avatarJ. Avery Stewart

Summarize

Age of Empathy

Man on the Street

The face on the street, and the one in the mirror

Photo by Jose Murillo on Unsplash

“God bless you.”

Nobody had sneezed, but the older black man in front of me had just turned and singled me out of the crowd of pedestrians waiting for the light to change. I had five blocks to go to get to my office.

“And God bless you, too,” I said, surprised but not uncomfortable even though I could smell, even feel, the wave of alcohol coming from him as he turned back around.

I knew, however, from the times I’ve spent with the guys in the Teen Challenge rehab program how much they hated the way people wouldn’t look at them when they were on the street because of their color, their raggedness, or both. Since then I’ve tried to make it a habit to at least acknowledge people with my eyes when they cross my path.

The man was standing with two other ragged-looking guys. He turned to me again as the light changed and the crowd moved across the street, the two ragged guys and my fellow pedestrians subtly leaving a bubble around me and my new friend while we got the inevitable request for money out of the way (which I declined).

He continued to walk beside me and started a rambling story about his birthday being January 1, and how nobody believes that, and how Jesus walks with him, and nobody believes that either. “Do you believe Jesus walks with me?” he asked.

“I believe Jesus lives inside us,” I replied.

“Does he live inside you?”

“Yes, he does.”

By now Jesus was the only one who could have been in spitting distance of us as we walked. I listened, interjecting comments to let him know I was listening. We got to the corner where my office was and the man asked me again if Jesus walked beside me. I told him that I believe Jesus said he would never leave us, or forsake us, and that he would be with us everywhere we go. Then I got bold.

“I believe Jesus is walking beside you,” I said. “The problem is, you’ve been taking him into places he might not want to go. What if you started to follow him for a little while instead of having him follow you?” For the first time in our conversation, he was still and quiet and looking directly into my eyes.

I put out my hand. He took it.

“I believe you when you say you were born on January 1. I believe that is a symbol from God that your life is about new beginnings, but you don’t have to wait for your birthday.”

Then, there at the corner of Washington and Marquette, I put my other hand on his shoulder and began to pray out loud, thanking God for the man’s life and for bringing us together and for the plans that God had for him. I prayed that doors would be opened for him that no man could close and that doors would close that no man could open. I said “Amen” and dropped my left hand. He stood there with a surprised look on his face.

“Thank you,” he said, softly. Then louder, “Thank you very much! God bless you!” Then he turned and walked away.

Now I harbor no illusions that that interlude might have turned that man’s life around, but I know God has done greater things. Neither do I doubt that I was supposed to meet that man that day.

It felt as if I had just done something the way my pastor would’ve done it, and then I realized that perhaps I had done it the way Jesus would have — without a thought or care for anything but for the man he had just met. And then I realized that, while I likely won’t know the impact I made on the other guy, I knew I had been shown something.

I, too, am guilty — in both thought and actions — of taking Jesus into places that perhaps he doesn’t want to go. I can even go hours without even being aware of him beside me. As the morning went on I was simultaneously buoyed by the experience and humbled that I was able to experience it. Even then I still hadn’t grasped the biggest lesson.

The experience felt great and stimulating because it was different and out of the ordinary. And it shouldn’t be that out of the ordinary at all. Jesus didn’t spend much time in churches or synagogues but was usually out walking, going from one place to another, meeting the people he was supposed to meet, and touching their lives with his presence.

The same Jesus walks with me, wanting to do the same thing if I will let him; not by preaching sermons or trying to get people to say a prayer so they can be “saved”, but simply touching their lives with a word or a look that communicates his love for them, showing “the goodness of God that leads people to repentance.”

And maybe that man that day had actually been Jesus, wanting to show me something.

Age Of Empathy
Street Life
Being Aware
This Happened To Me
Nonfiction
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