How Does it Feel?
Are you old enough or have enough of an “old soul” to recognize the song in the comments below?
Dylan wrote these words and sang them (sort of) in 1965. I was in the 5th grade. People have debated whether or not he had a certain person or a collection of people in mind. Who knows? But that’s the cool thing about poets. Their message is usually lithe enough to be applied to any number of scenarios. Listen to it first and read the lyrics. It really helps the prophetic message sink in.
When I hear it, I think of all the people I’ve heard speak disparagingly of the poor, the unhoused poor in particular. Like “Miss Lonely,” they throw “bums a dime” while “laughing” behind their back. They hang out with “pretty people” amused at those that live on the street, that is until they get in touch with their own soul’s vacancy. Then it’s not so funny. Life challenges pretty much all of us at some point to face our own emptiness. God sees to it.
After that, we don’t “talk so loud or seem so proud.” Now we’re on our own with no direction home. We used to revel in success and security, assuming an inbred qualitative difference between us and those we pass on the street. We convinced ourselves that the poor person’s plight was due to inherent stupidity and laziness. We had not factored in how our own privilege contributed to our achievements. We might be lucky enough to have a support system, something almost no one on the street possesses.
Numbed by “jugglers and clowns,” addicted to a higher class of inebriants, looking down our long skinny noses at those with cheaper self-meds for their cold and lonely nights on the streets. We presume to have it made when suddenly, for one reason or another, our middle-class life turns to dust. We may or may not lose our house, but can’t find our way back “home.”
Being able to see the humanity in the most desperate and degenerate humans began for me when I lost everything but Jesus, my kids, and a bunch of good friends to lean on. I was bereft of my marriage, my ministry, my income, my house, and my health all in one fell swoop. Friends took me in and nursed me back to health. Even so, I found myself standing in lines to get the help I needed. Those with me in line were some of the best, realest, and most resilient people I’ve ever met.
My new reality led me to seek out fellow sufferers––“Napoleons in rags,” unknowns to men, but known and beloved by God. Some, while still unhoused and pickled by unprescribed medications that shorten the long nights, find their way home to Jesus.
Mother Teresa used to say that most people know a lot about poverty but they don’t actually know any poor people. They cross the street or retreat into their safe neighborhoods to avoid those they don’t approve of. True NIBYs work long hours in order to live and play as far away as possible from the great unwashed, unshaven, and un-everything. Jesus, our prototype, leaned into such folks in particular.
People are jumping from burning buildings, falling to their deaths, and we think the problem is that they’re jumping! Instead of asking why they’re jumping or who lit the fire or who’s warming their hands by it, we obsess with questions about their work ethic, their IQ, and drugs of choice.
Do you believe as I do that God hates poverty but loves poor people? Put another way, God loves poor people and hates that they are poor, especially what it is that makes them poor. He hates it when the people he loves suffer unnecessarily. And it’s not just American sufferers that he loves. It’s estimated that nearly 1 in 11 people globally live on less than $2.15 a day. About 40% of children in Sub-Saharan Africa live (if you can call it living) in the most extreme forms of poverty. There are bone crushing famines in Ethiopia, Gaza, Haiti, and Mali right now.
Dylan asks “How do you feel?” Usually when people ask someone how they feel, it’s because they want to know if they’re hurting in some way. They’re hoping they don’t feel too bad and that there’s something they can do about it. But Dylan seems to want Miss Lonely to feel bad now that she knows what it’s like to try on someone else’s shoes and suffer. She’s lost everything. She’s made a series of bad choices in her middle-class life and she’s now in the position of those she formerly ridiculed from afar. That slippery slide from privilege is not so uncommon as you might think. It might not be drugs or alcohol or gambling that greases the slide. Greed, self-will or arrogance will do the trick.
“Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.” (Proverbs 16:18)
Dylan’s rebuke may seem cruel to you, but he’s in good company. I don’t think God wants everyone feeling good all the time. In fact, I think he wants us to feel bad in our conscience sometimes. Someone said that our conscience is the part of us that often feels bad when the rest of us feels good. Can you relate? If not, you should get a checkup, to see if your moral gyroscope is in working order. Am I saying we should feel guilty for our privilege and others’ lack thereof? No. That is, unless our prosperity comes at the expense of their poverty. Or if we, like the priest and Levite, cross to the other side of the road so we can make it to church on time.
