It is difficult in society today to not judge others. For the safety of my family, for success in business, in matters of spirit, I judge others. We cannot help judging, it is in our nature. Survival may depend on it.

At a major intersection in town, I saw a man holding a sign. He was a tall man wearing a Marine Corp. utility cover. His face was masked with a beard, and I could see only his eyes. I knew those eyes; I knew this man. He and I had served together in Vietnam. I knew him, at one time, very, very well.

I was able to stop adjacent to him. I put my window down. He spoke first: “Semper Fi brother.”

“You recognize me?”

He nodded.

“We were in Vietnam together?”

Again, he nodded.

I spoke my name in introduction.

“I know.”

“Please forgive me, but I can’t recall yours. Who are you, please?”

He smiled and said, “I won’t tell you.”

That spoke volumes. He was relieved his anonymity would be preserved, and he was embarrassed at his situation.

His sign read, “Homeless veteran, please help. God Bless.”

I had given to these people on the corners before, but always with judgment. I reached for my wallet and emptied it. The amount was small. He took it with a smile and a heartfelt “Thank you.” There were tears in our eyes as we parted. We were both relieved. I understood his relief, but why was I crying? Why had I been so anxious?

I was embarrassed for my lack of compassion, for my judging, for my selfishness. I was embarrassed as I recalled the many times I had driven by people like my brother on the corner and thought to myself, “Get a job,” “Go to work” and worse.

I was ashamed. Who was I to judge? I did not know their circumstances. Where would I be if I walked a mile in their shoes? In my arrogance, I thought I was where I was because of my hard work. Had I really done it all on my own? No, I had help along the way, help from compassionate individuals who judged me worthy of it. Who am I to deny this same compassion to others? I was embarrassed and ashamed. That should have been sufficient for tears, but it wasn’t.

There stood my brother on the corner who, at one time, had been my equal. We had worn the same uniform, quenched our thirst from the same cup, eaten from the same bowl, sweated and bled together. We had reached out in the terrors of battle to be reassured that we were not alone in that hell. We had shared our innermost feelings — some spoken, some understood, as they had been today.

Where had our lives diverged? I had known my brother on the corner’s dreams and ambitions. What had happened? Why was my brother on the corner begging for his existence while I had abundance? I realized the foolishness of my judgments, for there, but by the grace of God, go I. It could easily be me on that corner begging.

I never saw my brother on the corner again, but I think of him often. I do not give to every indigent I see, but I do not judge them. When I can, I give, with compassion and a prayer. “Oh Lord, please bless this gift to the betterment of their lives, and please bless me. I’ve never had to be in such a situation, but if I must be, please bless me with the compassionate, those with the pure love of Christ, even charity.”

Amen, brother on the corner, amen.

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at: david@starchasers.us