A couple of weeks ago, I was leaving my office to get a cup of tea when I noticed a man coming up the stairs. The stairs to my floor are separated from our hallway by a glass wall and a locked door that is designed to keep out people we don’t want to deal with. The man coming up the stairs was, from his appearance, homeless. As I watched him my anxiety level began to rise.

As he reached the top of the stairs we made eye contact. He motioned for me to open the door. I wouldn’t do that. But, since I wasn’t in any particular hurry, I wandered over to the wall and asked him through the glass what he wanted. He again motioned for me to open the door, this time more insistently. I paused for a second and then opened it a crack. I could smell alcohol on him and his face bore multiple scars.

The homeless man then asked me why I talked to him through the glass rather than opening the door. He was angry. He told me that people talk to dogs through glass, not to other people. I was really beginning to feel bad. Then he said, “Reverend, if I had been wearing a suit you would have opened the door to me, wouldn’t you?” I told him that I wasn’t a minister. I didn’t answer his question.

But in my heart I knew he was right. He then told me that he needed a bus ticket to get to Memphis. The need for a bus ticket seems to be the current pan handling technique of choice. I told him that I couldn’t help him and that he should see the folks in the help office on the ground floor of our building. He then turned and walked back down the stairs.

Of course, I know that what he said was intended to make me feel guilty and thus increase his chances of getting money from me. I’m not naïve.

But his words about my talking to him through the glass have stayed in my heart. He was right. I hadn’t treated him like a human being. I still don’t know his name or anything about him.

Later I asked a friend what I should have done. If asked for money my friend does what he can. If they are asking for too much or something that seems inappropriate, he says, “I can’t do that; but here’s what I will do.” That might mean buying a meal, handing out leftovers, or even sharing a banana. But most of all what my friend gives is recognition. Recognition of people on the street as human beings; human beings with names, lives, and stories to tell. Just like my friend. And just like me.

My friend says that when approached by homeless persons he always tells them his first name and asks theirs. Then he asks them to tell their personal stories.

This morning I spoke to a homeless man sitting on a bench inside the church door downstairs. His name is George. He told me about the time he was allowed to sleep inside the church but someone called the police who showed up in large numbers.

Then I introduced myself to a man named Mike who was getting on the elevator. He walked with crutches and seemed out of breath. Even though he had only walked about a block, he was out of breath, the result of a recent heart attack.

I now know the names of Mike and George and they know mine. I now know a little piece of their stories. When we see each other again, I hope I get the chance to tell them a little bit of mine.