indeed the reach of our arms and the depth of our devotion to the homeless hasn't changed; if we haven't somehow also come to accept the situation of the homeless as the status quo. I don't mean we're not doing anything, but are we doing enough, or even as much as we can?

John Stott, in his book 'Understanding Christ' pays great tribute to us in quoting from 'The General Next to God'. He relates Booth's staunch discipline and expectation of his soldiers, and how Salvationists dedicating their children: 'must be willing that the child should ... spend all its life where God should choose to send it, that it should be despised, hated, cursed, beaten, kicked, imprisoned or killed for Christ's sake.' But that was nearly a century ago, we say, and times have changed. That was before we arrived; it was during the time of our newly formed church being persecuted. Is it that the church is less persecuted today, or as John Stott says, 'simply ignored'? Is it that we are not different enough from the world, willing enough to speak up, to speak out, and to act out what God still calls us to do? Are our arms still wrapped around the poor?

The homeless in New York City, indeed in most cities world wide, are today so commonplace that they are woven into the very fabric of the city. Ironically they have become such an integral part of New York's profile that when Hollywood studios shoot their several dozen movies here annually, the casting department always include in their 'talent search' many homeless persons to lend an air of authenticity. It wasn't all that long ago that the same casting directors phoned the Army for help in locating potential 'street people', or to borrow a group to provide an open-air scene. Indeed, 'bag-ladies' and 'street-persons' are today so comonplace in our society that these nouns, unknown to us 20 years ago, are colloquialisms today.

There isn't a square block in New York, with our estimated 60,000 homeless, that is free from either the presence of these, 'God's children', or the indicment of indifference. Just a few weeks ago I was called to service by a member of the Norweigian Mission to the United Nations. He knew where our Corps was located (almost in the shadow of the UN) and knew something of our mission. He explained that a street- person, one we had cared for over a period of time, appeared extremely ill and would we investigate her plight.





Dr. Sven-Erik Ljungholm
THE OFFICER Magazine - July 1987