DON'T LOOK AWAY

The tour season is in full swing, which means you’ll often find me at Ecola State Park enjoying my favorite view, at the base of Multnomah Falls, or all the way up to Timberline Lodge at 6,000 feet on Mt. Hood. My summer office is pretty hard to beat. But speaking of beat, the days are usually 11 hours and the mileage log north of 200 miles a day. Are you feeling sympathy? I didn’t think so.

It also means you’ll find me zig-zagging the streets of downtown Portland picking up and dropping off guests from across the country and around the world (Dubai, Kuwait, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Brazil, Australia, and throughout Europe to date). I love not only showing off my state but showing off my city as well. Some people are surprised by that, but I genuinely love Portland. In the immortal words of Shakespeare, many think we “Dost protest too much.” Nah. The protests of late have been tame, including those around the ICE building, despite what you might have heard. The only spice there has been is when I happened upon a naked protest, raising their voices against the war in Gaza. Fortunately, I’d just dropped off my last guest a few minutes earlier. I couldn’t figure out why everyone was naked, other than the standard default “Keep Portland Weird.” Yeah, that. But later one of my guests said they were protesting the war in the Gaza Strip! Ah, that must be it. 

Others I hear mention the homeless on the streets of Portland. Yeah, that. Certainly, they are there, and post-pandemic in record numbers. I understand it can be disconcerting and disturbing being on Burnside by the river if you’re not used to seeing those in the homeless community in large numbers. But there are very few violent incidents in Portland being perpetrated by the homeless. However, it is hard to see those who have blown their minds on Fentanyl or other substances. I saw an otherwise normally dressed man recently talking loudly to a streetlamp. Others shouting as they walk down the sidewalk and walking into traffic are normal occurrences. Broken people.

The question is, what does it do to our heart when we see and hear this? Are we disgusted by the smell and the mess? Are we annoyed by the interruption to our shopping or eating experience? Are we condescending enough to think they are beyond the reach of God or of little or no value to our world? I’ve written about this before, but I am increasingly convicted that we are witnessing the very imago Dei, the image of God, in each and every desperate and dirty soul. These people have stories, voices, and faces.

Speaking of, one of the habits I’m trying to cultivate is looking right into their faces. How many of them see a smiling face? How many see a compassionate gaze? How many see Jesus gazing at them through our car windows or on the same walkway? In how many of them do we see Jesus? And, importantly, how many of us simply look away?

It is often hard not to. Especially when they are asking for money, or suddenly take down their pants. Yep, that’s happened a couple times on tour, too. Perhaps that might be a good exception. But I don’t think Jesus had a hard time making eye contact with the beggars, the barely clothed, or the destitute. In fact, how many of his miracles (signs) were directed to the misfits and the marginalized? And Jesus doesn’t give us the “look away” option. Most of us reading (and writing) this, are in some form of the middle class and were, in the immortal words of The Boss (who was just in Portland), “BORN in the USA!” The gospel, of course, was never designed to be exclusive: to the chosen Jews, the Roman nobility, the affluent Germans, French, or English, or the American middle class. It was, and is, a religion for the poor.

So the next time we’re tempted to shake our fist at the immigrant, shake our head at the homeless, or shake the dust off our feet as we leave the inner-city, let’s remember the words of Jesus, as well as Moses:

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me . . .  Truly I tell you whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me. (Matthew 25)

Do not take advantage of foreigners who live among you in your land. Treat them like native-born Israelites, and love them as you love yourself. Remember that you were once foreigners living in the land of Egypt. I am the Lord your God. (Leviticus 19)

Of course, we must do more than look, but perhaps that’s a good place to start. I’m proud that my church has made loving the brothers and sisters of Jesus on the streets of Portland a priority. But I need to do more, too. I know the needs we see on TV, Google news feeds, and in front of us on the street are overwhelming. But in order to make a difference we must first see our own brothers and sisters as just that. The very image of God on Burnside Avenue. The very image of God from Kuwait, Iran, and Saudi Arabia. People of God, called to love . . .

Don’t look away!

JAY