The Gleaners

It was the first thing I thought of...as soon as I caught my breath.

I know you've seen the painting by French artist, Francois Millet.
Women in a field, bathed in the golden glow of either early morning or dusk, gathering in what was left behind of the harvest...

poverty made pretty, pastoral and almost palatable.

This wasn't that.

They had startled me.
Actually, we startled each other.

While waiting for my partner to come back to the Habitat house, with the correct plumbing supplies that would signal another descent into the crawl space beneath the house, I decided to enjoy being able to stand upright again and breathe fresh air.

Still wanting to be useful, I began patrolling the property, picking up trash.

The particular HFH house to which we were assigned is separated by a small unpaved alley from one of the towns main grocery stores.

There's a lot of foot traffic and few public trash receptacles so litter abounds.

Minutes later, as I threw a box filled with junk into the grocery stores dumpster, the sound of the lid being tossed open, and the trash hitting the side of the container, caused two men behind it to jump up, drop what they were eating, hurriedly grab their back packs and walk away rapidly.

By appearance, clothing and hygiene, I speculated the men were homeless; possibly living behind the dumpster; at the very least, taking an extended rest there.

As my heart rate returned to a normal rhythm, I looked around and saw evidence which confirmed my initial impression.

I also saw far more.

The men had been eating raw potatoes and uncooked, thawed, previously frozen "Healthy Choice" microwave dinners; meals that had passed the expiration date and were no longer able to be sold commercially.

In fact, the entire right side of the dumpster was filled with items beyond the 'sell date' as well as produce too spoiled to be consumed - at least by 'paying customers'.

I had interrupted Gleaners.

I had interrupted people eating from the garbage, gathering up the leftovers
... and it made me ill.

I was painfully aware that stories of our faith say clearly that these same men will be the very ones invited by Christ to the banquet table in His kingdom.

I was even more painfully aware that I was hesitant to even invite them back to the dorm to share a sandwich with us at lunchtime.

There is nothing the least bit romantic about people having to scavenge in dumpsters in order to survive. There is no golden glow that can pretty it up.

The kingdom is not yet here.

Yesterday morning, I was given the chance to see clearly my role in why it isn't.

There are so many wonderful things about a Mission trip.

This wasn't that.