Have I just turned away Jesus?

Every time that I walk down the street, beggars look at me a little more expectedly. They see that I am white, and like all white people, I must be loaded. As I ride the train from Kottayam to Aluva, a seemly nomadic family stops and plays music for just Sudie and me. They want us to give them something, anything to make their lives a little better.
As I look into there faces, I do not know if I should feel ashamed. I do not know if it is right to give them the last bit of money in my pocket for that month. What is right? As she is ushered away, I can’t help but wonder if I have just stared Jesus in the face and refused him. Go and eat, sure, but I gave them nothing for their bellies; Nothing for their daily bread.
I tell myself with every person that I pass, that I am not here to give charity, that my motives run deeper. The parable goes that if you give a man a fish, he eats a day. If you teach that man to fish, he can eat the rest of his life. I am here to teach. I tell myself that to give handouts would make that less effective. I would be seen as a source of charity, and not a proponent of change. But as I listen to myself, it sounds like a cop-out. I swear that it is not.
In America, when you are driving in your car, you can see homeless men by the edge of the interstate. Often they are asking for money. For most people it is difficult to look these men in their eyes. They either lock their vision straight ahead or perhaps fiddle with the radio, or make a cell phone call. Why is it difficult to look at these people?
Maybe you do. Maybe you see him and get so uncomfortable that you reach into your wallet and slip a dollar out of a cracked window. He smiles and says “God bless you.” Inside you feel better. But as you drive away feeling comforted, he still is there. He has a dollar, but what about tomorrow? Where was the love? I am very discomforted by the teachings of the Christian faith. As a person with means, am I called to do more?
When I give money to a beggar on the street, I announce to the world that this man is beneath me. As he sits on the edge of the street, he has no other means to survive than the pity of a passing stranger. I do not pity these hobos and beggars on Indian streets the same way that I do not pity those on American streets.
To pity is to shame. It is degrading to scrape your existence from the streets. Instead of pity there should be empathy. There should be compassion. That is love, to feel a common pain from a singular hurt.
To give a dollar is to take pity. Out of a feeling of guilt, you reach into your pocket and give whatever you have ringing around in there. It comes not from compassion but compulsion. As you walk away, the guilt subsides. Life is better, until tomorrow when again he lacks daily bread. When you give him a fish he eats for a day. You can not feed every man, and this is what I believe we are called to do. When you teach a man to fish, he may eat for the rest of his life, but there is more to that than this. We are called to love.
We are not told to provide for everyone; though the day hunger is rid from the world will be a beautiful day indeed. Instead we are called to love each other as ourselves. If you slip some coins out to satisfy your guilt, it was not there. If you teach, but do not love everyone, it is not there. Only when you see this man as a brother, or a son, or loved one, is it there. Only when you see these people as Christ.
But where was He going with this anyway? Just give Him a dollar and maybe He will go away.