How do You Treat the Marginalized?
The story that I’m about to share is really about providing dignity, compassion, and love to the marginalized, which, in reality, may include all of us at different moments in our life.
Yes, I know how strange it sounds but, I feel like I met Jesus recently. He was right in front of me and I chose to engage with him. You’re wrong if you think this article is about a specific form of religion, but if sharing what happened to me moves whatever faith beliefs you may have in a positive direction, I’m okay with that.
To preface what happened the other day, my response to meeting this man I felt was Jesus was guided heavily by a book I had recently read entitled “Under the Overpass” by Mike Yankoski. The book describes what the author learned by choosing to live homeless for over five months in six different large cities. One of the books takeaways provided me with new perspectives, including that the author was rarely, if ever, shown dignity by the people that would walk by him or encounter him as he attempted find food, a bathroom, a safe place to sleep, and seek ways to gain money, all while trying to discover what drove the words, actions, and character of what he referred to as his fellow children of God.
Our family was recently enjoying a weekend up in northern Michigan. Sunday morning, we attended a church that was new to us and as we entered through the front doors, we found ourselves inside a vestibule or gathering space approximately 20x30 feet which led to the worship space. Included in the vestibule, on both sides of the entrance doors, were benches in front of spacious windows. We walked through the vestibule, entered the worship space, and found a seat as we assumed everyone else would do.
The service began and right around 30 minutes in, the preacher was mid-sermon when our 8-month-old grandson began to vocalize his enthusiasm for what he was hearing. While proud that he was feeling the same way I was, listening to the inspirational message being put forth, I realized that his passionate vocal display of approval could be distracting to people surrounding us. I saw this as an opportunity to whisk him back through the worship area doors, now closed, that led to the vestibule space we had entered through so my grandson and I could discuss the positive message we were hearing.
When I opened the vestibule door, there sat a man, alone, on one of the two benches just inside the outer doors. I immediately thought of Jesus because it looked just like the images of Jesus I’ve seen throughout my life with only a few subtle differences. He sat there with the long hair and full beard similar to Jesus, but there were other things I noticed including bloodshot eyes that revealed years of alcohol and/or drug abuse. His clothes hadn’t seen a washing machine as of late, and the lines in his face and condition of his hands told a story of a hard life with hope only for the day at hand. But he chose to come to church that day, entering after everyone else, and chose to sit on the other side of the closed doors of the worship space while listening to what was going on in the worship space through vestibule speakers.
As my grandson and I entered the vestibule, this man who looked like Jesus was looking at his hands and our eyes didn’t meet right away. Remembering lessons from the book I had read, I walked right up to him, smiled, and said “Good Morning. I’m glad you’re here today.” His eyes looked up at my grandson and I, he smiled and simply said “morning.” A few minutes later, my grandson and I went back inside the worship space and returned to our seats. But something had happened that moved me like nothing else ever had and I convinced myself that I had just met Jesus.
I found myself a little frustrated that I hadn’t further engaged with this man I believed was Jesus. I removed some money from my wallet, placed it in my pocket, and right as a ritual of wishing God’s peace to each other began, I excused myself and bolted for the vestibule hoping he was still there and wondering if anyone else would be sharing the peace of Christ with him. As I entered the vestibule I saw he was still seated on the bench. His eyes met mine, recognizing me as the person that had said good morning earlier. I walked up and extended my right hand. As his hand embraced my own, I added my left hand to express sincerity and offer dignity to this child of God who looked different from the rest of us attending church that day.
After shaking hands and wishing him the peace of Christ, I asked if I could give him a gift. I reached in my pocket and shielded the money from any eyes other than his and placed it in his hand. He quietly accepted, I told him that I loved him and was grateful that he had chosen to come to church that morning.
Amazingly, the gain I received that day was massive in comparison to what I gave. Because of the experience, I am a changed and improved person. My mind keeps going back to the story in the bible when Jesus said “Whenever you do it for the least of My children, you do it for Me.” The true gift given to me by meeting Jesus that day was seeing every person I encounter through a new set of eyes. I now see every person as a child of God, that every person is loved by God, and that every person, man or women, might just be Jesus. It’s really changed the way I treat other people.
It's worth YOUR time to ponder that the next person you engage with, who may appear to be marginalized, just might be Jesus. You’ll quickly realize that regardless of the divisive minutia you’re exposed to each day, you can still treat that person with dignity, compassion, and love. It’s a great way to live a fulfilling and wonderful life. Hey…I Believe In YOU! GiddyUp!