Today during my time in Boston one of my favorite homeless friends held me captive to his conversation for a long while once again. This man is a breed of his own.
Let me just describe him to you, so that in case you are to pass him on the street one day you'll know to watch out (and believe me you'll want to watch out, I'll tell you why in a minute)...
Derek is a large, tall man of Jamaican heritage. He has lightly pigmented skin, a plump belly, and a balding head with two tufts of wiry greyish curls on either side of it. If you're brave enough to make eye contact with him, you'll meet two big friendly brown eyes peering out from heavy eyelids. If you catch him with his mouth open you'll spot about three teeth, one of which protrudes from the very front of his upper gum, causing him to stumble over it as he speaks, thus spraying you with a few gratuitous specks of saliva while the rest dribbles down to his whiskered chin. You'll find him wearing a green coat (well, originally green), complete with greasy splotches of who-knows-what and giant stuffed pockets for who knows what else, and always unzipped to reveal several layers of old sweaters- some of them inside out and backwards- beneath. On his feet you'll notice oversized rubber boots- unlaced of course, only to make them appear bigger. If his hands are exposed you'll have a hard time ignoring the long, brittle finger and thumbnails that most likely haven't been purposefully clipped within the past decade. You'll see him dragging along an old backpack (although he never wears it as such), that remains open, with crinkled papers and used coffee cups and bagels-wrapped-in-napkins spilling out from inside of it. His most distinguishable accessory, however, is a pair of outdated headphones, plugged into some kind of bulky walkman device and perpetually adhered to his ancient ears (he'll usually remove one ear to talk to you, or occasionally let them hang around his neck, still emitting a quiet buzz).
Yet contrary to what you might think based on his quasi-grotesque appearance, he does not possess a grotesque attitude. Nor does he have a potential for violence or crime or intoxicated frenzy like some of his street mates. Believe it or not, this man is a preacher. He speaks the Word of God day in and day out to anyone who engages him in conversation. The headphones that are always on his ears are playing sermons and bible readings, and the notebook in his backpack is a journal of his thoughts on life in Christ.
If it turns out there are in fact modern day prophets, I would bet my comfy life that Derek is one of them. Every Saturday I get my dose of uninterrupted words of encouragement, scripture, prayer, challenge, exhortation, and reassurance.
But don't let me go without saying, these are not always easy to listen to. When I say uninterrupted, I should say ceaseless. I don't think Derek has the same perception of time that I do. When he engages one or a group of us at our normal gathering spot by the commons, rarely does one escape in under 20 minutes.
In order to pull a getaway, you literally have to interject during one of the brief pauses between discourses to tell him frankly that you have somewhere to go. I've tried pulling this move on more than one occasion, and it usually just leads to me pretending I'm attending to something else, such as the hot water dispenser- hoping that he'll move on to the next victim, but only to be approached again once he realizes I'm not really occupied.
And it's not that he doesn't leave room for you to talk. He'll frequently hand the mic to you after posing questions that are seemingly impossible to answer such as, "wud you tink it means to walk by faith?", or "you know what issays in da bible about heaven?", or more personal questions like "You been wakin' up in da mornin' excited about Jesus?" It's quite a challenge to take over the conversation with these. Inevitably your only option is to nod often and avoid looking disinterested in the anecdotes and biblical words of wisdom flowing continuously from his intensely expressive face, which alternates between grave concern and beaming joy.
So why is it that I try to avoid Derek?
...because he tells me things I don't think I need to hear. He tells me things we Christians claim we already know:
we must walk by faith, we must not worry, we must not conform to this world, we must read the bible, we must pray for our brothers and sisters, we must persist under suffering, we must not care how much or how little we have, and we must rejoice.
But for some reason, the more I allow myself to actually listen to him- the more I let go of the fact that he's not so easy to look at and that my feet are cold from standing in the same spot and that I want to go see what other people are doing- the more I realize how much I do need to hear it.
The more I look at Derek's face, ridden with age and dirt and wrinkles and spots, the more I begin to see the face of Christ, staring intently right at me from behind those friendly brown eyes. I see the Christ that pursues us even while we walk off and busy ourselves with other things that we pretend are important (like the water dispenser). The Christ that is calling his Church into account. Reminding us that we're not walking the talk.
Calling us to wake up. to abide, and to rejoice in the Kingdom that's already come.
Let me just describe him to you, so that in case you are to pass him on the street one day you'll know to watch out (and believe me you'll want to watch out, I'll tell you why in a minute)...
Derek is a large, tall man of Jamaican heritage. He has lightly pigmented skin, a plump belly, and a balding head with two tufts of wiry greyish curls on either side of it. If you're brave enough to make eye contact with him, you'll meet two big friendly brown eyes peering out from heavy eyelids. If you catch him with his mouth open you'll spot about three teeth, one of which protrudes from the very front of his upper gum, causing him to stumble over it as he speaks, thus spraying you with a few gratuitous specks of saliva while the rest dribbles down to his whiskered chin. You'll find him wearing a green coat (well, originally green), complete with greasy splotches of who-knows-what and giant stuffed pockets for who knows what else, and always unzipped to reveal several layers of old sweaters- some of them inside out and backwards- beneath. On his feet you'll notice oversized rubber boots- unlaced of course, only to make them appear bigger. If his hands are exposed you'll have a hard time ignoring the long, brittle finger and thumbnails that most likely haven't been purposefully clipped within the past decade. You'll see him dragging along an old backpack (although he never wears it as such), that remains open, with crinkled papers and used coffee cups and bagels-wrapped-in-napkins spilling out from inside of it. His most distinguishable accessory, however, is a pair of outdated headphones, plugged into some kind of bulky walkman device and perpetually adhered to his ancient ears (he'll usually remove one ear to talk to you, or occasionally let them hang around his neck, still emitting a quiet buzz).
Yet contrary to what you might think based on his quasi-grotesque appearance, he does not possess a grotesque attitude. Nor does he have a potential for violence or crime or intoxicated frenzy like some of his street mates. Believe it or not, this man is a preacher. He speaks the Word of God day in and day out to anyone who engages him in conversation. The headphones that are always on his ears are playing sermons and bible readings, and the notebook in his backpack is a journal of his thoughts on life in Christ.
If it turns out there are in fact modern day prophets, I would bet my comfy life that Derek is one of them. Every Saturday I get my dose of uninterrupted words of encouragement, scripture, prayer, challenge, exhortation, and reassurance.
But don't let me go without saying, these are not always easy to listen to. When I say uninterrupted, I should say ceaseless. I don't think Derek has the same perception of time that I do. When he engages one or a group of us at our normal gathering spot by the commons, rarely does one escape in under 20 minutes.
In order to pull a getaway, you literally have to interject during one of the brief pauses between discourses to tell him frankly that you have somewhere to go. I've tried pulling this move on more than one occasion, and it usually just leads to me pretending I'm attending to something else, such as the hot water dispenser- hoping that he'll move on to the next victim, but only to be approached again once he realizes I'm not really occupied.
And it's not that he doesn't leave room for you to talk. He'll frequently hand the mic to you after posing questions that are seemingly impossible to answer such as, "wud you tink it means to walk by faith?", or "you know what issays in da bible about heaven?", or more personal questions like "You been wakin' up in da mornin' excited about Jesus?" It's quite a challenge to take over the conversation with these. Inevitably your only option is to nod often and avoid looking disinterested in the anecdotes and biblical words of wisdom flowing continuously from his intensely expressive face, which alternates between grave concern and beaming joy.
So why is it that I try to avoid Derek?
...because he tells me things I don't think I need to hear. He tells me things we Christians claim we already know:
we must walk by faith, we must not worry, we must not conform to this world, we must read the bible, we must pray for our brothers and sisters, we must persist under suffering, we must not care how much or how little we have, and we must rejoice.
But for some reason, the more I allow myself to actually listen to him- the more I let go of the fact that he's not so easy to look at and that my feet are cold from standing in the same spot and that I want to go see what other people are doing- the more I realize how much I do need to hear it.
The more I look at Derek's face, ridden with age and dirt and wrinkles and spots, the more I begin to see the face of Christ, staring intently right at me from behind those friendly brown eyes. I see the Christ that pursues us even while we walk off and busy ourselves with other things that we pretend are important (like the water dispenser). The Christ that is calling his Church into account. Reminding us that we're not walking the talk.
Calling us to wake up. to abide, and to rejoice in the Kingdom that's already come.
nina, girl, this is amazing and so true. you are just saying what so many of us don't want to admit.....wow. thanks.
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