We were backing out of the garage one morning when we saw a man walking to the bus stop. We turned right on the major road beside our house. At an intersection, we saw another man crossing the road. My 3-year-old asked, “who’s that, Daddy?”
We saw two men, but my son only assumed I knew one of them. Both were the same ethnicity. Both were wearing jeans and a t-shirt. One looked like he would spend his day at a workplace with minimal dress code. The other man looked like he’d worn those clothes for weeks. One was homeless. The other looked like he had a job and a place to call home.
Interesting…my 3-year-old has already learned to guess who is homeless by their clothing. Even more interesting? My son assumes I know any homeless person we see.
Two weeks ago, a homeless man I’ve known for 3 years attended our church’s Sunday morning service. He was sober the entire service. About 3 minutes after he left our service, a deacon from a church that rents our main sanctuary came to find me. I was at home with a dozen other church leaders. I was about to start an important meeting.
The deacon (who knows the homeless man’s alcoholic past) says my friend is extremely drunk and had just been escorted out the front door. “Impossible,” I reply. I leave our church leaders to wait at my house as I walk to the main building. Someone else stops me and I’m caught up in a conversation. A minute later, another usher says people found my friend having a seizure in overflow parking across the street. They called 911. I walk across the street.
Several people stand gathered around him as he sits on the pavement. No one standing around knew who he was. I walk to my friend still sitting the ground and say his name. One of the passersby then asks me, “You know this man?”
I send a text to cancel the important meeting. The seizure temporarily disabled my friend’s speech abilities. He needs someone with him who knows his name. I know some of his medical history. I should share what I know with the paramedics.
My 3-year-old and our 100-pound chocolate lab are walking at the park by our church. We see the same man I’ve seen countless times in our area. Whenever he’s at the park, he’s always alone at the same picnic table. It’s the picnic table farthest away from people. Several bags lay around him. The man is wearing the same clothes I’ve seen him wear since July. He never talks to anyone. We’ve made two laps around the park and no one has yet spoken to him. Not even the other guys from the street know him, and that’s very unusual. It seems he is a true Loner.
I decide to introduce myself. I push the stroller off the walking path towards the picnic table. Even in the open air and with a light breeze, his odor is strong. A half-eaten box of iced Halloween cookies from the grocery store sits on the table. Halloween was last week. Guys on the street know store employees sometimes give away expired food to them instead of throwing it in the dumpster at night. I give him a big smile. His smile is weak and unsure.
He’s probably wondering if I’m just one more parent who will shew him away from the children. I introduce myself, my son, and our dog to him. He tells me his name but barely makes eye contact. I explain I decided to say hi since I see him so often. He nods. I ask him if he’s living on the streets. He extends his arm and says “over there,” pointing towards a neighborhood filled with $200,000-250,000 homes. He mumbles something about saving money to buy a car. I say goodbye and we continue our walk.
During our short conversation, and the rest of our time at the park, the man keeps rubbing a shaving razor against his stubble. It reminds me of my sleepy son rubbing his luvee (a miniature blanket topped with a stuffed animal’s head) against his face. He’s not really shaving, just rubbing it against his face.
As I push the stroller around the walking path, my son asks why the man was sitting at the park.
“He’s homeless.”
“Homeless? What’s that?”
“It means he doesn’t have a home.”
“Why doesn’t he have a home?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh. Okay. Can we play now?”
Before leaving, I loudly yell goodbye to the man from across the playground. I’m loud on purpose. I want other parents to hear me. It’s my way of saying, “This homeless man has a name and is not someone you should fear.” I hope other parents at the playground will see me, a white man with my All-American family dog and a pre-schooler, talking to this awkward black homeless man on the bench.
I hope my conversation with him encourages other parents to start conversations, instead of casting suspicious stares. At the very least, I hope it discourages others from reporting him to the police for loitering.
Back at the house my son says, “Daddy, tell Mommy about the man at the picnic table.”
“Who is that man, Daddy?”
“That’s _________, son.”
“You know this man?”
“Yeah, I know _________. He’s my friend. He attended our church this morning.”
“Daddy, tell Mommy about the man at the picnic table.”
“We met ____________ today at the park.”
In the New Testament, the Gospel of Luke tells a story about Zacchaeus. I can’t type his name without thinking of the children’s church song describing him as a “wee little man.” He heard Jesus was on his way and wanted to see him. But Zacchaeus was short and couldn’t see Jesus over the crowds. So he climbed a tree. When Jesus came to the tree, “he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today” ” (Luke 19:5). Verse 7 says, “All the people saw this and began to mutter, “He [Jesus] has gone to be the guest of a sinner.” He calls the notorious tax collector by name and invites himself to dinner.
I’m sure everyone in town knew Zacchaeus’s name. Many families living there had to interact with him, or one of his employees, when they paid taxes. But hated people like Zacchaeus are often called by more…colorful terms. Ask a homeless person all the hateful names thrown at them. But Jesus has no use for the mean terms and labels of this world. He simply addresses Zacchaeus by his name.
I’m also sure plenty of taller people on that day knew Zacchaeus was trying to get a peek at Jesus. How do you not notice when a notorious and hated tax cheat is standing in your presence?? But they probably did what we do with “distasteful” people in our society today, we pretend they aren’t there. If you pretend the “wee little man” isn’t standing there, you don’t have to step aside for him to see Jesus. It’s that easy. Completely ignore him.
Recently, I laid out a list of important life practices with our church family. I’ve encouraged our people to go where Jesus goes, say what Jesus would say, and do what Jesus would do. One item in the list of practices is “Teach others weekly how to be Jesus’ disciple.” A few posts ago, I mentioned I need to practice what I preach. We preachers are often bad at practicing what we preach. But you already knew that.
So I’m teaching my son what it means to be Jesus’ disciple. I do it in simple ways a 3-year-old understands. The same day we met the man at the picnic table, I told my son how Jesus gave us great weather for walking at the park. Jesus’ disciples thank him for simple blessings. We prayed together, “Thank you Jesus for the good weather.” It’s disciple-making, 10 seconds at a time.
I NEVER thought I’d be a pastor who spent much time befriending the homeless. I wasn’t against the idea. I just literally never thought about it. But there’s a lot of things I now thing about as I pastor in a diverse community.
Thankfully, my son is also learning one more way to be Jesus’ disciple…learning the names of people our society considers “the least of these.” For my sweet 3-year-old, meeting a homeless man is an exciting part of life with daddy, not something distasteful or annoying. He wants to tell Mommy who we met. He now thinks Daddy knows all the homeless men. I believe Jesus would take the time to learn their names, so I take time to learn their names. And I’m teaching my son their names.
I cannot solve Homelessness. But I can befriend the homeless in my community, as Jesus has befriended me. As Jesus speaks with his disciples in John 15:15 he says, “I have called you friends.” And what friend doesn’t know your name?
Jesus befriended me, so I befriend them. Jesus knows my name, so I learn theirs.
*Stock photo
“When first I heard His bles-sed voice,
Sin filled my heart with shame.
But now, forgiven, I rejoice–
He knows my name.
–“He Knows Me By Name” William M. Lighthall, 1908
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