Wednesday, 22 January 2014

53. The Case for Grace



I sit beside him in court.  He smells.  Actually, he smells so bad that when we drove here I had the windows open, and now I sit more than a few feet away from him.  He is agitated, waiting for his case to be called.  He is on trial for shoplifting a few burgers and chocolate bars.  It is a question which is crazier – he or a system that would charge him for shop lifting when he is hungry.

As time passes, and as other cases are called his complaints about waiting increase from mutters to whispered groans of profanity.  Then he begins talking the nonsense that is constantly going on in his head. 

It is a vile tirade of profanity and violence.  He talks about beating some woman and putting a bullet in her head.  He does this all the time.  He was doing this as we walked to court.  He was far enough in front of me that he thought I might not be able to hear.  When I draw closer to him, he grows quiet, but the conversation continues inside of his mind.  If he thinks I am not paying attention or cannot hear him, he will start this talk, and then start yelling.

As we wait in court, he begins to mutter the same imaginings of violence, of teaching her a lesson.  As his impatience grows so does his volume.  The sheriff looks over at us, he grows quiet again, only to return to the same babble as he forgets that he has been warned.  As each case is called he stops muttering to pay attention and then when it is not his name being called he gets upset complaining that this is bullshit and will he have to wait all day, and then goes back to the chatter of violence.

I work with this man weekly. 

I have seen him frighten people by how he acts – he will walk intensely with a scowl on his face and yell.  I have seen him try to push a biker over as the biker rode by – thank God for Yuppies on Harleys or this guy would have had a world of hurt to deal with.  I have seen him yell at people looking at him on the street.  I have heard him as I stand outside his apartment door.  It has gotten him evicted twice. 

Three months before I wrote this he was stabbed, three times.  The one stab wound cut open an artery in his arm. 

Let’s talk about free will. Let me ask you – did you choose to not be like him?  Cause I don’t think he choose to like that.

'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'

The gospel challenges me to see the beauty and dignity in all, to see the Christ within you.  With this man it has been a challenge.  But me, and my co-worker, are beginning to see it.

He and I were sitting in court waiting for the doors to open.  He made a comment about the two women sitting close to us being pretty.  Then he muttered “be cute”, and started his best to look innocent and smile.

This is court.  The mating dance here for men is to look tough, violent – the kind of guy that no one would fuck with at all.  His approach – to be sweet and cute – speaks to the tenderness that lies within. 

As he comes to know us, myself and the other man that work with him, he begins to talk more.  I know he had a woman he cared for at one time.  I know he misses his dad who lives in another city, and he misses his brother.  He loves his mother and does not know what he would do if she were not in his life. She has kept him from being homeless.

for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,

The gospel also challenges me to understand that all have fallen short.  It challenges me to recognize in me, the same aspects in the most vile of people.  It takes the argument of “I am better than...” out at the knees.  And maybe it is self-delusion when I understand that in the right circumstances I could be as vile as Hitler or Pol Pot.  It also sounds gritty and honest – “Ya, if the setting was right I could be as nasty as anyone else.”  But then I have a moment...

It has been a hard day, and I have dealt with Hell Girl again.  As I drive home I think of what it would be like to give her a piece of my mind.  I find myself imagining the conversation, getting worked up, and vocal.  Then realize how fortunate I am that the windows are closed, the other drivers are paying attention to the traffic and that there is no one in the car with me.

My friend reminds me that we are all somehow lost, I don’t think many of us have really chosen the path we are on, and that we are all in need of grace.

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