The Man by John Monday

In the middle of a city, a homeless man lying by the street is not uncommon, but a quick glance revealed that something was unusual.  He wasn’t simply sleeping; he was unconscious. 

The man’s eyes were swollen shut; he was bleeding from the mouth and had a blood and crud encrusted gash on his filthy head.  A few feet away, just inside the shrub line, lay the tire iron that was used to create his misery.

When the ambulance arrived the man revived slightly, enough to be belligerent and abusive.  At the hospital he was instantly recognized and known simply as “The Man.”  It was a paternalistic term that the hospital staff and the residents of the local neighborhood gave him long ago. Despite the fact that he’d been begging on that street corner for years, he’d never revealed his name.  His response to each bit of change that made it into his cup was, “Don’t look at me like a beggar. I’m a man!” 

Without a name or history, the local community tentatively adopted their socially challenged, mentally ill, substance-abusing homeless man and unanimously nicknamed him “The Man.”  In fact, many social do-gooders and church types had spent considerable time and effort trying to help The Man.  All their attempts met with the same result.

No matter how many times he was bought a pair of shoes, he was always barefoot.  No matter how many times he was given work, he was always jobless.  When a home had been provided, he destroyed it and slept under the bridge.  But the most frustrating thing to his would-be saviors was his addiction.

Every penny The Man could beg, borrow, or steal went to sustain his drinking.  The group that formed to try to take care of him was astounded when, after months of pro-bono professional and non-professional help, The Man looked at them with disdain and in no uncertain terms told them, “I ain't got no problem with drinkin; I’m a man, and I can drink if I want!”  He went on to tell them “You the ones with the problem; ain’t nothin wrong with me!”

Eventually, even the most dedicated hearts moved on, and The Man was allowed to exist in his limbo at the edge of the off ramp.

But that tire iron . . . what was it about that tire iron?

Truth be known, some in the community had grown a little weary of The Man.  After all attempts to help him were unceremoniously rebuffed, his presence became a constant reminder to his “friends” of their failure – a monument to their own inability, to the fact that knowing what was best for The Man wasn’t enough . . . that they were utterly incapable of helping him . . . of changing him. 

While they would never hurt him, they became a bit more jaded, and as they did, their conversation changed.  When they spoke about The Man they would now say things like, “A leopard can’t change it’s spots,” or “If he doesn’t want help why should we waste our time?” In their darker moments they would say, “He can’t be helped,” “People like him are ruining our neighborhood,” and sometimes “If he doesn’t want to change, then somebody should make him go away!”

Soon enough, The Man did go away.  Nobody ever really knew where he went, what happened to him, or even when they stopped seeing him by the off ramp.  One day they just realized he was gone.

The police never tried to get fingerprints from the tire iron or put any real effort into finding the owner, but there was something so familiar about it.  Maybe it was because it was so common; it just kind of looked like everyone’s.

Remarkably, the community never had another homeless man.  In fact, the community never really had any significant challenges after The Man.  Life went on, children grew up and moved away, adults grew old and died comfortable and unchallenged. 

Then one day without anyone realizing when or why, the community was just gone.

32-34 “If you only love the lovable, do you expect a pat on the back? Run-of-the-mill sinners do that. If you only help those who help you, do you expect a medal? Garden-variety sinners do that. If you only give for what you hope to get out of it, do you think that’s charity? The stingiest of pawnbrokers does that.

35-36 “I tell you, love your enemies. Help and give without expecting a return. You’ll never—I promise—regret it. Live out this God-created identity the way our Father lives toward us, generously and graciously, even when we’re at our worst. Our Father is kind; you be kind.

  

 Luke 6: 32-36 The Message

John Monday