Who would have thought that God would use Bono to speak to me? Ok, you're right; anyone who knows me well!
Last fall several students and I crafted a series of worship services around the theme of Justice. Our goal was to bring attention to issues of justice by using the words of scripture to irritate everyone (yes, everyone) so that all would re-examine their own long held perspectives and actions in light of God's word. It was fun. Until it hit home for me.
The sign in front of our building simply says, "Baptist Center". It does not announce that we are solely a ministry to and for college students. Every so often we have folks who have just gotten off of the bus at the station a few blocks away wander in seeking help from a church. At times homeless or the down and out call or drop by as well. I'm not sure when I first met Ken (not his real name). I'm not sure what brought him in. But sometime near the end of our series last fall he came by again.
Whenever folks come by we listen and try to help as we can. We have no funds in our budget for indigent care - all of our monies were donated for and are designated to collegiate ministry. We could get into big trouble using those funds for other things. I believe it's called "misappropriation of funds," or some other legal term. In the past if the story is really convincing I will toss a few bucks to the person, say a prayer with them and walk them out of the building. We have had people notice when our crew comes and goes, and realize that these students are caring and giving. We have had people take advantage of our folks by waiting in the parking lot after each of our events, asking for handouts, rides, or food. Our students usually comply. After calls from local pastors or parents we have had to put a stop such tactics for safety reasons. We have had folks come in asking students for money or using our building as a place to sleep. Again, for safety reasons we have had to quell such behavior.
For some reason Ken seemed different. Or maybe I was at a point where I needed Ken to help me to realize that these justice issues we were raising were for me too. When Ken came by he asked for money for a specific thing. I pulled the few dollars out of my pocket and passed them on. I also gave him a jacket that had been in our lost and found for over a year. I passed along a t-shirt. After we had said goodbye he came back. Leaving he had seen a birthday cake downstairs on a table where we had day old bread an elderly gentleman had brought by from local grocery stores (his ministry was to collect bread and take it to local ministries that could use it to help hungry folks). That morning a decorated birthday cake had come in with the bread. Ken was excited. He told me his daughter's birthday was that day, and he didn't have a gift for her. The cake would make her day. I chuckled. In the past we usually tossed the cakes because our students never took them. They loved the bread, but didn't quite know what to do with a cake! Of course Ken took the cake.
A few weeks later I saw Ken again. He had another need - $8 or so to complete what he had saved for his mom's rent. A week or so later he needed $3.50 for bus fare. I began to get skeptical. I began to feel I had my own special project, or he had found his patsy that would always give.
Some days later Ken was back, a hacking cough that doubled him over when he tried to stand - pneumonia, the doctor said. He had a prescription in hand. He needed antibiotics. I drove him to CVS, paid for the drugs and took him home. A week or so later he was back.
God and I had a talk that day after I had helped with the need du jour. God and I talked that night..and the next morning driving to work. I had a revelation. I don't carry much cash. Like many in our society, I use cards to pay for just about everything. But what I heard God say to me that day was only give him what you have in your pocket. So that's what I do. And the next time he was in I told him that I would help out if I could, but that I wasn't going to the bank for him. If I had the cash in hand I would help out.
Late this spring Ken stopped coming by. He had talked about moving to Atlanta to get a job. I forgot about him...
...Until he walked back in a month or so ago. His mom got sick, was in the hospital, couldn't work, Ken had to help, quit his job in Atlanta, moved in with her to one of the many subsidized housing complexes in town, and came to see me. The weekly or biweekly visits continued. Rent was due, he was a few dollars short. Child support was due in an hour, he had collected what he could, but needed $23.25.
One day he came by and I wasn't there. He saw the picture of my daughter posted on my door. The pic was two and a half years old - the first shot we took in the hospital that I proudly posted on my door for all to see. I had even forgotten it was there. But as a dad of a little girl that he hardly ever gets to see, Ken saw it. He pulled it down, asked our administration assistant for some paper and a pencil, and began to draw. When I arrived a bit later he hid what he was doing, thought better of it and asked if he could take the photo and finish the drawing he had started; "I'll bring it back," he explained. A few days later I arrived to find an expertly drawn picture of my baby girl hanging on my door where the photo had been. The photo was there too, as if for comparison of the skill he had brought to the task.
"Where'd you learn to draw so well?" I asked the next time he came by, not for money, but to make sure I got the picture.
"School," he muttered, shrugging. "I've always been good with art stuff."
A month or so later I took the drawing home. Everyone was in bed so I left it on the counter. A few days later my wife found it as she was culling through one of my many piles of papers around the house. Ken had signed the drawing, so she knew no one in our family had done it. So I told her the story. She had an idea.
"Hey, why don't you find some pictures of all of our kids and see if he will put them into a collage that we can get framed and put on the wall somewhere in the house? And you can pay him to do it..." she explained. I took him some school pictures of all three children yesterday. He called back to see if I could buy some really nice paper or a canvas to do them on. "I want this to be really nice," he urged.
I'll pick the finish product up soon. I can't wait to see it.
But the nagging skepticism is back. It was whispering, but yesterday afternoon was yelling, "quit giving him money! maybe now you can find ways he can work for what you give!" He has been calling weekly, sometimes daily asking for this or that. It's always only a few dollars; "I need to wash my clothes so I can go to my new job tomorrow," "My daughter's birthday is coming on the 20th. I can't afford a gift," etc.
Then last night at worship Franklin talked about the results of worship: "worship that is real results in life change." Very true, I thought; Great sermon!
Then this morning I was trying to clean off the table in the family room, it's covered with books and papers for my research, and I picked up a book I had been glancing through last week. I opened it to read a passage to my son. I've been trying to find away to get him to read some devotional material. Nothing has worked so far, so I thought maybe a rock star would grab his attention. The book is on the move, Bono's message at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, DC in 2006. There are some great lines in the message. My son is a radical little cuss and he prides himself for talking about Democratic social issues at school. I thought this book would give him some fodder for the day.
I quit cleaning and took the book to the sofa, muted the morning news that had been holding my son in a catatonic state as he tried to wake up this morning.
"Hey Nick, listen to what Bono said to Bush at the National Prayer Breakfast a few years ago," I urged as I began reading passages aloud. He shifted but didn't say anything. I think he may have glanced my way a few times. Then I read,
"God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them. 'If you remove the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger and speaking wickedness, and if you give yourself to the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then your light will rise in darkness and your gloom will become like midday and the Lord will continually guide you and satisfy your desire in scorched places' [Isaiah 58:9-11)".
He would have to include scripture! Ouch. My rising skepticism fell bruised to the floor of my mind, stunned by the very words that had shocked me last fall.
I flipped a few pages. My eyes caught Bono's words, "It's not a coincidence that in the Scriptures, poverty is mentioned more than 2,100 times. It's not an accident. That's a lot of airtime, 2,100 mentions."
I flipped a few more pages, realizing that my intent of inspiring my son had backfired. I had inspired myself.
"Thus see the the Lord: 'Bring the homeless poor into the house, when you see the naked, cover him, then your light will break out like the dawn and your recovery will speedily spring forth, then your lord will be your rear guard.' The Jewish Scripture says that. Isaiah 58 again."
So I got up, grabbed my Bible, and read all of Isaiah 58. Ouch. I began to think about Ken. What type of life must one live to be forced to beg for money? the other day when he called he told me that work at the car wash had been slow, one maybe two cars a day. He explained, "me and the other guy, we only get $3.50 each when we wash a car. I, I, a man just can't live on that!"
So I will give. If I have money in my pocket I will help when Ken calls. And I will do more. I'm going to get to know Ken. I'm going to see if I can help him find a way he can use his talents to make some money. I'm going to find out what he needs. I'm going to find out if I can help him finish his education. I'm going to offer to teach him some things myself. He has sought me out. I'm going to return the favor. I don't know why Ken found me. I don't know if God brought him my way or if Ken just found a sappy old guy who would empty his pockets for a good story. Who knows. But Ken is before me. And sometimes he is hungry. Sometimes he needs to wash his clothes. Sometimes he needs help paying for housing. Sometimes he is cold. Sometimes he needs to be a better dad. And I can help with those things. And I will. Any way I can. It's the least I can do....
