There’s an anecdote about C.S. Lewis that I’ve always enjoyed. One of his friends told of walking down an Oxford street with him one day, when they were accosted by a beggar. Lewis stopped and gave the man some money.

“You know he’s just going to go off and drink it up, don’t you?” the friend asked as they went on their way.

“Yes, well,” said Lewis, “if I’d kept the money I’d have probably gone off and drunk it up myself.”

There’s a wonderful humility and recognition of shared humanity in that story, I think.

Some people take the wrong lessons from such stories, though.

The essential thing is that Lewis was giving away his own money.

Years and years ago, I sat in on a teaching session led by a Lutheran pastor (we’ll call him Pastor Number One). He told a story of his own, one which (he thought) taught a profound lesson. I think it taught a lesson too, but not the one he thought it did.

Pastor Number One had taken a pastoral educational class which called for a “real world experiment.” Each pastor in the program was required to pack away all his clothing and his wallet, put on old, dirty clothes, and go out to spend a few days on the street as a homeless person.

Pastor Number One told, with some indignation, of getting in to see the pastor of a church (let’s call him Pastor Number Two, shall we?). Pastor Number Two had looked at him and said, “You’re strong and healthy. Obviously you’re able to work. Why don’t you get a job?”

“He was lecturing me!” Pastor Number One exclaimed, recalling the outrage. “I was hungry! I needed food! I didn’t need a lecture!”

I’ve often thought about Pastor Number One over the years, and it seems to me his righteous indignation was a little unjust.

Because the fact was, Pastor Number Two had had his number. Pastor Number One was indeed strong and healthy, and perfectly capable of working. He had come into the church under false pretenses, and had lied in Pastor Number Two’s face.

Pastor Number Two (if my experience in a church office where I saw [and helped] a lot of transients is any indication) had probably, over the years, developed a pretty good nose for bovine sewage.

What Pastor Number One saw as cold-heartedness, was in all likelihood just the exercise by Pastor Number Two of his fiduciary duty not to waste the money entrusted to him by his congregation (as well as a determination not to enable unhealthy life choices, or treat grownups like children). If Pastor Number Two was being judgmental, so was Pastor Number One.

And Pastor Number Two had the moral advantage of not being a liar.