Turning Moments

I came into the office early today. There is just too much to do. In addition to the regular sermon, last of the formal church year, later in the afternoon on Sunday I’ll be one of two preachers at our local Pride kickoff worship service. So, some writing to do. In addition to which this is one heck of a busy church and there are so many balls in the air, I needed time to catch some on several separate projects. Not needed, need…

So, I’m pounding away on the computer screen when in walks someone. This is eight fifteen in the morning, so, not a time I’m used to walk in traffic – why, of course, I’m here…

I’m used to the marginal and wounded. And that was pretty obvious. I’m sad to say my first thought was how much?

We sat together.

And yes, there was an indirect ask for a small amount of money for a meal. I walked into the office so as not to pull cash out of my pocket in front of him (the sad small procedures one develops). I had twenty bucks. I returned and handed it to him.

He spun out his story. At first mostly implied. But also pretty clear. Drugs. Sex. Right at the edge life.

He was now on his way to court for his part in ripping off a store’s cash register. His only good fortune is that the amount was less than five hundred dollars. But, as he told the story, there was more than a passing chance he’d be in jail later this morning.

What was a little different than the usual touch was that he conveyed a sense of genuine remorse, the only excuse he claimed was not being able to say no to friends, and he seemed even to accept that was a sorry excuse; I felt an actual desire to deal with this and then to reform his life. Not something I’m used to in similar stories, where the smoothness of it all suggests many repetitions. This seemed different…

Assuming he’s not just real good.

He has two difficulties, at least. Drugs. He said he’d been at meetings here and when he said “upstairs” that immediately informed me which kind of twelve step meeting he was attending. But the other was being black and gay. Clearly not resolved. Clearly a wound hanging in the background.

Of course his saying he was involved in a crime because he wanted to please friends pushed my own buttons. My father did a year when he was manager of a liquor store and his friend said he only needed to borrow the money over the weekend…

But that’s how it works.

Our hurt is universal. We all share in the hurt.

We all co-conspire in the hurt.

The question is how to heal it?

We prayed together for grace, for insight, for a move to the good. And he left.

Perhaps he’s on his way to that good. There are consequences to his actions. That’s life. But maybe he’ll chose this moment to shift his trajectory…

There are epiphanies on our human way. Grace moments when we are gifted with insight into what we’re doing, into the habitual things we do.

A turning moment presents.

Who we are and the world is presented. At least some small but real corner of it.

And what one’s going to do, who knows?

But a chance has presented.

I hope he takes his.

And of course he gave me a small gift. A reminder I need to do the same thing. We all do. All the time. We are none of us very different than any other. But here with his confession, my best response is to look at my own wounds, my own repeated patterns. Reminded by this stranger off the street.

I realize to heal the hurt of the world, I need to start by looking within, looking at my own hurts, and to think about it a bit.

A turning moment presents again…

Grace.