The man in my park

I run.  I'm not going to be breaking any records, and I might be getting slower every day after turning 40 last year...but I still run.  I started running a few years ago and have my ups and downs as far as motivation, discipline, weight, and time go.  Some mornings I just choose sleep, but at least 2-3 times a week you'll most likely find me struggling on that slight incline at the park across the street from our house.

Two days ago, when I got out to the park at about 5:20am, I noticed a large black lump in the middle of the grassy area.  I was hoping against all hope that it wasn't a dead dog (or a live one for that matter), and when I got closer I realized it was a homeless man who had either passed out or just chosen to sleep there the night before.  It was chilly out, not cold, but definitely cooler than past mornings and as I began my run and passed him, my mind started wandering.  What if he wakes up?  What if he's dead?  What if he's drunk?What if he asks me for something?  Should I go in and find some bread and juice for him?  What if he then comes everyday for food?  He's not a dog, it's not like he would keep coming back each day....but what if he does?

As I continued on my 10 laps, I was faced with not only the questions, but a small sense of compassion for this man.  It's not his fault, he wasn't born homeless, so is he a victim of circumstances?  Is his homelessness a result of a mental illness?  Does he have people who are worried about him or looking for him?  You see my view of a homeless person is jaded by the stereotypes our culture has made.  They are viewed with a lens of mistrust and judgement that isn't necessarily truth.  And yet, the compassion doesn't typically win out--am I compassionate enough to leave him food, or does my mistrust of him negate anything helpful I could do?  My mind conjures up every possible scenario that could, but probably won't, take place.  I heap the guilt on myself when I think of Jesus' love of strangers and am faced with the obvious truth that I don't have that kind of love.

Am I a simply a product of my culture or can I break through the stereotypes and reach out to the lonely, the homeless, the widowed, the orphaned and the lost?