Is He Our Neighbor?

Two stories juxtaposed, on the chance there might be value (and some redemption) in the comparison:

 

"And, behold, a certain lawyer stood up, and tempted him, saying, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?

 

"He said unto him, What is written in the law? how readest thou?

 

"And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself.

 

"And he said unto him, Thou hast answered right: this do, and thou shalt live.

 

"But he, willing to justify‍ himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbor?" [Luke 10:25-29]

 

The Beggar Doctrine

 

Nearly fifteen years ago, as a newly minted returned missionary attending BYU, I took a Book of Mormon class from Joseph Fielding McConkie.  His style was brash, and he thrived on upending typical Mormon dogma – especially the kind promulgated by so many return missionaries (like me).* 

One of his more memorable Book of Mormon classes was his lecture on Mosiah 4, during which he discussed King Bejamin’s “Beggar Doctrine” (Brother McConkie’s term), which included this teaching:

“And also, ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.” (Mosiah 4:16). 

With a dry kind of condescension, Brother McConkie read this scripture and some that follow, then picked up a waste basket from the back of the room.  He mentioned some lavish expense for his wife (a vacation or a new wing on his house or something), and asked us to pull out our cash, credit cards, and checks and place them in the waste basket as he passed.  “She needs it,” he said in dead panned seriousness, and reminded us of the scriptures we’d just read apparently commanding us that we should not say “no,” lest we cause this beggar to put up his petition in vain. 

Of course, no one got out their wallet.  He let the idea play out for a few moments, though, to demonstrate the potential absurdity of taking the scripture at face value and out of context.  He mentioned something, too, about Utah leading the nation, per capita, in the number of people taken for fraud, and he seemed to think this kind of mentality had something to do with it.

Eventually, once he’d had enough fun with the idea, Brother McConkie then pointed us to the limiting principle of the beggar doctrine later in verse 27: “And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order. . . .” 

This, according to Brother McConkie, was the reason we should not be filling up his waste basket with our credit cards and cash to help buy his wife a luxury vacation: it was neither wise nor orderly to do so.  And, he suggested, this limiting principle should guide our actions when other “beggars” put up their petition to us. Essentially, King Benjamin’s sermon should not be an excuse to be taken for fools. 

At the time, I found this notion quite liberating,  and I discussed it on several occasions with Michelle and other friends.

A Petition in Vain

Some time later, while Michelle and I were still newlyweds, we took an evening shopping trip to Macey’s in Provo, UT for groceries.  For some reason, the commercials of the day made me decide that I needed a Grilled Stuft Burritto from Taco Bell on the way home.  Michelle was kind of ok with the idea, and I’d made sure to have enough cash in my wallet to make it happen.

Once we’d made our grocery purchases that evening, we took them out to the car and loaded them.  I think we were still driving "Old Paint" then.  It was dark.  And as we both piled into the car, a woman approached my window.  She bent down, and I remember her having a worn face (late 30’s to early 40’s) with longer, dirty blonde hair.  She described to us some distressing situation, the details of which escape me, and then briefly mentioned her hope to gather enough money to stay in a hotel that evening.  Did we have any money that we might be able to give her to help?

 

Callously, and feeling foolishly empowered by Brother McConkie that I was now exempted from any such charitable petitions, I said we had no money. 

 

But it wasn’t true.  It wasn’t even close to true.  And, surely aware of the groceries we’d just loaded in the car (and the fact that we’d come from the store), I could hear her voice sink in disappointment at the lie, “Oh. Ok.”

 

She left us.  I felt small, but tried to cling to the "beggar doctrine" to feel better, wondering openly if her story could even be true and if a hotel room really was her aim.  I mentioned all this to Michelle directly as we pulled out and drove off toward Taco Bell.  But, she noted, my answer that we had no money was simply not true.  I had cash in my pocket.  No -- there was no getting around that, and the weight of what I’d just done, and the possibility of her petition being in earnest wore on me very quickly (with Michelle’s help).  We still drove the block or two toward Taco Bell, but by the time we got the parking lot, I’d already given way to the feeling that I had done something awful. 

 

So almost as soon as we got to the Taco Bell parking lot, we turned around.  I raced back to Macey’s, hoping the woman would still be lingering in the parking lot. But she was gone.  We could not find her.  And I went home in bitterness of soul.

My failings that evening still stir great anguish.  And just about any time since that someone has asked me for money, I remember her.

 

Is He Our Neighbor?

 

So it was approximately three years ago when Natalie (who was then 3) and I went on a daddy/daughter date.  She got to decide our activity, and following her siblings’ lead, she pointed us to In-N-Out. 

 

We walked to the counter and ordered our food – there wasn’t a line.  Nats got some stickers, we filled up our cup with lemonade, then found some open seats in a corner of the restaurant.  We took turns sipping our lemonade and working on sticker projects while I tried to give her my full attention.

 

After a few minutes, I noticed an older haggard-looking man, perhaps in his late 40s, approach and sit at the table next to ours.  He sat across from a younger man in his 20’s who was sitting next to us.  By the way the older man sat down (or perhaps just by the fact that he sat down at the two-person table), I initially thought the two must be friends who’d come together.  But after a moment’s observation, I noted the older man was asking for money to buy food.

It’s the kind of scene I want to avert my eyes from in embarrassment, and that evening was no different.  So I don’t know exactly how the young man responded to older man’s entreaty, except that he must have turned the man down, since I watched the older man make the rounds from table to table afterward.  He then approached people in line or standing to wait for their orders.  It seemed clear he wasn’t meeting with much success, and I marveled, in an uncomfortable way, at the brazenness of his approach after approach.

 

For my part, I was surprised that he’d passed my table.  Maybe it was because of Natalie or because of my averted gaze.  As it was, I had no cash in my pocket, but I still hadn’t looked forward to turning him down.  And as I thought of all the patrons enjoying or waiting for their food without much thought, I wanted him not to be left wanting.  But Nats was sitting with me, and I couldn’t very well leave her.  And he hadn’t asked me.  So I sat and watched and did nothing.

 

Our food came, and I went to pick it up, leaving Natalie in her seat, sipping the lemonade.  I don’t remember when it happened, but at some point in those few minutes, I resolved to try to help.  I prayed the man would still be around when it was time for me to pick up my food.  But when I got up, he seemed to be gone.  It was only when I looked outside that I saw him.

 

I put the food in front of Natalie, who was blissfully unaware of anything but the lemonade, and now her cheeseburger and fries.  I told her I’d be back in a moment, then I quickly went outside and approached the man.  I asked him if he was hungry, and when he noticed me, he gave some kind of muted sales pitch that I don’t remember.  As Natalie started on her food, I took the man to the counter and invited him to order what he wanted.  He seemed a bit drunk.  He wanted a cheeseburger with “the works” and then wondered if he could have a whole meal.  Yes, he could.  He then told me he had a friend he was with, and might he have something, too?  I nodded again, and he ordered two cheeseburger meals. 

 

In between talking with the cashier, who seemed only to understand slightly what was going on, the man thanked me several times and spoke of Jesus.  Once he had his cups and receipt, I patted him on the back, and told him he was welcome, then I sat back down with Nats (who I’d been watching the whole time). 

 

I expected that to be the end of our interaction, and I sat down to enjoy my meal.  But quickly after I sat down, a balding man with glasses (in his late 30’s/early 40’s) approached us.  He said he saw what I’d done, and in an odd sort of interaction, he expressed his admiration.  I thanked him, awkwardly, and then, not knowing where the conversation should go from there, the man looked at Natalie and told her what a good father she had.  He then walked away.  Nats seemed too interested in her food to pay much attention.

 

A few moments later, the older man I’d ordered food for wandered over to our table and started making conversation.  We talked about where he was from and some of his life story.  He was apparently once a corps men in the marines “a long time ago,” and he had a son somewhere in the Midwest that he hadn’t seen in a long time.  He’d also recently come to San Diego from Oregon, and he liked it here.  At some point, he retrieved his friend, who looked even more disheveled than he did (and seemed even more drunk).

 

When his order was ready and his number called, the man left us to get his food.  It was then Natalie asked, with all the innocence and interest of a three year old, “Is he our neighbor?”

 

I almost did a double take at the question, because it caught me off guard and seemed as if she were quoting scripture.

 

“Yes, he is,” I responded after a few moments.

 

“Where does he live?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

The man eventually brought over his food and sat next to us.  He and his friend ate happily, thanking us and praising God with the boisterousness of two drunken, hungry men.  Two beggars, in a sense, whom my three year old had reminded me were also my neighbors.

* The grading in Brother McConkie's classes depended only and entirely on a few multiple choice tests throughout the semester -- tests that thrived on deception.  The key to his classes had almost nothing to do with outside study, but instead to never missing his classes, taking meticulous notes, then outsmarting everyone else on those tests.  In short, he suited me perfectly.