Good Friday ice cream and Sunday Morning Revelation.

It was actually Good Friday. We were out with the family eating ice cream at one of the very few places to eat in the city that night. There I was happily enjoying my passion fruit ice cream cone,  when my joy was interrupted by a woman who was begging in the streets. This is not uncommon. I have had it happen on too many occasions; the fun of a family outing, interrupted by the reality of poverty in our city. 

She looked at me with pleading eyes and the desperation of a mother who needs to feed her hungry children. I have seen those pleading eyes too many times to count, in places all over this city and all over the country. Those are the eyes that haunt me, that remind me of my inadequacy to meet the needs in this country that God has called me to serve. Still, looking into the desperation of this mother’s need, I remember that none of this is about me. Nor is it about the mother. Good Friday is always about HIM. 

She asked me for money, and I tell her that I usually never give out money in the streets.  I told her that I would normally go to a supermarket and buy something for her, but everything was closed. I told her that we would pray, and I would ask the Holy Spirit for guidance about what to do. Then, I asked her about her spiritual condition and she expresses that she desperately needs God. She asked me about my church and she told me that she would go the very next Sunday. I explained to her that since I was a missionary that traveled all over the country, I may not always be at the church but that she should tell the Pastor that I sent her there. We prayed together. She cried on my shoulder. 

Then I had to make a decision. Should I give her cash? What would she do with it? Who was she? Was she telling me the truth, or was it a scam? These are questions that I am faced with in my everyday interactions with beggars that stand outside of the supermarket, at the traffic light, or the street corners of this city. 

That is why I am so grateful for the supernatural gifts of the Holy Spirit. There standing and praying with this desperate mother; I asked the Lord for the spiritual gift of discernment. As we prayed, I sensed that Jesus should not be misrepresented. If I were going to speak to her about Jesus, I must represent Him well, and I could not imagine that Jesus would have sent her away empty handed. So I put the equivalent of ten dollars into the palm of her hand, and I instructed her to look for a corner store near her home and buy her babies something to eat. She was immensely grateful, and once again, she assured me that she would visit my church. 

I never expected that I would see this woman again. The story of this encounter could be told many times over, as I have had so many similar experiences in the 19 years of our missionary life here in Santo Domingo. I am sure that I have given money to drug addicts and drunks that ran to the nearest dealer for more of their vice. There have been children that have taken the pesos from my hand and given them to some horrible parent that enslaves their own children. These are the realities of poverty in the developing world, and in the midst of it all, I have learned to seek the Spirit’s guidance, as I remember Jesus’s words,  “In as much as you have done it unto the least of these...” 

Last Sunday I was back at my home church after three months of traveling during the summer with other ministry commitments.  We were among the last to leave the building as we greeted our church family that we had missed so much. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there was a woman who was waiting to get my attention. Finally, I turned my attention toward her. She asked me if I remembered her. I did not. In fact, I had no idea who she was. She reminded me that she was the woman that came to me at the ice cream shop that Good Friday. 

I looked at her in astonishment.  She was dressed in her Sunday best, she had a Bible in her her arms and a big smile on her face. The joy that infused her whole expression was so different from the desperation that I saw on the evening of Good Friday. She told me that she did exactly as I told her and that she has been faithfully attending the church ever since that night. Then she introduced me to her husband and her children. She explained that they were in the discipleship class and that they were all going to be baptized soon! I was overjoyed to say the least. I cannot even begin to explain my great joy at seeing that whole family, bibles under their arms, standing in the foyer of my church. 

So often, we do not see the result of a simple act of obedience. We just have to trust that one day in heaven there will be a ton of redeemed beggars from Santo Domingo. But on this particular Sunday morning, I was privileged to see the end result of that Good Friday encounter!  It turns out to still be true that the best part about Good Friday is when we experience the outcome on Sunday morning. 

“It’s Friday. The world’s winning. People are sinning. And evil’s grinning.   

It’s Friday. The soldiers nail my Savior’s hands To the cross. They nail my Savior’s feet
to the cross.  And then they raise him up next to criminals.  

But It’s only Friday.  Let me tell you something-- Sunday’s comin’.” S. M. Lockridge