For several months I had to open the TV door in the mornings. This is a big metallic door that gives access to the TV courtyard and to the TV parking lot.

And it happened twice…
The first time I saw him, I had just opened the door to let someone in. He stood there, dirty, skinny, about 10 years old or maybe more, who knows? He looked at me and asked:

Do you have money? (That’s the usual question they all ask).

I said: no

– which is true, I did not have any money with me right then and there. For a split second I thought: maybe I should go back to my desk and grab some money. But then I thought, hmmm…. I don’t want this little guy to stand here and wait with the door opened, he might come in and steal something…

He asked again. Do you have money?

I again said to him: NO I don’t have money with me, sorry.

I felt uncomfortable and did not know what to do, so I just closed the door while he was standing there looking at me…

Walking back to my office, it hit me, maybe I should just grab one peso (= 12 US cents) and give it to him (he can buy food for that money). So I quickly ran to my desk, got the coin and rushed back to the door.

I opened. Nothing. Looked left and right. Nothing. He was gone… just the usual people walking to and fro. All the same as usual. He was gone…

I closed the door, slowly this time, and started walking to my office, thoughts skidding through my mind. I should have helped him. Why didn’t I tell him to wait? How did I dare to close the door to his face? He was hungry…Oh man, what did I do?

But then the emergencies of work helped forget… till evening. At night memories came back with force. You see, Christ said: “I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me”(1). Christ revealed a God in heaven who identifies with the little ones: the underdog, the oppressed, the insignificant, the left out, the one that asks because he doesn’t have, the one that asks because he is hungry…

I hate that. I really don’t like how God identifies with the low. I wish I could just forget about all those street children. Maybe I have to move back to Switzerland. At least there I don’t see them. At least they don’t knock at my door….

But here… here they live 100 meters (yards) across the TV Station! You know where? Underneath a street bridge on the banks of a small water canal. There they gather: boys, girls. Dirty, stinky and robbed of their right to a decent childhood.

Yes, I know, it is a social problem in this part of the world. One of the many social injustices on this planet. And No, you won’t find this child in the latest Hollywood flick or slasher video game… yet, he is here… one minute walk from my office.

We live lives as “neighbours” and yet are million years apart.

I thought about it… what do I do? I don’t want to give him money, maybe he goes off and buys some glue to sniff…

So young and living in the streets? What do I do???

So I made my resolution, if he ever comes again, I’ll give him some bread!

I prayed: Let him come again. Give me another chance!

And yes, it happened! I went to the door again. This time one of our ladies working in the finance department was coming in. I opened…

… and there he was, staring with that same look. He asked: do you have money?

I said: No, I don’t have money BUT I can give you some bread. Do you want some bread?

Yes

OK – just a second.

“luckily” the lady coming in was just carrying a bag with buns of bread. So I asked her for one and told her I would pay it back (but she gave it to me for free).

While the boy was waiting, he started asking questions…

You are not from here, are you?

(I don’t like that question, they all think foreigners are billionaires. If he knows I am a foreigner, what else will he ask ME?)

So I evaded the questions, but he kept pressing.

Are you from Columbia? Are you from Venezuela? Your Spanish is different.

His was childish curiosity. Like any kid his age, he liked talking to a foreigner…

So I gave in, and said: Yes I am not from here, I come from Europe, actually from Spain…

(By the way just in case you wonder… I am both from Spain and Switzerland. But I usually never tell I am from Switzerland, otherwise they think I own a Bank!).

… After I gave him his bread, he asked: Do you have any butter or jam?

Aaagghh! I asked the lady if we had butter or jam in the kitchen. She said no, we didn’t.

So I told him: No – I am sorry, we don’t.

So, off he went. This time, with something in his hand.

And I closed the door, thankful that this time I got it right.

“As much as you have done it onto a little one… you have done it to Me”… ah, how I don’t like this text. It is so UNCOMFORTABLE.

But what choice do I have? If the Author of Life looks at it that way… what am I to do?

… Yes, you are right… what am I to do? Just go & get some bread (… & maybe jam or butter, too …. next time ).

—
(1) you can find that text in the Bible, in the Gospel of Matthew chapter 25

(the Gospels are the accounts of the life of Jesus in the Bible).