May 18, 2025, a detective from a West Virginia police department called, inquiring if I knew Richard Adams. The name didn’t spark recognition, and I told him so. He asked if I’d review a photo to see if it might stir a memory. As I awaited the email, my mind drifted to the countless faces I’ve encountered in my work — people who, like Adams, met untimely ends under varied circumstances. The detective shared that Adams was homeless, his body discovered by children in a wooded area where he’d made camp. Though a stranger to me, his story stirred a familiar grief for the many others I’ve known in similar straits.
Since deepening my faith, I’ve felt a strong calling to serve those on the margins, a commitment inspired by Jesus’s words in Matthew 25:35–40: “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me… Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” This teaching reminds us to see the divine in the suffering and to respond with love and practical help.
When the photo arrived, recognition dawned. I’d met this man near the Scottish Rite Temple in El Paso. He preferred Dave, distancing himself from his father’s name, Richard. Over a McDonald’s lunch, Dave shared his story. At sixteen, he was cast out by his Jehovah’s Witness parents for dating a non-believer, impregnating her, and smoking, sins in their eyes. After a confrontation with church elders, he was disfellowshipped, and his father handed him a small bag, barring him from home. I left him $50 and my number, offering support, but he never called. He’d hoped to reach West Virginia to reconcile with his parents, but he never arrived. The detective noted that Dave’s parents died months apart last year. When he asked how a faith could justify such rejection, I was at a loss.
This encounter recalls the idea that if we cannot find Christ in the beggar at the door, we will not find Him in sacred moments. Dave’s rejection mirrors the isolation Christ endured, yet it also challenges us to respond differently. The Bible affirms the dignity of every person as created in God’s image (Genesis 1:27). Dave, despite his circumstances, bore this divine image, deserving love and respect. His story underscores the warning in James 2:15–16: “If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?”
We often judge those begging on streets, suspecting they’ll misuse money for vice. I understand the caution, but we are called not to be successful in worldly terms, but faithful in our response. When I meet someone in need, I pause to converse. Five minutes of genuine attention can restore their sense of worth, revealing their true needs, often a meal or a listening ear. I don’t just buy food; I share the meal, as I did with Dave, who said it made him feel human again. The principle of living out faith through actions guides this: demonstrate compassion at all times, and when necessary, use words. Sitting with someone, sharing their burden, is a powerful witness.
Faith calls us to both personal kindness and broader efforts for justice. Society fulfills its role when it provides conditions that allow people to obtain what is rightfully theirs. Communities can start food pantries, distributing donated goods. I keep prepaid phones in my truck, knowing a call home can rekindle hope. Compiling local resources — food banks, shelters, rehab centers — can guide someone off the streets, though many avoid shelters due to crime and addiction, a reality I witnessed as a reporter in El Paso. Above all, prayer is vital. Pray as though everything depended on God, and work as though everything depended on you. Praying with and for those in need invites divine grace into their lives.
Dave’s story evokes the phrase, “There, but for the grace of God, go I,” a reminder of humility and dependence on divine mercy rather than our own merit. Reflecting on Dave, I question if I’ve ever felt my path shielded me from his fate. Everything is grace — our blessings are not earned but gifted, urging us to share them. Isaiah 58:7 challenges us: “Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them?”
Dave’s life, marked by rejection and struggle, was no less sacred than mine. The poor and the suffering hold a special place in God’s heart. In serving them, we serve Christ, preparing for the judgment foretold in Matthew 25. Let us seek God in the Dave’s of the world, offering not just aid but our presence, restoring their dignity as children of God.
