Eugene

  

  Eugene is a regular at our church; he comes faithfully every Sunday. He's not, however, your typical church-goer. Eugene arrives on foot, and we often see him shuffling along the sidewalk, jacket slung over his head like a hat, bag over his shoulder, bare feet inside broken shoes. Eugene comes to wash up in the men's bathroom, and I've heard that the toilets have been plugged after he's filled them with the paper towels he's dried off with. Eugene sits in the entry way during church, slumped into a chair, kept company by moms and dads, flickering candles, golden icons, and noisy children. Eugene is not shy about getting in line for food when it's time, nor is he self conscious about heaping his plate high or going back for seconds or thirds. Sometimes we put leftovers in bags to send "home" with him.

    Eugene has come to our parish for years. I'm glad he's there. We greet him cheerfully and sometimes get a word or two in response. He must have his camp somewhere nearby. I wonder where he lives. Does he have a warm sleeping bag, a tent to keep him dry? Does he camp under a bridge? Does he have a mother who prays for him, a family who remembers him? Is anyone's heart broken over what this man has become? Once he was someone's little boy. What is his story? The other day I watched him empty a quart sized bottle of hand sanitizer into his water bottle; presumably it was his next drink. I wonder how many of those bottles he's emptied. I wonder if that's how he keeps warm on these cold nights.

   Is Eugene just another homeless man, or is he the very presence of Christ among us? Our faith teaches us to see the image of Jesus in everyone, and that what we do for "the least of these", whom Christ calls his brethren, we do to Jesus Himself. I was lying in bed Sunday night, sleepless, and thinking about Eugene. I remembered Tolstoy's story of the Shoemaker Martin who so desired to see Jesus. He was visited by different people, waiting for his Lord, but only met with common folks in need. He welcomed each, sharing and giving hospitality, but Jesus never came. In the end, Jesus reveals that it really was He who had come, and that Martin had indeed welcomed Him.

    Someday I will stand before Jesus, and I will be judged on how I cared for - or didn't care for - the Eugenes of this world. It's a pretty thing to go to church on Sunday, to prepare my heart to worship Christ, to receive Him. But how often do I miss seeing Him, grubby and smelly, in the face of the stranger on the corner or the homeless man reaching into the bowl of fruit with his dirty hands? I don't know how to "help" Eugene. I can continue to smile at him, to greet him warmly, to treat him with love. I could pray for him more regularly, knowing he needs healing of mind and spirit.

    I was at the store yesterday, something I'd rather avoid at this time of year. The friendly cashier asked me if I was "ready for Christmas". I know what she meant, but my thoughts turned to more than lists checked off and presents bought. Is my heart ready to receive Christ? Is there "room in the inn" for Him, room in my life? As I ponder the incarnation, God clothing himself in humanity, I think of Eugene and those like him. It is here I have a chance to love my Lord, by caring for the least of these, His brothers and sisters. May I be faithful to see the face of Christ and pour myself out for them.

 
    

Meet my Dad

My Dad (on the right) and one of his friends.

I've written a bit before about my Dad's ministry to the homeless in our community. Yesterday's paper carried this article about him. I was blessed to read it, and I hope you will be too. Apart from the fact that he's my Dad, it's refreshing to read something positive about Christians!

Story

Someone asked about the homeless ministry we're involved in, so I thought I'd post something I wrote last summer after an outreach. These events are put on by people from over a dozen different churches, and are usually held several times a year. They are a starting point for building relationships with members of the poor and homeless community. There is also a weekly gathering where those who are seeking to follow Jesus can share their struggles and be encouraged through Scripture and fellowship. On a less visible, but even more relational level, my parents spend much of their time "on the street" loving, talking, praying, and discipling these people.

Everyone has a story to tell. Sometimes I tell bits of my story and there are colorful characters whose paths have crossed my own. They have become part of my story, and there are many whose names I don't even know. Occasionally I wonder whose stories I'm in, and what they remember about me.
Today as I sat beneath the bridge I watched a few moments of people's lives; I watched as their stories unfolded a little more. You may have seen Clarence, or C.W. as his buddies call him. He looks like your typical homeless guy- long unkempt grey hair and a shaggy beard, his hands cracked and imbedded with dirt, deep lines in his face that speak of his years of wandering on this earth. Clarence, like so many others, was under the bridge today to enjoy a free meal. Along with burgers and hot dogs, there were ice cream cones piled high, free clothing, live music, hair cuts, and people around whose stories have been changed by meeting Jesus Christ. Today Clarence, for the first time in ten years, had a hair cut. The change was something to behold as Michele gently trimmed his long hair and beard. He looked like a different person. Something as simple as a haircut was a mile marker in Clarence's story. I wonder though, what was going on inside of him today- how many years has it been since someone has loved Clarence, since anyone has shown him real affection? What events in his life have shaped his view of Jesus?
Transformation is what Jesus does. I love that verse that says He is the Author and Finisher of our faith. He is writing our stories each day and He asks us to tell what He has done and what He is doing. So that's why today if you happened to be under the bridge you would have seen lives being changed. Because the story isn't finished yet. Sure, people ate a good meal, received clothing, and some even got their hair cut, but the real changes are the unseen ones. One man stood up on the stage and shared a bit of his story. He ended by saying "God is my Father. He is my teacher; I am His student...... I profess my belief". Then there was Curt. Jesus stepped into his story a few years ago and Curt has just been released from prison. Today I watched as he stood over a huge pot of boiling water and cooked corn. I watched as his face expressed joy instead of sorrow, hope rather than despair, and as he shared that with others by serving them. I watched Richard and Nicki, the couple who gave their lives to Jesus and got married at an outreach last fall. Today they were here serving food and doing activities with the kids, sharing what Jesus has given them.
When we allow Jesus to write our story, He changes us. As we love "the least of these" He changes us. As they receive His love, He changes them. I love to see the homeless men and women help with serving, picking up trash, washing dishes. I smiled at the end of the day after Gloria had painted many little faces. One little girl sat down, picked up a brush, and began to paint Gloria's face. This girl had been loved and she loved in return. Together we all are being changed. As we serve and love these they become part of our story, and they become part of ours. My hope is that my story is so full of Jesus that when people remember me they can't help but to think of Him.
There is another outreach this coming Saturday. Please pray!

Something's Getting Through

        Sometimes I wonder what really gets through to Peregrine. Tonight he was playing that he was a barysaurus whose parents had been shot and we were a pterodactyl family who were adopting him. I was asking him about all the things he liked and what he liked to do and one of his answers was "And I give things to boys who are poor, like toys and things." I was kind of surprised to hear that; right in there with playing games and reading books was caring for the poor! I asked if he would like to pick out a book or toy to give away at an upcoming outreach to the poor and homeless and he walked over and picked out a book! I told him how kind that was, and that some kids' families don't have very much money to buy things like that for them. We've talked often about how some people don't even have a house to live in and tonight when I said some families live in their car he looked very serious and said "Maybe I can give them my tent."
        It nearly brought tears to my eyes, to see God giving him compassion at such a young age. I hope that we will encourage this and give him opportunities to share what we've been given with others.

Pictures are from an outreach we were involved in last summer.