Like many churches, the congregation where I serve runs a small food pantry, stocked with contributions from our members and friends in the larger community. There are a number of local families whom we serve fairly regularly, but in the last year we have been getting visits from more people who are newly struggling. I have noticed a theme in my conversations with first-time visitors to the pantry. They insist that they have never come to a food pantry before, and there is an undertone of shame in this confession. They explain that they have always worked, or they provide unrequested details about the economic crisis that brought them to this point, as though hunger were not an adequate reason for my congregation to want to feed them. Often, they will make a promise that once they get back on their feet they will donate to the pantry, as a way of paying back the assistance.
I am always willing to compassionately receive whatever stories a visitor wants to share with me. But I grieve at this instinct to justify the need for help. Of course, American culture has a long history of distinguishing between the “worthy” and “unworthy” poor, so this instinct is not surprising. Especially because it reflects a much broader cultural dynamic: a general discomfort with interdependence and its associated vulnerability.
The myth of American individualism and bootstrapping independence stands in stark contrast to the incarnational story of Jesus. Jesus chose vulnerability by taking on fragile human flesh. He chose a life of dependence as an itinerant preacher, supported by a few female disciples and the hospitality of whoever received him. His experience of need and of receiving care is an important aspect of his incarnation, enabling him to truly know our human struggles.
