I caught myself ready to send some friends to a food bank. “What’s wrong with that?” you ask. Well, I’m disgusted that it was my first response to their need. I didn’t invite them over for a meal at my table. I didn’t go to my own pantry stocked full of tuna fish, Hamburger Helper and Kraft Mac & Cheese. Instead my immediate thought was to send them to one of the local repositories of day-olds and dents.

It’s not that I don’t like food banks– they are wonderful organizations ran by huge-hearted volunteers. I’ve seen first hand the great partnerships that can work in a community between bakeries, grocery stores, farmers & ranchers and our local food banks. It should be the “law of love” to make sure that good food isn’t wasted in a town that has hungry people residing in it. Food banks help make this happen.

No, my problem with food banks is simply, “my problem.” I’ve let the organization become a buffer between me and people in need. It is too easy for me to say, “Hungry? Well I know just the solution. Here are the hours for Boaz’s Barn. You can get a food box with enough staples to get your family through the next week.” It is too easy for me to think that the problem of hunger has been solved if I give offerings to a church that runs its own food pantry. It is too easy for me to let others get their hands dirty with face-to-face compassion while all I’ve used my hands for is to fill an extra grocery bag for the food drive with sale items and olives I won’t eat. The truth is I’ve isolated myself from the need. I’ve treated hunger like it was a problem to solve instead of a person to feed.

In my city they’ve made it almost criminally easy. All you have to do is dial 211 for an automated directory of all of the services, both private and public, available to the down and outers. That is all I have to remember, three numbers. It’s like a “Get out of Caring Free” card. Three simple numbers and I’m personally off the hook. Or am I? My heart thinks not. It responded with enough force to choke out the numbers that were forming in my throat.

Who knows, maybe my friends do need the services of the food bank. Maybe they do need a bigger box of items than what I can provide from my own shelves. I guess I’ll just have to discuss that with them over dinner.