Dignity

Others look for reasons to shop; I find that any excuse will do so long as it takes me to a library. In that spirit I stopped by Waco's Central Library today to return a book, and although I could have placed it in the drop slot provided for just that purpose and left, I convinced myself that I could actually enter and confine my browsing to a minimum.  You see, I saunter through aisles of books like a connoisseur swirls and then inhales the aroma of vintage wine. All libraries and bookstores hold a certain attraction, but this is an especially sacred space for me.  Before securing an aircard for my laptop, Central Library was the most convenient place for me to access free Wi-Fi, so it became for a time, in effect, my office. Appearances have changed a great deal since those days. A major renovation by the City of Waco netted a fresh coat of paint, altered design, updated furniture, and expanded holdings. The one constant is its clientele. Seated in front of every computer screen and on every lounging chair in every remodeled nook and cranny is a colorful array of ragamuffins, homeless persons. Jokingly, I've remarked that our city has the most educated vagrants around. Seriously, sitting next to and interacting with them over time gave me a deep appreciation that went beyond the sights and smells that conjure stereotypes. To this day, I call them my "peeps." 

Scanning that familiar scene reminded me of three years ago when I chose to go undercover as a homeless man on the streets of Waco in order to get inside their heads if not under their skin. I convinced myself that I would never represent Christ with convincing compassion if I had no clue what it was like to walk the streets with no knowledge of what I would eat or where I would sleep. My wife was less than enthusiastic about my decision, but on a hot summer day I donned my dirtiest t-shirt, worst shorts, most ragged shoes, and drove downtown.  I parked on the edge of downtown, locked my wallet and cellphone in my truck, and set out for only God knew what. It was important to me to spend a couple of days penniless and communication-less, but I quickly learned that heat, humidity, and hunger make for a formidable trinity of want. I stopped by the local homeless ministry to inquire about a place to stay the night and learned that to do so I would need to shower along with the other transient men. I acquiesced to the requirement and accepted a towel and complimentary toiletries, and admit that I felt my dignity drip slowly from me along with the cold water in the primitive surroundings. I learned that finding a free drink of water downtown in one hundred degree heat is a job in itself, and by the evening I slumped nearly dehydrated and heat exhausted onto a folding chair inside a Lutheran church that provides a free meal to the homeless every Tuesday night.  I honestly can't say what made more of an impression--the spaghetti and bread that I gulped down like a starving man, the iced tea that rehydrated me, or the volunteers that remained resolute behind the 4'x8' tables as if plastic could shield them from the pain and need that filed in front of them.  I listened to a preacher speak generically about hope, but my mind kept wandering to where I would rest my depleted body for the night.

Space does not permit a detailed chronicle of those two days, but I can say that in short order I experienced an odd camaraderie with a homeless band of brothers, as well as the shock of having people cross streets to avoid me and refuse to look me in the eye. As parched as I remained those summer days, I soon found my greater thirst was for human dignity, and I will never look or fail to look upon the least of these in the same way that I did before. I learned profound stories of human agony and shattered dreams, saw raw expressions of thinning hope, but most of all gained a heightened sense of the importance of speaking a name, the significance of daring to touch, and the magnitude of grace.

"Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, 'Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.' Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, 'Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or athirst, and gave thee drink? And when saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? And when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?' And the King shall answer and say unto them, 'Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these my brethren, even these least, ye did it unto me.'" Matthew 25:34-40

(photo source: www.mlf.org)

Grace Sees

Grace sees and refuses to blink. For one woman, grace happened as she knelt in dirt at the feet of Jesus. More out of shame than humility, her collapse was less intention than reflex.  Not far from the two of them, mob stares inflicted greater pain to her than did the threat of the rocks they grasped in angry hands.  It was not so much the words they used that was the vocabulary of that awful moment, it was the abject absence of dignity. Perhaps the lowest act of inhumanity is simply to withhold dignity.  Sticks and stones may break my bones, but inhumanity may destroy me. No doubt this woman had entered and lingered in adulthood without being recognized as valuable. Passed from one to the other, she was never held by someone as sacred, only held in the process of being used. She'd grown accustomed to the shame, but refused to be comfortable with the same.  That's when she heard of this healing teacher. Not just a teacher who healed, but someone who restored even as he inspired; someone who returned all that had been taken.  She fought her fears. Could this be one more more instance of something that seemed too good to be true? She had heard those lines before, promises of love, lying eyes behind the flattery.  Or was this man different?  Was the healing teacher sent from God? Was it possible that he was God himself? So, she cast herself before him, not so much that she had nothing to lose, but that she was willing to gamble on this one chance to win. She knew what it was like to lose. Her life had been a succession of losing choices, losing relationships, losing moments.  A life lost in quicksand of regret. So, she rolled the dice on one opportunity to be real, her one chance to be herself rather than the object that others had recreated in their own image and for their own pleasure.

No one knows for sure what Jesus stopped to write in the dirt on that awful awesome day. Many speculate he scrawled a litany of sins that the accusers were forced to recognize as their own. Others propose that Jesus used a finger to indent a scripture in the sand. I choose to believe he did something entirely different and something more meaningful to her than anyone could have imagined -- he wrote her name. And in so doing, he gave back to her her heart. Here is one thing each of us can do for the outcast.  Irregardless of cause and effect, the one gift we hold at the ready for every human being is to ascribe worth, acknowledging human value through eye contact, spoken word, calling someone by name. To be Jesus is more often than not, simply to say with our eyes "I see you, and you matter."