Hungry for more

No matter our age, race, beliefs or creed, we all hunger for the same thing — unconditional love.  

As high-noon approached, I sat down beside the Salzach to munch on a light travelers lunch. With a bag full of produce and a loaf of wheat-berry bread in hand, I peeled back the cellophane wrapper of my packaged salad and fished cutlery from my rucksack. Halfway into the first bite of my makeshift meal, I began to watch as people passed by. Tandem-bikers. Roller-bladers. Young lovers. Salzburg is even more beautiful under the light of the sun.

Soon thereafter, I picked a scraggily figure out from the crowd of smiling faces that sauntered on before me. He looked different than the rest. Scratching his stomach, he looked tired. He looked hungry. “Bist du hungrig?”, I asked while motioning towards him. I extended my loaf of bread and offered a bite to eat. My invitation caught him off guard. With eyes glazed over, he stopped in his tracks and looked my way.

“Was hast du gesagt?”, he stuttered, asking me to repeat the question. I repeated, this time inviting him to take a seat next to me. He thought about it for several seconds, stepped towards me took a place on the bench.

“ Ich verstehe nicht, warum du das gefragt hast…”, he said, letting me know that he didn’t understand why I asked him this question. No one had ever offered to share food with him before, and he told me that he wasn’t hungry at the moment. We then exchanged small talk — Vorspeise — before the main course of our conversation, which took place in some hybrid form of Deutsch, English, French and Spanish.

Omar was his name, and today was his 43rd birthday. He was born in Algeria but lived in France before moving to a village near Salzburg. He hadn’t worked in three years. He had no family here. He lived alone. Omar drank to keep his mind empty, because when it was empty, at least it was occupied. On good days, he would head into town to sit by the river. Today was a good day.

After clearing the first course of conversation from the table, we let down our guard and prepared for the main dish. Omar took the topic back to my original invitation. He explained how he wasn’t hungry for food, but was starving for friendship. For community. For love.

I learned that Omar lost his family in Algeria. He had no friends in Salzburg. He had no purpose here. He was depressed. By worldly standards, my station in life could not even be compared to his. I’m only nineteen, I have friends, a family, a future. Still, I went on to share thoughts about things that I struggle with. The little things that get me down. The little things that tick me off. Then, I shared about things that keep me going. Those intangible things that nourish my soul. The bread of life that keeps me filled with enough to share — with people like him.

Omar told me that he was a Muslim and prayed often, but was worried that God was unhappy with him because he felt like he had given up on life. He asked again why I spoke to him to begin with. I told him that I didn’t have a specific reason, but simply felt compelled to reach out. He told me that he felt like we were brought together for a reason, and we both agreed that this wasn’t a coincidence, but rather one of those times where the stars align and God brings two strangers together for a specific purpose. I asked Omar if I could pray for him. He grabbed my hand and said yes.

As I prayed for peace, for friendship, for joy unspeakable in Jesus’ name, Omar began to cry. He didn’t want me to stop, and asked me to keep on praying for him, so I did. In this moment, I was but a conduit for what Omar needed most. Unconditional love.

As I packed my bag and prepared for an afternoon in the city, Omar told me that he would never forget about me. How I stopped to ask him if he was hungry. How I encouraged him without wanting anything in return. He reached into his bag, grabbed a postcard from the front pouch and scribbled a quick greeting. A “S.V.N.R.” from Salzburg, so that I wouldn’t forget about him.

After receiving his gift, I remembered that it was his birthday. I couldn’t leave without giving him something in return, so I reached into my backpack and pulled out an old marble sack that I stitched together from an t-shirt back home. I wrapped the sack inside of a grocery bag, turned around and placed my makeshift present in his hands. “Happy Birthday!”, I said, inviting him to open it whenever he wished.

He packed it away as I stood to leave. As I began to walk on, he shouted back, “Don’t forget about me!”

It all started with a simple invitation.

“Are you hungry?”