He’s a fake!

Our family has a long history of engaging with folks experiencing homelessness, and let me tell you, nothing reforms your thinking quite like real-life encounters. One time, we saw a man sitting on the street with a leg bandaged up in what was clearly Halloween Shop’s finest fake blood. The injury was obviously staged. Scott and I sat on the concrete next to him and listened to his story, fully aware that this was a theatrical production of “Don’t Look to Close, Just Give.” As we sat there on the concrete, some passerby scowled and shouted, “He’s a fake! Don’t give him anything!”

But let’s talk about fake. Is it the cheap special effects, or is it the way we walk past suffering and pretend it’s not real? If someone’s mental health or sheer desperation leads them to craft a survival narrative, does that make them any less in need? Any less worthy of being seen and listened to? If someone is willing to put that much effort into an illusion just to make it through the day, doesn’t that scream a deeper truth—one that Jesus would have stopped for without hesitation?

Reforming or Deforming?

When people or systems need reforming (instead of further deforming, which seems to be the default setting), we actually have to stop, listen, and respond reflectively. Wild concept, right? That means including the folks doing the real, boots-on-the-ground work in the decision-making process—you know, the ones who actually went into this work to help people, not just to warm a chair at a policy meeting.

What if, instead of patching problems with reactionary “solutions” (read: budget cuts and bureaucracy), we asked some bigger questions? Like, what happens when human services meant to support those in need are so gutted that they become useless? When the agencies that should be feeding, sheltering, and providing mental health care are reduced to shells of their former selves? Spoiler alert: the responsibility will land right back on us. And not just for our conveniently lovable, next-door-neighbor types. No, we’ll have to show up for the people we’d rather avoid—the ones who make us uncomfortable. The ones whose pain is messy and inconvenient.

We’re barreling toward a reality where desperation is going to be impossible to ignore. As safety nets are slashed and support systems crumble, more people will find themselves in dire situations. And yet, society keeps training us to look away, to yell “fake,” to sort people into categories of “deserving” and “undeserving.” But guess who never did that? Jesus. He stopped. He engaged. He listened.

So are we actually ready to do the same? Are we willing to step into the gaps these systems of power keep widening? To give, to see, to care—without pre-screening applicants for worthiness? Because generosity is the heart of God. And if we claim to follow that heart, it better show up in our lives, too.

Finally, let’s finish this conversation with the Lectionary passage for today. You know, the lectionary, that little work of the people designed to get the Christian community on the same page. This small excerpt can whet our appetites to reform rather than deform:

Here are a few excerpts that drive the point home (Luke 6)—we read the blesseds and the woes:

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.”
“Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.”

My prayer: Creator God, make real what is fake, reform our deformed hearts for the benefit of all.

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