From that time on Jesus began to preach, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.” As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him.—Mateus 4.17-20
Some days ago, I headed down the street to a supermarket near my home. I needed a few ingredients to make a fruit cake for the final meeting of the group of seminary students’ wives that I help coordinate.
When I reached the store entrance, there was a young woman seated beside the covered area on the outside where the shopping carts and the flower booth were located. It’s quite common to have beggars in that place and so, when she spoke to me, I shook my head to indicate that I would not give her any money. I did not, however, make eye contact. I went in, made my purchases and went out, again avoiding looking at her directly and indicating that I had nothing to give when she insisted. But I kept thinking about her—about where she lives and what she would do with the money if I had given it.
Since I had not found icing sugar, I went back up the street to my building, left my packages with the gatekeeper and went out again on foot towards a supermarket beyond the first one. While I went, I noticed the girl (perhaps in her late teens) from afar, still sitting in the same place. This time, I stopped with my back to a building, looked both ways, opened my purse and took out two coins of one real (a bit less than half a dollar each). I crossed the street and went straight to her, looked her in the eye, smiled and placed the coins in her hand. I saw that she was surprised. Then off I went. Mission accomplished… Or so I thought.
I didn’t find the sugar that I wanted in this supermarket either, but I saw sales in milk and in fabric softener and thus I started back up the hill with four heavy grocery bags. As I was going up the street, thinking about other things, suddenly the girl was standing in front of me. Tall, thin, dark-clothed, serious… I stopped, she looked at me and asked—Would you like help with those bags? And now what? She could be a thief. I thought of refusing. I almost refused. Would it be very naïve on my part to think that she might be returning the favour? After all, I hadn’t given her very much. But still, that was what it seemed like…. I looked her in the eyes and decided to be frank—If you promise not to run away with them…
She didn’t say anything, but stretched out her hands and off we went, side by side—me, with my purse on the side furthest away from her, and she with all the bags. My mind was racing… What did God want from me? A sermon came to my mind that I had heard in a conference that we had attended in Manaus (Amazon region), only a few days before. It was based on Matthew 4 and the pastor exhorted us that whoever wants to “fish” has to go where the fish are. We need to go to the river to fish—the fish are not going to appear in our bathtub. I agreed with that and could even think of a few occasions when I had done just that. But, at a later moment, the speaker’s wife shared with me about the work that she does with five other women in her homeland, in a prostitution zone in Lusaka, Zambia. Three women have been converted, who are now members of her church, and currently there are nine that go out once a month to evangelize. I was left admiring her courage and remembering another friend in India with a similar work. And I concluded that I lack a great deal to be like that.
Now there I was—I had taken only a few hesitating steps towards the “river” and God already appeared to be putting the “fish” right beside a net that I wasn’t even thinking about casting! That I didn’t even want to touch! I didn’t want to face the unknown discomforts related to this kind of “fishing expedition”! I wondered what she was thinking. I puzzled over what she was wanting. How could I get near here without exposing myself too much, or my family?
And so I asked what her name was. And she answered me. And wanted to know mine. Elizabeth. Another barrier had disappeared. And I had lost my anonymity.
She told me. —I only beg. I don’t steal.
What does one respond to a revelation of this type?
—That’s good! Do you study?
—No. I live on the street.
—Has it been long?
—A long time.
—How about going back home? Did you run away?
—My mother kicked me out. She doesn’t want me.
Compassion and caution struggled in my interior. How much of this was true? Did she always try to get near people in this way? I asked if she had sought help from the city government.
—They don’t help.
—Really?
—They don’t.
Seeing that we were getting close to my building and noticing a break in the traffic, I stopped. And I smiled at her.
—Look. I’m going to cross here. Thanks a lot for your help, ok?
She handed over my bags and remarked.
—I’m always in that spot.
Is that really so? I am pretty much a daily customer of that supermarket—I get my exercise picking up and carrying some of the things most necessary to our subsistence… I don’t remember her. But about ten days had gone by since I last went (because of our travels)… It could be that her “always’ is comprised of a whole week—a long period perhaps for someone who lives nowhere and exists for no specific reason.
I’m curious. And also somewhat fearful. Will that young woman be there, in that same place, the next time that I go out to buy milk or juice or soap? What will we say or do? May God grant me wisdom! (Continued