I've been ill, sorry for the hiatus. I have much to write about, but for now:
Casey taught me a little bit today about listening and responding.
We ate our lunch at Travis Park with our new friend Robert, someone society would categorize as “one of the least of these.” During daylight hours the park is a congregation of the poor and needy in San Antonio. The Methodist church on the corner does a very good job of helping the physical needs of these men and women. I wanted to eat up in Travis Park, half-knowing someone would wander up and ask us for money, and wondering how the conversation would go from there. And sure enough, Robert wandered up. I’m glad he did.
If you believe most of his story, Robert is living with the guilt of a murder on his hands, the memory of a stepfather who never loved him, the pain of an aunt who was raped and beaten — an event which fueled racism in Robert’s own heart — and the fear of a life lived on the run, being wanted for charges that would leave him extradited, incarcerated, and alone. I’d say I believe at least half of the specific details and pretty much all of the underlying themes of rejection and pain.
He’s 34 years old (a year younger than I am) but he looks ten years older. He’s clearly lived a rough life, and it shows on scars and wounds and weathered skin. We never knew for sure if the money he was panhandling was for himself or for his ‘dad’ who he described as a traveling companion who has watched Robert's back for more than a decade now.
Casey and I did what I normally would’ve done — we listened to his story and offered to purchase him food instead of handing him cash — but Case had a patience and a peace about it that I never have when solo, and he practiced listening very well. I know Casey to be a good listener already, and I know he does a lot of listening in the prison ministry that he does weekly; it just struck me that it was a gift that I didn’t have but that I could probably cultivate with a little more practice.
It’ll embarrass him to read this, but the way Casey was emboldened by the situation and not afraid of appearances struck me (as we led Robert out of the park and back onto “our” side of downtown to get the and his dad some food at the Bill Miller’s BBQ, I couldn’t help but make note of the fact we were in eye- and ear-shot of Casey’s office building, and that nothing about Casey’s demeanor changed as he stood there praying over our new friend, hand on his shoulder, an oxford-shirt-and-tie reaching out to tattered-nylon-jacket-and-trucker-cap. See...
I’m usually too ready to “do the transactional part” (My heart and mind, it is sad to say, often work out of guilt and impatience and fear, like this: “Okay, here’s the routine: we both know you want money or food, and we both know that since I made eye contact with you and haven’t shunned you, that this will probably end with me giving you something, so don’t feel like you need to weave together an intricate story if all you really want to do is meet your physical need…”)
But Robert’s story itself brought the transcendence today. It was a convolution of helplessness and power-grasping, of racial hatred and mistrust of the government, of brute honesty and baldface deception. But the story provided a window into the soul of the child of God sitting there. If it hadn’t been for shared story, we would’ve just been benefactors, and he a recipient. But now, we’re friends.
And I hope to see him again.
glad you're back. what an amazing story. the longer i live the more i think the kingdom of God is built through the intersection of stories--your story, Case's story, Robert's story, and God's story came together like a beautiful tapestry in the time you shared. i've been meaning to blog about this topic but i'll post a teaser here--because poverty is profoundly relational, getting beyond the transactional quality of benefactor/recipient is critical to addressing the holistic issues the poor face.
Posted by: pamela | Wednesday, October 26, 2005 at 09:58 AM