Passivity

He walks with a slouch; his shaggy hair looks like it's been disheveled on purpose. And with that crooked grin always inviting, but without pressure, I'm sure anyone would like to be friends with him.

The roads he travels are frequented often by you and by me. Those simple paths he takes, always familiar, always worn.

I walk with him sometimes, and we stroll the streets, breathing in the fresh morning air as if it were fit to make us high. We turned corners and crossed roads until we came to where the traffic was thick as fellow human kind rushed to be busy.

I saw a man standing by the curb, a piece of cardboard in his hands with the words "Family in need. Please help." scratched out in black marker. I tugged on my companion's sleeve. "Should we help?" I asked.

He turned and hesitated, hands in his pockets. "Well," he said uncertainly, "I would like to, but I'm not sure I've got any cash. Have you?"

I fingered my wallet thoughtfully. "Only about five dollars, I think. But I'm sure--"

"I don't think that would help him much," he mused. "Besides, we can't know for sure he'll use it on food. He may be into drugs or something. He should've gone to a kitchen or shelter."

I shrugged in agreement, but as we walked away, I couldn't help catching the gaze of the man on the curb and notice the empty in his eyes. And as I pondered, I realized neither my friend nor I had been down to the shelter to help.

Sunday we both sit in church, attentive and meditative. To the left of me sat a girl with large sad eyes, and I knew why. But I also had never really known her.

"Her father is in prison for driving drunk and killing someone in a crash," I whispered to my friend. "And her mother killed herself after. I feel like I should talk to her, but I'm not sure what to say."

"Those situations are always difficult," he agreed. "We could try to talk to her after the service."

But she got up and left immediately afterwards, and we did nothing to stop her but watched her go, Bible clutched in white hands.

"Next week," my friend promised.

On the way to lunch, we bought the paper. Wars and famine ravaged the pages, the tragedies eating away at my heart. "I wish I could do something more to help," I remarked wistfully, staring at the articles. "Something to makes things better."

"We can pray," my friend told me. But he forgot to mention the world's troubles in his prayer at lunch, and I never heard him mention it anytime after.

And after a while, I supposed I forgot as well.

This friend I know well, and I think you do too. His name is Passivity.