I stand over the sink, doing the dishes. The leftovers have been put into containers that will be brought to work for lunch tomorrow. The kitchen is almost clean. Outside, the cold snows blows as the most recent storm abates. The storms, the dishes; it’s all so tedious.

On Facebook, the other day, one of my neighbors asked if anyone knew the story of the two homeless men that often stand at the end of the parkway ramp asking for money. I’ve seen them. I’ve given them money, but I don’t know their stories.

A lively discussion breaks out in the comments. All of the stereotypes come out. They’re probably drug addicts, part of a gang, too lazy to do real work. Some suggest that you shouldn’t give them money, it just enables them and doesn’t fix anything. Others bring more nuance and compassion.

I relate the story of a church retreat I was at last fall where the topic of giving to homeless people came up. One person expressed concern about giving money to people asking on the street. How do we know that they won't just use it for things that are not good for them?

Yet it was pointed out that God gives blessing to all of us, continually, even though we, too often, don't use God's blessings in ways that are good for us. Likewise, we should give to those that ask of us, even when we don't know if they will use it for their benefit each time.

Many people shared ideas about how to help, with organizations like Partnership for Strong Communities, Columbus House, soup kitchens and various church groups.

Yet the discussion turned nasty as people call other people judgmental and condescending. There is a lot of passion around this subject. Perhaps, some of it revolves around the idea of, “there, but for the grace of God, go I”, around the idea that any of us are just one catastrophe away from being homeless ourselves.

I set down another pot to dry and look outside. The dishes, the snow, are all tedious, but how much more tedious would it be to be standing outside in this storm, unsure what you will eat or where you will sleep tomorrow.

Every December, they have a memorial service for homeless men and women that have died over the past year, and a couple of these services have inspired powerful blog posts.

Homeless is Not a Disease. It's a Fixable Condition.
What it means to be homeless

I finish the dishes and sit down to write. On the couch next me the dog sleeps. In the family room, my wife watches some television show, and my daughter is off in her bedroom being a teenager. Our stomachs are full, we are warm and dry, and I even know what I’m having for lunch tomorrow.