No, this isn’t another sports post! A few weeks ago, I set out to be with people who are suffering in our city. I have lived in an urban neighborhood for many years, but wanted a fresh look through the eyes of those living on the edges, in order to gain their insights and perspectives. I was curious to see how Christ is present among the outcast, forgotten, and broken-hearted.

One day I met and hung out with a couple on East Colfax whose street names are “Nebraska” and “Spot.” They both reeked of alcohol and Nebraska was in need of a cigarette, bad. I’ve seen them around my neighborhood on the corner, and asked them if I could buy them lunch. Mostly I wanted to get out of the cold, and I knew they must be freezing too. I also figured I needed to satisfy their hunger before they would have any conversation with me.

After letting them choose the cuisine, we sat down in Popeye’s--they wanted fried chicken. I sat with them and felt like I didn’t want to eat much, not knowing when they ate last. We sat warming ourselves and mostly I just listened. They both have previous families and grown kids, but seemed especially devoted to each other, addictions and all. I could smell the “homelessness” on their breath and see the swollenness of Nebraska’s hands.

Spot was really interested in talking about the Bible. She mentioned that her brother in Chicago was a deacon in a church, and her grandmother always made them go to church growing up. Nebraska was having a major nicotine fit and wasn’t much interested in talking. I gave him a few bucks to go buy a pack of cigarettes so Spot and I could continue our conversation.

As we talked, I was surprised that she went into a sort of church-jargon spiritualese, including “Hallelujah, Sister,” and the “Amen,” and I wondered if she was in some way trying to impress me or get on my ‘good’ side. She stopped when she sensed that was not my style. I read with her from the book of John, and explained that even when life happens and darkness seems to take over, God is still right there with us in the midst of our suffering and pain. Jesus came to us, loved us, and suffered with and for us. Spot became intrigued, so I read her a little bit of the Christmas story in Luke. She looked right in my eyes and with a seriousness, said, “I’m not ready, because Nebraska isn’t ready,” like she was waiting for me to offer the “Four Spiritual Laws” or something. I told her that right now, all this was really between her and God.

Nebraska returned some minutes later, pretty uptight about getting out his cardboard sign and heading back to the corner to get enough money for a room that night. The unheated garage the restaurant owner was letting them sleep in provided no shelter from the cold temperatures. Nebraska said God was good; it was God who allowed him to keep on going. When he started making references to me as their angel, I assured them I was no angel but I did enjoy spending time with them. I invited them to look for ways in their lives where they could see God at work, perhaps through others.

After I left, I felt a twinge of regret that I did not even think to pray with them. However, there was something about sharing humor and a meal that lifted their spirits. Nebraska gave me the street name “Oklahoma” because he and I share the same real last name, and because I told him that most of our family namesakes that I knew lived in Oklahoma. It did make my day to know that I made them laugh, and they shared they had not laughed for such a long time.

God is enabling me more every day to view those who are visibly broken in our city with an eternal perspective rather than simply the consequences of poor choices, or even worse, as someone else’s problem or ministry. God’s response to us is not one of vindictiveness, but love and reconciliation. Should not this also be our response to others?