I remember how scared I was the first time I shook the hand of a “homeless” person. 

It was 12 years ago.  Potluck Sunday at the Hollywood Church of Christ (the church who sent our families out as domestic missionaries).  The preacher at that time, Daniel Rodriguez, had asked us all to invite a friend to the potluck.  Using Jesus’ parable of the Great Banquet in Luke 15, Dan encouraged the church folks to invite people who don’t normally get invited to church parties.  For example, in Jesus’ parable the Master who is preparing a feast tells his servant to “Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.”  Later in the story the servant is even told to “make them come in.”    

So my newly wed wife said to me, “Phil, there’s some guys who look like they live on the streets hanging outside Radio Shack around the corner.  Let’s invite them to the potluck!” 

Nervous, I agreed, and we walked from the church building to go introduce ourselves to three men sitting on the curb.  One was flat on his back, passed out.  One I remember had a very swollen nose.  The other was old and feeble looking and went by the name Hollywood Al.  Hollywood Al and I shook hands – my first time touching someone I had labeled as “homeless”, and therefore feared.  God must have wanted me to overcome all my shock at once.  When I retrieved my hand it was covered in Al’s blood. 

Meredith and I took the three men into the church building and helped them get First Aid and clean up.   I scrubbed my hands.  A lady got really nervous at their presence and wrinkled her nose at the aroma they had brought into the church kitchen.  Boy she watched them like a hawk as they filled their plates with food.  It didn’t help that the passed out guy was now wide awake, incredibly drunk, and began singing his own rendition of the Star Bangled Banner at the top of his lungs.  (“Oh-oh say-ay-ay-ay, can you see-ee-ee-ee-ee, BYYYYYYYYYYYY the dawn’s early liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight….”)  I thought the lady was going to blow a gasket. 

That day was a beautiful day.  Friendships were formed.  News spread and more men from the streets came to church gatherings in the weeks and years to come.  One man named Kenneth became a brother in Christ and a dear friend, and was baptized there.  Another guy named Thomas liked to sit on the front steps and tell everyone how great the church is for loving people like him.  Today we are still friends with some of these guys. 

My whole perspective was altered from that one handshake and meal.  Something (or someone) that I had previously feared and averted my eyes from became a real person to me, someone I could learn from.  A human worthy of friendship not just my pity or my handouts.  I was forever changed. 

And it began with responding (or rather my wife responding) to a prompting from the Lord.  My wife simply took the Word of God seriously, and together we obeyed.  Fearfully, but we obeyed.  We loved.  My life hasn’t always been this way since.  But that’s what I keep getting called back to, and that’s what I want the rest of my life to be like.

Categories: stories
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