My Homeless Date

We’ve found that as we hold less and less for tomorrow, there’s more and more for today for everyone.
-Shane Claiborne

“Brewed coffee,” a grey-haired man answered, “I already forget how it tastes,” when I asked
him which coffee he would like to take. I, unintentionally, was dating a homeless yesterday.
I am here in Cebu City for my internship –an eleven-month ministry exposure. At my arrival, I
was welcomed with giant buildings and well-ordered traffic lights. As instructed, I grabbed a Taxi and
mentioned an, to me, alien address. Unlike General Santos City –but closer to Cagayan de Oro City –the
city is decorated with huge infrastructures. National highways are wide-ranging. Street roads are
extensive. This place is both entertaining and disturbing.
Tomorrow would be my 117th day here. So far, I can say that this city is interesting because of its
multi-cultural populace, huge and top-ranking universities, beautiful malls, night-life activities,
employee-friendly companies, and many more. Name it! On the other hand, contrary to its progressive
status, the city is filled with homeless people. While many of the rooms of the city’s million-dollar hotels
have nobody to stay in, there are people here who have no place where they can stay –even just a
second per night. No, there is. There actually a wide place for them. They owned the streets. In there,
they sleep, they eat, they beg, they cry, they starve, and, in some cases, they die. While countless of
brand-new cars are roaming around the city (some drivers/owners can’t decide which restaurant they
haven’t visited yet; others are excited to withdraw their bonuses and or salaries), a lot of street people
are carrying their semi-rugged carton beddings –trying to keep them as many nights-and-days as they
could. As those cars have owners, they, too, owned those cartons. How in the world that they wouldn’t
protect the only shelter they have?
In the church where I am assigned, I found my favorite ministry –the Chariots Ministry. Though it
is not part of my assignment here, I can feel a strong magnetic force that draws me closer to this
ministry. It caters and welcomes homeless folks –giving them, though unlike the foods during the
leaders/staff fellowship, simple meals plus a short sermon –every Friday night. I get familiar with their
faces. I can vividly imagine some of them –their favorite attire (which I think it’s all they’ve got), the
number of their teeth (some got one, others have none) –and sometimes, missing their smell.
Yesterday, not too long after receiving my economical allowance –economical in the context of
this huge city, I purchased two books from, as usual, Booksale. Trying to escape from my loneliness and
ease my agony, I have decided to read some ramble words of Philip Yancey in his Soul Survivor at a 7/11
store while sipping a 29-ers brewed coffee. I turned off the electric fans in our unventilated tiny room,
picked my mentor’s book plus a notebook (with a label “ACTIONS COUNT MOST”), plus my 1-month old
pen. I was heading to 7/11, and I met 2 homeless people from the Chariots Ministry. As I used to, I
paused for a while and made a little chitchat with them.
“Pastor,” a murky skinny old man said to me (an unexperienced intern minister), “I want to learn
more about the Word of God.” He paused for a moment, and he added, “Can you teach me how?” The
other man interrupted with his clear and articulate English, “Pastor, the next time you’ll be assigned to
preach, make it a “tagalog-english” so that I can understand. You sound very lively and interesting but I
can’t understand your Cebuano.” I gave no word while thinking of the other Chariots-goers who are
obviously unschooled and can only understand Cebuano. I just look at him directly to his eyes while
trying to make him feel that I am interested to whatever he’d tell me next. (Let’s call him “Jun.”) I was
seriously listening to him. I lost the old one. He walked away while Jun was still talking.
Because I wanted to hear Jun’s story, I invited him to join with me. Along our way to 7/11, I saw
a burger stand. So, I bought him two. We were at the door of 7/11, he said with his teary eyes, “I am so
dirty, I will just stay here outside.” I said, “No, you’re alright.” At first he was very hesitant, but,
eventually, he agreed. I promised him a coffee so I asked him which one he would like to take. He
passionately answered, “Brewed coffee, I already forget how it tastes.” We talked for an hour. I mean, I
listened to him. Whether his words yesterday were true or not, it doesn’t matter. What matters to me
is: he is homeless.
I wish the Bible does not declare that God, from the Old to the New Testament times, has been
biased to the poor and to the widow. At least, biblically, I have a reason –or, say, an alibi –to ignore
them. I am not writing this to show how I pity the likes of them, but because I feel them. I have my own
version of being a beggar, homelessness and nakedness. Tonight, I went to 7/11 with my friends. I didn’t
eat anything. I remembered Jun while I was sitting near to where we were sitting yesterday. I
remembered how his tears fell. I remembered his old rugged suit. I remembered his filthy skin. I
remembered how thankful he was for the very short time I offered to him.
Back and forth to 7/11, I can still see the likes of Jun. I will not waste my time while I am still
here in Cebu. I will spare some of those for them because, for me, their lives are valuable. Not a waste.
Not even wasted. These are the people who bear so much rejections and hurts from the society –from
us. I am neither a Mother Teresa nor a St. Francis of Assisi. But, even at the least I could, I want to
imitate even just a thousandth of these two saints’ efforts. If this is how I can wear the name of Jesus,
then, I am more than willing. I am.
I cannot play God –or as God himself. But, I am convinced that our CALLING does not stop or
end at salvation. We can, for Christ’s sake, turn the world right-side up. I am broken, and these people
have contributed a lot –in one way or another –to my brokenness.
If I have found favor from your heart, do me a favor: Pray. There thousands, if not millions, of
them around the world.
Blessings!

With humility and respect,

Benjie A. Saligan