There have been a couple of times in my life where I have been embarrassed to be a Christian. Not really for any specific reason, but just because. People find out that I love God, and they give me a look like they don’t trust me anymore. Or they find out that I am a Christian, and all of a sudden they start acting differently around me, as if I now just started judging them. I don’t really advertise my Christianity. If this were another country, say China, this would be a smart move. But this is America, and I am supposed to wear my cross on my sleeve.
Last night Tim and I got to spend an evening with Jordan before he heads East. It was probably the last night that the three of us will get to have like that for a while. It was special for a number of reasons. Tim made yet another dent in his 100 beers of Barney’s tour card. We discussed our group of friends, The Fellowship, and tried to determine who was who in comparison to The Fellowship. I think we concluded that Jordan and I were Merry and Pippin, and master Haydock was Gandalf the Grey. Wise, but not yet in his prime. We are nerds. This is true.
But what was really special is that the three of us were provided an opportunity to live out the very thing that we think about, preach about, and believe. It came in the form of Homeless Mike. His name is just Mike, but we called him Homeless Mike because he is homeless. Mike came up to us (which wasn’t difficult as we were sitting at a table on the sidewalk of Colorado Blvd.) and he asked us for some change. We told him what we told the other homeless guy with nice highlights in his hair: we honestly don’t have anything, just credit cards. Mike asked us for a sip of beer. We invited him to sit down so we could buy him his own. He put the kickstand down on his bike, pulled out a chair and became our friend.
Mike is a great guy. Lots of stories. Mostly about basketball, the colleges that he played for, and the drugs that cost him a professional career. He is a tall man, layered in jackets, with soft eyes and a quiet disposition. We bought Mike a beer. Some imported beer from, I don’t know, Hungary. Jordan liked it, so Mike figured he would too.
I’m not going to lie. I was a bit conflicted. There was a side of me that felt like maybe we were facilitating his life. Maybe Mike is an alcoholic and was dying for a fix. Then again, I couldn’t justify sitting there with my friends, drinking, not one beer, but a few, and then telling Mike that we didn’t feel right about buying him a beer of his own. Sorry Mike, it just doesn’t gel with my beliefs. Waitress, I’ll have another please.
We didn’t just buy Mike a beer. We bought him two. But we also bought him a cheeseburger, cooked well done, with some freedom fries. Jordan also walked up the street and bought Mike a pack of Newports, his brand of cigarettes. Mike sat with us for about an hour and half. He sat there, looking up at the pedestrians with his soft eyes, as they looked at him with question marks above their heads. I could tell their glances made Mike feel uncomfortable. But it was ok. Mike is our friend. The question marks can take it up with us.
It was awkward at times. Silence would come over the group and Mike would take another big bite of his cheeseburger. But a couple of times Mike broke the silence, muttering under his breath, “This is cool. I’m having a lot of fun.” It filled my heart and broke it at the exact same time. Filled it, because I felt I was doing something good. Broke it, because I wondered how long it had been that Mike sat down and had a beer with people who weren’t homeless, and talked to them about the NFC Playoffs.
After Mike finished his burger, he sat back in his chair. He didn’t say a whole lot after that. Mostly he just sat there and listened to us talk to each other. He smiled. Twice he laughed at Jordan, which made me smile. But after a while he opened his cigarettes, put one in his mouth and stood up. He shook each of our hands, thanked us, and asked that God would bless us. He picked up the extra napkins from the table and stuck them in his back pocket, in case he had to go to the bathroom he said. He got his bike, and started walking down Colorado Boulevard towards a park bench, or a warm place to sleep.
The three of us sat there in silence for a minute or two. People walked passed. Dozens of conversations bleeding together into a single noise. I looked at Jordan. He was smiling. I looked at Tim. He was smiling. I smiled.
We did a good thing. I was proud to know Jesus. And the people with question marks over their heads can come take it up with us.
Timmy
Jordie
Robito
Merry, Pip, and Gandalf
