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Helping the Least of These

bruce gerencser 1971
Bruce Gerencser, Ninth Grade, 1971
Suzanne asked:

Bruce, I would be curious to hear how your old church handled this issue. It really seems to be a bedrock sticky wicket that says more about the pastor of the church than anything else. I am going to a Methodist church now where they will pay your electric bill or give you a grocery store gift card but will not hand over cash. Seems sort of mean even if it’s likely a better idea.

I grew up in a home where money was hard to come by. Dad always had a job, but never seemed to have enough money to pay the bills. This is why, as a youth, Dad moved us from town to town and school to school. When people learn about my well-traveled upbringing, they often ask, did you move a lot because of your father’s work? No, we moved a lot because Dad didn’t pay the rent (my parents never owned a home).  Clothing, lunch money, and spending money were hard to come by, and when Dad did buy me clothes, they were often cheap Rink’s Bargain City (Bargain Shitty) knock-offs. My first pair of Levi’s came not from my Dad, but courtesy of a five-fingered discount at a local clothing store. This would not be the last time I shoplifted.

Medical and dental care were almost nonexistent. I can count on one hand the times I went to the doctor growing up. It was only after my parents divorced and Mom signed up for Aid to Families with Dependent Children (AFDC) and Medicaid that I received regular medical and dental care. To this day, I remember going to the dentist as a sixteen-year-old boy, only to be told, yes, your teeth need work. And once your Dad pays his bill, I will be glad to fix them. Talk about embarrassing.

Early on, I realized that if I wanted money of my own that I was going to have to work for it. My first jobs were raking leaves, shoveling snow, and mowing yards. My first “official” job — at age fourteen — was daily emptying the trash at a local nursing home. As a teenager, I worked all sorts of minimum wage jobs. Once I had my own money, I was then able to buy my own clothes, pay for school lunches, and fund my social activities.

I have said all this to emphasize that growing up poor deeply affected how I dealt with people as a pastor. Having suffered the embarrassment of using food stamps and the indignity of being forced to wear welfare glasses (see photograph above), I knew firsthand the struggles of the poor. These experiences made me compassionate to those whom the Bible calls “the least of these.”

In what follows, I will detail how I interacted with the poor in the churches I pastored; what ministries I started that specifically ministered to the disadvantaged and marginalized. During the twenty-five years I spent in the pastorate, I had the privilege of ministering to countless people who were down on their luck. Yes, I met more than a few con-artists, grifters, and lazier-than-a-coon-dog-on-a-cold-winter’s-night users and abusers. I am sure that my kindness was taken advantage of. I took the approach that my job was to help; it was God’s job to sort out motives. Now, this doesn’t mean that I was an easy mark. I wasn’t. I rarely gave money to people, knowing that doing so often fed drug or alcohol addictions. If someone needed gas I took them to the gas station and paid for the gas. When homeless people asked for money, I offered them a meal at a nearby diner. When people needed help with their utilities, I directly contacted the utility and paid the bill. Of course, I couldn’t have done any of these things without the gracious financial support of church members.

Over the years, the churches I pastored had food pantries and clothing rooms that were open to the public. Having suffered the indignity of being singled out for being poor, I made sure that we never embarrassed the poor. If someone said they needed help, we helped them (within the limits of our finances). While I certainly wanted to see people saved, I never made helping poor people contingent on them attending church. I took the approach, freely received, freely given. Unlike many holier-than-thou, self-righteous Baptist preachers, I never had a problem encouraging people to avail themselves of services and benefits offered by the state welfare department and federal food banks.

For eleven years, I pastored a Baptist church in Perry County, Ohio — the northernmost county in the Appalachian region. It was there I saw abject and generational poverty. Good jobs were hard to come by, and once the coal mines closed, those who had well-paying mining jobs were forced to work jobs that often paid minimum wage. The unemployment rate was double-digit, ranging from ten to nineteen percent. As is now the case, the number of unemployed was much higher than the official numbers suggested. Once unemployed workers stopped receiving unemployment benefits, they were no longer counted. These unemployed workers turned to the welfare department for help, trying to eke out an existence on meager government checks and food stamps. Some worked jobs that paid cash or turned to growing marijuana.

The majority of church members were on some sort of government assistance — usually food stamps and Medicaid. Most church families had at least one member gainfully employed. The highest paid man in the church made $21,000 a year (except for a year or so when a nearby church had a split and a number of their middle-class members attended the church — they later left, taking their money with them). Annual church offerings peaked at $40,000 a year, when attendance averages neared 200. Most years, the total offerings were in the $20,000 range. My largest annual salary during this time was $12,000. Five of our six children’s births were paid for by Medicaid, and for several years we received food stamps. Now, this doesn’t mean we didn’t try to improve our lot — we did. I pumped gas and worked as a mechanic at a local gas station, sold insurance, worked in restaurants, and delivered newspapers. I believed then, and still do, that there is no shame in being poor. Work hard, do what you can, and live on the results. (In retrospect, I certainly would have done many things differently, but I, to this day, believe all work is honorable and has value, regardless of its pay.)

During my eleven-year stint as pastor of Somerset Baptist Church, I spent a significant amount of time helping the poor, both in the community at large and in the church. When a man said he would come to church if only he had shoes, I gave him a pair of mine. When members needed money, I loaned it to them or paid their bills. I sold cars to several church members, no money down, pay me when you can. One church member took advantage of my generosity, buying a car from me and never paying for it. This person sat on the front row on Sundays. I often found it hard to look at him without thinking, hey deadbeat, pay me for the car. But then I would think of Jesus and the Sermon of the Mount or remember my own poverty-filled upbringing. I knew this person’s family history — how he grew up in abject poverty, dropping out of high school and becoming a drug addict. I knew he had spent time in jail and hadn’t had a driver’s license in years. (I helped him get his license reinstated.) As Jesus did for the poor of his day, I had compassion for him, even if he, at times, irritated the heaven out of me. (He was, despite these failings, one of the kindest, most helpful men I have ever known. If I needed help with something, I knew I could call on him.)

For several years, Polly and I took in foster children, mostly court-referred teenagers. The county paid us a stipend for giving these teens a home. I have plenty of stories I could share about our foster children, but I will just share one for now. We had two teen boys living with us who decided that they wanted a bit of freedom. They stole our car (a dealer loaner, as our car was in the shop having a new motor installed), checkbook, and credit card, and took a joy ride to New Jersey. They ran a red light in Jersey and were pulled over by the police. After finding out there was a warrant out for their arrest, they were arrested and returned to Ohio for prosecution. Prior to their court appearance for felony theft, the judge called me and asked me to come to his office for a visit. He asked me what punishment I thought he should mete out to these boys. I told him that I felt that they should be punished, but that I didn’t want to see them go to prison. He (we) decided that he would give them the maximum sentence at a youth detention center, but release them after thirty days. Needless to say, they learned their lesson. One of the boys lived with us again. We forgave him, believing that this is what Jesus would have us do. More than a few people thought we were crazy (and maybe we were).

From giving homeless people a place to stay at the church to feeding the homeless men who frequented the streets of Zanesville, Polly and I, along with the church, tried our best to minister to those in need. As a pastor, I had many shortcomings and faults. I deeply regret my Fundamentalist Baptist preaching and its emphasis on sin instead of grace. I wish I could have seen the disconnect between my hellfire and brimstone preaching on Sundays and my compassionate, patient help of the poor the rest of the week. If I had been the bleeding-heart liberal that I am today back in my Perry County days, I suspect the church would have been known above all else as a place of love and safety for the disenfranchised. I could easily have been a Steven Anderson (please see Christians Say the Darnedest Things: Lazy Bums Want Us to Act Like Compassionate Christians by Steven Anderson), propping up hate of the poor with Bible verses, but fortunately my life experiences softened my heart, and as Jesus did, when he looked at the poor I had compassion on them.

Several years ago, after finding out that I had helped someone with a particular need, my mother-in-law told me, Bruce, why you’d give the last shirt off your back if someone needed it. (Polly grew up in a middle-class home — new cars, vacations, home ownership.) She then said — perhaps thinking of what the Bible said about helping others — well, I guess that is not a bad problem to have. In retrospect, I can see how some of my liberal giving caused her to be concerned. Here we were barely keeping our heads above water and I was giving money, food, clothing, and other things to the poor. If I had to do it all over again, I would have certainly provided a better life for Polly and our children, but I would never have wanted to lose my compassion for others, especially those at the bottom of the economic scale.  While my children did without while Dad was sacrificially helping others (and if they hated me for doing so I would understand), all of them — especially the oldest three — have told me that these experiences helped to make them into the hardworking people they are today (Our family has what we call the Gerencser Work Ethic®: work hard, do your job, don’t miss work; be the best employee you can be.)

As I re-read this post, I am uncomfortable with its personal focus. I am not the type of person who, after helping someone, publicizes my largess. Works of charity ought to be done in secret — without fanfare or applause. No need to let everyone on social media know that I did this or that for someone. The good feeling I receive from helping others is enough. Paying it forward is a good way to live, and even if there is no karmic justice, I want to be known as a man who loved and cared for others.



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    What a generous soul you have been, Bruce. There is nothing in your narrative that seems like bragging at all and I know that in your heart of hearts you accept that you wanted to help those in need, that you knew firsthand was it was like, and that you did so with every opportunity provided. And there is nothing whatsoever wrong with speaking the personal focus when you are answering a query. You have done much for others in your life, that is clear and taken very little for yourself. I wish you good health, peaceful days and much family time.

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    You’re a good man, Bruce; it was you, not Jesus, who did these things for the less fortunate. What a contrast with Steven Anderson’s entirely compassionate-free approach.

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        No doubt. The guy has 8 or 9 kids to feed (I can’t even imagine what it’s like growing up with that horrible man as your father…ugh…) and practically brags about not allowing his wife to work. Not only is he probably taking home a huge tax refund, I suspect he is the only recipient of his congregation’s “charity.” Steven Anderson is basically Exhibit A for why so many people now hold christianity in contempt. If more christians behaved like you did, Bruce, when it came to caring for the poor, there might be more respect for the church, and might even be fewer people leaving. But it seems like compassion, empathy, love and grace are just way too hard for most human beings, because they require real courage. It takes no courage at all to be a mean, nasty, bigoted homophobe like Anderson.

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    I don’t think your kindness was ever wasted. I appreciate your generosity and decency.
    I’ve had kids in my care who were growing up the way you did, moving constantly, wearing hand me downs. It affects your whole outlook.

    I think your intentions are all that matters when you give.
    People can and sometimes do waste what they’re given, but sometimes it makes all the difference .

    We give anonymously when we can.
    It’s a lot easier to accept help if you don’t know where it’s coming from, at least that’s been my experience.

    Couple weeks ago, though, my husband bought some non-skid work boots for a homeless guy who was spare changing outside the local inconvenience store. Long story. I totally supported it, though.

    We’ve been the recipient of help more than once, usually when it was really urgent.

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    Bruce, thanks for answering my question. I think you and I line up pretty well on this, which is why I was so aghast at the words of Steven Anderson.

    And for all the good you did just know that helping others is always good. You’ve been awesome in that regard it sounds like.

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    This post shows why I hang out here– because I was taught that by their fruit I would know them and here the fruit is plentiful and good, though not always sweet. But the tartness of the lemon is welcome on my tongue and the challenging words I find here good for my mind and yes, my faith. Quakers believe there is that of God in every human being. That part of those that gather here is often very easy to see.

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    I think there is a difference between being personal and bragging. Being personal, done in the right way, is about your humanism. Bragging is what religion brought about in me. As a former Mormon, I thought I was better than most other people who are not Mormons because I belonged to the “only true church” but now as an atheist, I think I’m no better or worse than anyone else.

    Your personal stories tell me who you are, and motivates me to try to do better and be a better atheist.

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    I’m still on the Christian side of things, but Pastor Anderson’s (and his wife’s) various comments and lack of compassion towards people have really hit me the wrong way. He is fortunate to have had a good upbringing and knew straight from a young age what he wanted to do with himself – he has ZERO apparent compassion or understanding towards how poverty and crappy parents can really screw people up for a very long time, and what it’s like to be honestly confused and stuck in those mistakes even as you’re trying to seek God and get things figured out. Very distasteful.
    But Bruce as your writing shows above, people are who they are whether within Christianity or not. You’re good hearted. It’s not, to my mind, the religion making Pastor Anderson the person he is.

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      Greetings k, You say, ” He is fortunate to have had a good upbringing and knew straight from a young age what he wanted to do with himself ”
      but I don’t think so. Anderson is so full of hatred and spews it for money on a daily basis. That cannot come out of a good upbringing unless by good you mean that he had clothes to wear and food to eat. Anderson was severely harmed as a young person, I am quite convinced, though I do not know his history. He will say whatever he pleases about it but that is not what happened. How does a man become so full of hate? Do you think it just happens like a chemical reaction? Of course not. Perhaps one day, somebody will reveal more accurate history about Steven Anderson.
      I agree with your final statement that people are who they are and that is whether they are in Christianity or not. Recognizing that the author of our lives is the self and that Anderson preaches his own life and not Christ is quite an accurate assessment. That is what you are saying, isn’t it? Thank-you for saying it.

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        Yes, I think there must be truth in that – in his own way, Pastor Anderson is as emotionally dysfunctional as the bums and whores, etc he goes on about. His proclaimed love for God never seems really convincing to me when he can hold so much coldheartedness towards so many fellow humans.

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