Sometimes, on my lunch break, I like to take a nap on the yard in front of the church that houses our Oakland office.  When I haven’t gotten enough sleep and I’ve just eaten a delicious slice of pizza, the nearby traffic is no match for the warm sun.  Even the homeless guy that also sometimes likes to sleep on the lawn doesn’t deter me—if anything, he’s evidence that it’s a peaceful place for a nap.

Today I had one of those sleepy lunches.  After eating on the lawn with Leah, my fellow intern, I balled up my track jacket for a pillow, set the alarm on my phone, and let myself doze off under the tall, beautiful pine tree that I’ve come to love.

When I woke up, Leah was gone, though she’d left her things behind.  I went to check the time, but my cell phone was nowhere to be found.  Disoriented, I vaugely wondered if there was a thief/kidnapper about.

When Leah returned from the Whole Foods across the street—decidedly unkidnapped—I had her dial my phone.  Someone answered, then hung up.  This was unbelievable.  Had someone actually taken the phone off my sleeping body?

We spotted the homeless guy, who had been napping on the yard some ways away from us, now sitting on a bench across the street.  I tried calling my phone again, but it was now off.

“He’s lying down for a nap,” Leah said, pointing.  ”You’d better talk to him now.”  I ran across the street.

“Excuse me, sir?”  He looked up.  “I know this is a weird question, but did you happen to find a phone lying in the grass over there?”  He shook his head and told me he did not.  I thanked him and went to cross the street.

He stood up and beckoned me back over to him.  ”You don’t think I’d steal from you, do you?” he asked.  I told him I didn’t know what had happened—maybe it rolled down the hill or something—but I couldn’t find it anywhere.  I introduced myself and asked him his name, which he said was Michael.  He even knew one of the people that works at the church.  I told him about Pace e Bene and explained that I don’t really know many of the people connected to the church; I just work in the building.

“Well,” I said, “if you happen to find a phone lying in the grass or something… but I don’t think it’s here anymore.”

“Goodbye,” he said abruptly, and walked away.  I stood helpless, wondering if I’d offended him, then went back to the church and canceled my phone service.

Twenty minutes later, Michael showed up at our office and asked if we knew of any shelters he could go to.  We said we didn’t, but I offered to try and find one online.  He tossed my phone onto my desk.

“Hey, you found it!” I said.  ”Thanks!”  He said he’d found it about ten feet from where I was sleeping, but later apologized for taking it from me.  He kept trying to leave, and I kept calling him back and offering to try and find a shelter for him.

He said he was really hungry and asked if I had five dollars or so that I could give him.  We gave him some snacks from the office, and I caved in and gave him a five and told him about the delicious pizza available at the Whole Foods across the street.  He declined our offers to try and find a shelter for him and left, though not before repeatedly apologizing for taking my phone.  I assured him that I forgave him and was really glad he’d brought it back.

Vanessa found our snacks at the bottom of the stairs, so I can only assume my $5 bought him a couple more tall cans of beer like the one he had with him earlier.  Based on the way he was shaking when he dropped by the office, he was probably suffering withdrawal.

Whenever I see someone asking for money, I’m reminded of a community organizer of sorts in Indianapolis who once told a group I was with, “They might be lying about what they’re going to spend it on, but they are not lying about needing money.”  I am notoriously bad about giving people money, but how can I refuse them when I am so clearly better off than they are?

Today, it occurred to me that giving money is sort of like using violence: it isn’t the nonviolent solution, but, according to Gandhi, it is better than doing nothing.  More recently, Ken Preston suggested in response to a hypothetical situation that calling the police on someone would be better than doing nothing.

So I suppose that’s going to be my theory: giving someone money isn’t the answer, but it is better than doing nothing to help them.  I only hope I can continue to develop ways to more effectively use nonviolence.

But of one thing I’m fairly certain: If I had not shaken Michael’s hand and asked him his name, I would never have seen my phone again.