The sun had already found it’s way
to bed for the night, and the evening was so perfect it was almost unearthly.
It was one of those nights of impeccable weather; one that you wished would
just last. The temperature was so perfect you couldn’t feel it, yet there was a
slight breeze softly kissing your face. Although the brightly glimmering stars
were veiled by the array of city lights, you could catch the brave shimmer of
one here and there. The darkness had settled lightly, bringing with it peace.
It was freeing; not heavy or depressing. The air held a hint of excitement,
like electricity and joy were mingling together freely. It was impossible to
step a foot past the doorstep without sensing that activity. And it was all
perfect…just perfect.
It was on this evening that three
of my siblings, my dad, and myself chose to go for a stroll. We were headed
back home when, upon gaining the top of a small hill, we saw someone walking
towards us. From the silhouette framed against the streetlight I could see
baggy jeans, a rappers hat, a large jacket flapping limply, and small wisps of
smoke curling up from the glowing end of a cigarette. I stiffened slightly and
grumpily wondered why this unpleasant sight had to meet my eyes near the end of
my perfect walk. And I judged him.
As we drew nearer I inwardly
grimaced at the smell of the cigarette smoke and I moved up closer to Dad and
my brother. I didn’t want anything to do with this man but quietly and
peacefully pass him. A part of me was scared too, and I was thankful that I was
with men. But then, I saw his face. This man, this look-alike to a street bum,
was not a “man” after all. He was a young teenager! I would guess only fifteen
or sixteen, but definitely not old enough to be legally smoking. I thought,
“What in the world is he doing
smoking?”
After a quick glance at his face I
looked in front of me and walked on. We passed him with a polite “good evening”
and I let out a sigh of relief. I warily looked over my shoulder at him walking
slowly down the long sidewalk. My second thought came,
“I bet he’s a mess.”
But as I turned around my
conscience suddenly smote me with guilt. Questions flooded my mind, threatening
to overflow my processing capacity.
“Who was he? What circumstances had
brought him to this position? Was his family a wreck? Did he even have parents
to love and guide him through his treacherous teen years? What horrible pull,
peer pressure, or pain had brought him to the pitfall and relief of smoking? What
was his story?”
As I looked back again, this time pity at the
forefront of my thoughts, I was slightly dismayed to see that he had turned
around and was following us. For a brief moment the disgustingly selfish and
sinful side of me didn’t want to meet him. The hypocrite and Pharisee inside
didn’t want to talk with this “lowly” person…I didn’t want to get remotely
close with something so “dirty”. And yet, the Holy Spirit inside was faithfully
fighting the Devil’s slimy whispers. A hint of genuine sorrow pierced me. Then,
a voice from behind shattered right through the thoughts that were hotly
battling inside.
“Are ya’ll church goin’ folks?”
“What?!? HE just asked THAT?”
We all stopped and turned around in surprise to
await this mysterious person. He slowly walked up to us, and began a
conversation with Dad. He was awkward, and seemed a little slower mentally. He
asked if we were church folk, and if any of us were teens. Upon the
confirmation that two of us were he invited us to join his church’s Sunday
evening Bible study at a friend’s house! Dad carefully handled the
conversation, and asked questions about his church and the Bible study. But
then things got a little funny.
The young man couldn’t remember what they were
currently studying in the Bible, and said that he had short-term memory loss.
He told us that last year he had been in a very bad skateboard wreck, and was
in a coma for a little over two months. He told us that he had received level 4
brain damage, and the doctors had told him that he would end up paralyzed. Dad
tried to give him his phone number, but nobody had a pen or pencil. The young
man said he couldn’t put it into his phone because it was stone dead. Dad asked
for his number, but he didn’t want to give it. He said his phone wasn’t very
reliable anyway, since it had been damaged during the wreck. However, he
offered several times to walk with us to McDonalds to get a pencil. Dad
courteously closed out the conversation, telling him that we had a church but
thanks for the invite. Then we moved on.
My thoughts began rolling again.
“Was he really going to church? Was the Holy Spirit
working in him? Was his phone really conveniently stone dead and unreliable?
Why couldn’t he tell us what they were studying? It seemed like he may have
been on some kind of drug. Did he just want a meal from McDonalds? Was his
story about the wreck true? That would at least explain the lack of memory and
awkwardness.”
As we continued down the street to our house we
discussed him. What was true? I didn’t know. We didn’t know. We had no idea,
and it will likely never be our place to know. However, my sweet sister pointed
something out. At some point, somewhere along the way, a church or a Christian
had made a positive impact on this young man’s life.
As I lay in bed that night I thought everything
over. My sis was right. He obviously had come across some Christian or group of
Believers who had taken him in and had accepted him; despite his looks, his
manner, and his habits. Someone had put aside their judgments and critical
thoughts of him and loved him like Christ.
“I should love him like Christ.”
Yes, indeed I should. I am called to love like the
Lord. 1 Peter 1:22 says,” Since you have in obedience to the truth purified
your souls for a sincere love of the brethren, fervently love one another from
the hear.” Unheeding and unmindful of his looks, his background, his lies, and
his filth…and ever mindful that he is a human soul, oh so cherished and loved
by the Lord. As Dell Tackett, the teacher of a course called The Truth
Project, once said, “There is no mere mortal.” Think about that.
“There is no mere
mortal.”
I am called to love the “unlovable.”
After all, we’re all “unlovable.” Yet we’re all
loved.
