Photo by Tom Parsons on Unsplash
During the season of life where my
life seemed interrupted, and I entered a time of recovery that I could neither
foresee nor appreciate at the time, a random event occurred that changed my
life.
I was walking a lot in those days. It
was how I often connected with God; even as He had stripped me back where my
life circumstance serially broke me.
I happened to be walking along the
main street in the outlying city I lived in when I stumbled across a drunk man.
Initially I had the thought to avoid him. But he seemed so defenceless, and not
a physical threat at all. So I got closer to him.
He was keeled over next to a
building, slightly concealed by the grade of the land adjacent to the structure
itself, in a culvert. He seemed to be unconscious, so I began to try and rouse
him to ascertain if he was okay.
I was surprised. The man was
unexpectedly coherent even if he were inebriated. My instinct was awakened to
the fact that this human being, an indigenous man of my home nation, was not so
much just schnozzled, but grief-stricken!
As I fumbled with him in my
confusion, trying to make some sense of the situation, like a fisherman I
caught snippets of information, the big catch alluding me. It was clear he was
hurt, not just psychologically and emotional, but he was physically hurting
too. His grimaces and his sobbing were a melding of a throbbing existential
pain, both situational and generational.
As he sobbed through his story I
completely forgot where I was. It was as if God had transported me for those
moments into the travesty of this other man’s life. I could see his family
situation. I could feel the abnegation and abandonment. I could taste the paroxysm
of injustice. I could touch how nonsensical his life had become. And I heard
how desolate he was, of hope, of purpose, of reason to go on.
God took me beyond the stereotype
and gave me spiritual insight into the soul of brokenness — perhaps because,
for me, I was in a season myself of aberrant brokenness.
I tried to console the man, and
astonishingly he comprehended my encouragement, peering into my eyes with a
longing hesitation. Very quickly, however, I suffered a bout of flesh, and my
courage to speak hope boldly begin to abruptly diminish, as I believed upon the
reality of his plight.
I called an ambulance. This man
needed hospital attention. He needed a range of healing services holistic in
nature. I felt completely unable to tend to him as he needed, but at least for
those eternal seconds he may have felt something of God’s profound empathy.
As soon as the ambulance arrived on
scene I could see some new things emerge; things that comforted me but also
things that disconcerted me. I was reminded of the wonderful services our
western society has that we take for granted. Then I also saw the presumptive
mindset that prevailed in the two men who attended us. Sound men, but with
unsound biases. They must’ve been so conditioned by the typical drug-affected
homeless people they come across daily. They weren’t unkind, but they could not
see beyond this man’s appearance. They couldn’t see past the stereotype. They
couldn’t see his soul. For a moment I wondered if in fact I’d done the right
thing.
But then God reminded me of my
limits; I’d done all I could have.
I rested in that even as I prayed
for the man as the ambulance drove off.
In this, God taught me to look
beyond the outward appearance into the unknowable heart and soul and created
mystery of a unique person made in His image. It’s a lesson I have continually
been reminded of. A lesson to see the sacred value of the person caught in a
compromised position. And to see that we all fall, and but for God’s love, who
are we?
Everyone has a story for where
they’re at and why they’re there, no matter their external appearance.
Before this moment in my life I don’t
think I’d seen such a demonstration of God’s power to show me how quickly I
pre-judge situations. This power also showed me my capacity to help. I left
changed.
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