David is in the mood to talk.
Me, too. I haven’t seen him for a while. We spend at least half an hour bantering about life, God and the devil.
“He’s after me,” David tells me, referring to Old Scratch. It’s a common theme; demons are always bothering him one way or another.
Somebody stole his ID and his Social Security card. He’s got $20 left in his pants pocket, and it’s burning a hole to jump out and buy some drugs. But David’s not gonna let that happen. Not today, at least.
Erich Bridges
David is one of the regulars at the church food pantry where I volunteer once a week. My gig is easy: Take food orders clients fill out, drop them off with the volunteers who load the food bags, point the way to the showers and clothes closet, watch the room.
In between orders, there’s usually time to smile, talk and try to make folks feel welcome while they’re with us.
David and I have a lot in common. We were born barely a month apart. We’re almost 65. We’re both sincere but inconsistent followers of Christ. We both like to shoot the breeze.
The difference is, I’m comfortably retired and gliding into Medicare (I’m already drawing Social Security), while David works day labor and makes the church-pantry circuit in Richmond, Va., to scrape together enough food to eat. He hobbles around with a painful hernia and prays his day job — when he gets one — doesn’t involve heavy lifting.
Nobody said life is fair. I didn’t get addicted to drugs, and I managed to hold a job for most of my working life. Of course, I also had some built-in economic and social advantages from the get-go: I was born white in a still-racist society, and I had a father who put me through school. David had neither.
With no ID, David is praying hard that he can get a birth certificate in the mail from the state to take to the Social Security office. At 65, he might be able to draw enough money to get a tiny apartment, or at least a room somewhere.
“Jehovah Jireh,” I say.
David knows his Bible, so he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “The Lord will provide” — it’s one of the names of God going back to Abraham finding that ram in the thicket to serve as a sacrifice rather than Isaac.
David tells me a more recent story about God providing.
A few years ago, he spent some time — incarcerated and otherwise — in Atlanta, my hometown. One night he was released from Fulton County Jail and hit the streets, broke and hungry.
He resisted several temptations to steal and ended up behind a Checkers restaurant, waiting for the workers to toss the “hot bag” of unsold hamburgers into the dumpster.
“Please,” David responded. “I just got out of jail. I got no money. And I’m hungry.”
At the end of the night shift, they dumped the bag and went back inside. David waited a few minutes, then made his move toward the dumpster.
“Who’s back there?” demanded the manager, stepping outside.
“Please,” David responded. “I just got out of jail. I got no money. And I’m hungry.”
The manager hesitated for a moment. “Come around to the window,” he said.
When David got to the drive-through, the manager handed him a bag. It contained two fresh burgers, fries, onion rings and a large milkshake.
“Jehovah Jireh,” David reminded me, his voice breaking.
The Lord will provide. Sometimes, the Lord provides just enough. Sometimes a feast.
Mostly, the Lord provides through us as we provide for one another.
Erich Bridges, a Baptist journalist for more than 40 years, retired in 2016 as global correspondent for the Southern Baptist Convention’s International Mission Board. He lives in Richmond, Va.
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