A pastor recently gave a sermon on the topic of “Turning Away.” He told of an encounter he had with a stranger, a woman in need.  

She suddenly appeared in his car window and startled him. “We’re trying to get home,” she said. 

Lauretta Hannon

He reacted with one word, “No.” 

“You don’t even know what we need,” she said as she walked away. 

I admire the pastor for sharing this, as it’s something we’ve all done–turned away. I certainly have. We’ve looked down when someone just sought eye contact or acknowledgement; we’ve issued a firm “I don’t have any money” when we had resources; we’ve crossed the street to avoid someone who made us uncomfortable.  

His story reminded me of another one–it’s about a newborn in the woods. The baby was there because a whole community had turned away from the 16-year-old who bore the child. 

First of all, there was harsh judgment on the teenager for getting pregnant while not married. Secondly, there were layers of scandal involved that disapproving townspeople, and the girl’s own family, didn’t want to own up to.  

Instead, they shunned the penniless girl and the baby. They left the hospital to find that no one would take them in. So, mom and newborn lived in the woods, without shelter or food, for three days and two cold November nights until someone opened their home.  

I don’t know about you, but I want to be more like that person–the one who took them in. Even though turning away is the painless option–the convenient choice–how can it be the honorable choice? 

As Poet William Blake famously said, we should “… cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.” 

But more than that, I aspire to be the one who turns toward the messy, problematic angels out there. You know why?  

Because the teenager in the woods was my mother.  

And the blonde-haired, blue-eyed newborn?  

No, that wasn’t me, but it was my sister. 

Addendum 

While driving to my campus office the other day, I was pondering how I could turn toward the angels more. (I’ve had a hit-or-miss record that I’ve not been proud of.) About an hour later, I got a call from a desperate student. She is newly 18, has two babies, no family and works a job that no one else would take.  

At the end of the conversation, I asked her name. 

“My name is Hayley, but everyone calls me Angel.”