March 31, 2008

I met him by accident, really.

I was walking with a group leaving a church youth convention. It was late, dark, and cold, so we were hurrying down the sidewalk. I was in mid-stride when suddenly this man was in front of me. More than in front of me--because of my stride, he was literally in my arms. He was inches away and my heart broke.

His Wristband Said He Was Kenneth

This man's face was grossly disfigured, his eyes protruded from their sockets, one side of his face had been eaten away by disease, and there was no top lip, which left the lower part of his mouth with its few molars gaping open. He had an eye patch and a rag hanging from his breast pocket, and his dirty brown jacket swallowed his frail and thin form.

My arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders. He looked at me, confused by the sudden embrace. I didn't have words for a moment. I asked him his name, and he began to stammer and make sounds that were vaguely comprehensible before he lifted his arm and showed me the medical band on his wrist that said, “Kenneth” in a woman's handwriting. The wristband was white with blue ink and had been laminated. It was old and worn, like the man who was wearing it.

I searched my pockets for money and was able to come up with only $1.25, which I gave to him with an apology and a prayer.

“Do you have a place to stay?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he mumbled, “thank you,” and he shambled off.

All of the people I had been walking with were gone, so I hurried across the street back to my hotel with thoughts and prayers for Kenneth. I couldn't get him off of my mind. I thought of him the next day several times and prayed for his safety and for a miracle to happen in this poor man's life.

Youth Convention Power

I was at a big youth convention with a couple of thousand teenagers milling around and probably hundreds of preachers and youth workers present as chaperons. It was a good convention, and our youth were having a great time socializing and hearing relevant and applicable messages about faith and purity. Stuff that is necessary and vital.

The following evening we convened in the convention center for our last service. The music was great; the power of God swept into the building and the response from the young people was equally powerful. One of our young men, a Bible college student in Indiana, was scheduled to minister with a group, so I made my way up to the front of the venue to take photos. I moved about freely, trying to get the best shots, when something in my peripheral vision caught my attention.

The Wrong Wristband

I looked and, much to my amazement, saw Kenneth, standing on the steps leading up to the platform. There were people manning the entrances into the “sanctuary” to make sure you paid your $5 entry or had the yellow wristband I was wearing that meant you had paid the entry fee for all three nights. But there he was. I saw one of the larger preachers of the twelve or so sitting on the platform stand. A few others stood with him and some men came from the audience area. They converged on Kenneth, and then, surprisingly, they escorted him away. I thought maybe they were taking him to the back of the venue to assess his needs and help him. We are the church, right? We are supposed to be the hand of Christ, extended in love to the hurting around us.

Another Viewpoint: What Happened With Kenneth

I am the Big Preacher, referenced here. To state the rest of the story as Paul Harvey would say just to realize the story is bigger than what He or I will be able to say alone.

It was Friday night and the service was amazing. As it has already been stated, Kenneth had made his way to the platform stairs where I met him to assess his intent. When I spoke with him I ask him what he wanted, he told me that he had been asked to testify, knowing this was not the case I told him that he had misunderstood and that it would not happen.

Kenneth then stated he wanted to leave. I was concerned that he wanted to leave and even asked him again. He then told me he wanted to leave, so I led him to the foyer, When we reached the foyer, he seemed distraught that I had led him out of the service. I then asked him again if he had not asked me to lead him to the exit. At this time he said no he had come to testify. I again communicated to him that he had been misled (giving him the benefit of the doubt).

I invited him to come back in and sit with the congregation and worship with us. He then stated he wanted to leave--he was hungry. I asked him if we could help him (as a general rule I don't give money in theses circumstances and was prepared to take him to get food near by). (As a local church we have spent hundreds of hours meeting needs just like this. We have spent countless amounts of money helping individuals like Kenneth, some we have reunited with family, some we have supplied housing for inclement weather, while others including Kenneth we have just supplied a hot meal to.)

He then stated he was on a liquid diet and could only eat or drink ensure. I did not have any cash on me so I asked the gentleman that was there beside me if he had five dollars. He only had a 10. I instructed him to share it with Kenneth and that I would see that he would get it back. I extended another invitation to Kenneth to come in and worship, but he insisted he needed to leave. I then made my way back to the platform. (I don't recall any laughter about the situation or even further discussion.)

The Youth Pastor Continues
I made my way back to the foyer area, looking for Kenneth and the preachers. “Big” preacher had already made his way back to the platform. I saw several of them on the platform laugh and shake their heads. I looked around, trying to find Kenneth. I finally did, outside. I saw him through the window, standing with two or three men. It was so cold out there. I pushed the door open and called out, “Kenneth?” His head snapped up, and he looked in my direction.

“Yes,” he said in his way, “I'm Kenneth.”

He held up his wristband, so his name was visible, proof that he existed. We both had wristbands--mine was new and yellow, with the right logo and name, inclusive. His was old and dirty, white with his name written on it; it excluded him tonight.

I stepped past the men and wrapped my arms around him again. He placed his head on my chest and wept. He wept tears of pain, frustration, sorrow and rejection. He had come in where the church had gathered. Uninvited and unwanted, past the doormen, past thousands of people praying and worshiping, to the leaders, to the platform where we had spent hours preaching about reaching out to people just like Kenneth. Yet he was turned away.

Maybe he was looking for a prayer of healing; maybe he was hoping for a few dollars for a meal (we had just taken up an offering of thousands of dollars to fix the well at the district campground, not so they could have water, but so they could have better water pressure so the kids could bathe while they were at camp hearing messages about reaching out to people like Kenneth); maybe he thought we had something powerful that could change him. Maybe we did; he'll never know.

A Bowl of Fresh Soup for Kenneth

I pulled Kenneth back by the shoulders and looked at him, “Have you eaten today, Kenneth?”

“No,” he muttered in embarrassment, “not today.”

“What can you eat?”

“Nothing solid, nothing hot,” he said looking at the ground.

“Can you eat soup?”

He nodded that he could eat soup. I told him to wait there, looked at the men standing there (the preachers, I guess), and told them to take him back inside where it was warm and walked toward the hotel. As I was walking, another homeless man walked toward me.

“Sir,” he said, “would you speak to a homeless man?”

I held one hand up; I was hurrying to get food for Kenneth. The man hung his head and began to turn away.

“Do you want some soup?” I asked.

His head lifted, and he said with a smile, “Yes, sir,” as he began following me.

I told him to wait for me as I hurried over to Bennigan's, hoping that they served soup. They did, but they were out and had to make a fresh pot, which took about twenty minutes. I had them bag it separately: A bottle of water, some crackers and a bowl of soup for Kenneth; a second bag had the same fare for the other gentleman. I hurried back out into the cold night.

As I approached, Kenneth walked toward me. He was worried that I had left him, he told me, because it had taken so long.

“They had to make the soup fresh,” I told him.

“Fresh?” he asked. “Fresh?”

He seemed amazed that the soup was fresh, which cut deep for me, because I would be so surprised if I went to a restaurant and didn't receive fresh soup.

“It's fresh?” he asked a third time and then he leaned forward and said, “You must have connections.”

“God loves you,” I said.

“I know He loves me,” he replied. “I don't know why I'm like this, I don't know why, but I know God loves me.”

We prayed again and he shambled off, with his soup.

Our Business or the Father's Business?

I looked around and couldn't find the other man. So here I was, standing with a homeless man's meal. What should I do with it, I thought. Then I knew. I went back into the venue, walked passed the same thousands of people, up to the front of the building where the evening speaker was passionately preaching about Elijah and Elisha, two Old Testament prophets known for their ministry of miraculous healings and wonderful miracles. I set the bag on the platform, right next to the pulpit, and walked away.

This soup cost so much more than the few dollars I paid for it. It cost everything. Everything we preach about and believe in was in that little bowl of soup because Kenneth should have walked away with so much more than one bowl of soup.

I went back to my seat and listened to him preach a tremendous sermon about miracles, and I felt so unsettled. There's a feeling when you know God wants to use you to speak for Him. I fought it; I didn't want to say anything, but God's Spirit moved in me. I stood and the tongues came from the bottom of my soul. The message came. I don't know who heard it or who was supposed to hear it, but here it is:

“I sent you your miracle. He stood there; his name was Kenneth; he is a terminal cancer patient. He would have received a bowl of soup and a miracle, but you missed it.”

That was it. I had to walk out; my body was literally wracked with pain. I went and lay in my room and wept for Kenneth because all he walked away with was a bowl of soup, when God wanted to do so much more--but we missed it. We were so busy doing our business that we missed the Father's business.

We preach about reaching out to the lost, but what do we do when the lost reach out to us?

ninetyandnine.com

© 2008, Armando Heredia

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Armando Heredia serves as youth pastor for Flashpoint in Granite City, Illinois.
He is an accomplished artist, web designer, writer, trainer and videographer. He has traveled extensively establishing youth, children's and media ministries.