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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