Today, I visited a parishioner at St. Paul’s Hospital. As I stepped outside after the visit, my attention was drawn to a group of individuals sitting or lying near the hospital entrance. Some had carts and bags with them, everything they owned gathered in one place. One person was lying motionless on the ground. I could not tell if they were asleep or unresponsive after taking a substance. It was a haunting image. The hospital, a place of healing and care, stood just steps away from visible suffering.

This scene stayed with me. It was a painful contrast. Inside, there is treatment and comfort. Outside, people are without homes, without safety, and perhaps without hope. And the questions came. Can they be healed? Can they recover? Do they want to? Are they willing to live a healthier life?

These are not easy questions. Sometimes, people are able to change but are not willing to. This can be deeply discouraging. We may see available options, support systems, and pathways toward recovery, and yet the person in front of us does not take them. But willingness is often more complicated than it appears. A person may seem unwilling because they are afraid, overwhelmed, or unsure of how to begin. Some have tried before and failed. Some have been hurt by the very systems meant to help. Some are too exhausted or discouraged to try again.

There are also times when people do not just avoid help. They reject us entirely. We may approach with open hearts and a desire to care, but they may turn away, refuse to speak, or respond with anger. That rejection is painful. But often it is not about us. It is about what they have endured. It is a form of protection. Many have experienced too many broken promises and too much disappointment. For those who have been abandoned or mistreated, trusting again can feel impossible.

Even Jesus was rejected. Not everyone welcomed him. Not everyone followed him. Still, he continued to love. He continued to show up. He never forced himself into anyone’s life. He waited. He stayed close. He remained faithful.

So what can we do when someone can be healed but is not ready? What can we do when they reject our presence?

We can remain present in quiet and respectful ways. We can love without conditions and without expectations. We can offer kindness with no strings attached. Sometimes it means keeping a respectful distance while still being visible. It might be as simple as saying hello, leaving a bottle of water nearby, or offering a soft word of care. Our actions can speak even when words are not welcome.

We can continue to listen and to pray. Healing is never fully in our hands. We trust that God is at work even when we cannot see it. Our role is not to fix or control. Our calling is to love, to walk humbly, and to be faithful in hope.

So when we see suffering, whether outside hospitals, churches, business buildings, or on the sidewalks of our city, may we not turn away. May we carry these individuals in our hearts and prayers. May we ask not only what they need to do, but who we are called to be. May we become a people of presence, compassion, and quiet courage. Healing does not always begin with willingness. Sometimes it begins with the simple, sacred act of being seen and not forgotten.