There is a person in there

There’s A Person In There

Given the chaos of the previous five minutes and that which followed, this moment was oddly still, calm and peaceful. A quiet spot amidst a raging storm. 

I had met her once before, walking Colfax, inviting people to a community meal. She was at a bus stop, leaning against a sign. I said hello and could see she was not in a sane place. I couldn’t tell if she was high or simply mentally ill; at times, hard to tell apart. Everything about her seemed chaotic.  

I invited her to the meal, but was clearly not connecting. She leaned precariously out onto Colfax; I gently guided her back to the sidewalk. I have done that often, trying to keep people from getting killed on Colfax. 

I prayed with her, then moved on.

Today, she shows up during church, Matt well into his sermon. I go over and welcome her, recognizing her. I ask if she wants food, but she is interested in church. Bags and a newspaper in her hands, also clutching a small, battered Bible. As before, she seems chaotic, out of control.

I help her to a back row seat, aware, as always, how disruptive this is to others.  She promptly stands back up talking loudly about the “Bible Study,” and asks if we have a Bible for her. Matt welcomes her, points her to Bibles in the back and she grabs two. Now she wades through people to the front, turning in circles, talking out loud. 

Matt is kind with her, but she is in a whirl, spinning chaos out into the room. I finally go to the front, put an arm around her and ask if we can talk outside.

Her chaos creates chaos in the room. People get up, go to the bathroom, get coffee, move around aimlessly. For our friends, church on Sunday provides a sane, somewhat orderly space. Her restlessness triggers their restlessness, nearly destroying the service. 

Finally, I get her to the back of the room. Still wild, but gathering her stuff, we step outside. Out here, she is constantly moving, fidgeting, talking in indecipherable phrases, even a bit of Jesus talk. Try as I might, we don’t connect.

Then, it happened. I asked her to look me in the eyes. She did, and the world suddenly stood still. Her eyes were clear, round, wide and blue. A beautiful pond at its stillest. Limpid, I think, is the right word. Eyes clear, translucent, so I could see her very soul. 

“There’s a person in there,” flashed through my mind. A convicting thought. I knew a real person was in there, knew it in her and in all our friends. Our ministry is built on that belief. But in the moment, trying to let Matt get back to his sermon, the worshipers back to their worship, that thought wasn’t high on my mind. Then, eye contact, and the thought rushes back in. “There’s a person in there.”

She was now completely still, simply looking into my eyes. Time seemed to stand still. Another odd thing happened. Even as I saw her deepest self, I also saw—or perhaps felt—the painful path of her life. I saw her as a baby—beautiful and blue-eyed no doubt; could see an unhealthy home, the neglect and the abuse that came with it, some of it no doubt sexual. I saw her first experiments with alcohol or drugs, used to numb the pain of her life, saw the descent into addiction. More came—mental health diagnoses, medications, hospitalization, frustrating years where nothing worked, at least not permanently. Then, her descent into her current chaos. 

More, though, I saw this: There was still a person in there. Call it what you will—the real self, the soul, the “I” inside—I saw HER, and was shocked by her beauty. 

I am not sure how long it lasted.  Probably not that long. Yet the moment was intimate, almost eternal. I prayed with her, continuing to look into her eyes while praying. The moment passed and agitation returned. Gathering her belongings, she asked if I wanted the paper. When I said no, she insisted on me taking a section, leaving me to wonder how the newspaper (I think the New York Times) played in all of this. Off she went, leaving me, newspaper section in hand, praying for her, moved, even rattled, by the encounter. 

Chaos marks this world. In our friends, it permeates relationships, mental health, physical possessions, living spaces. Colfax itself is chaotic—boarded up buildings, filth everywhere, people stumbling about, the constant wail of sirens, periodic gunshots. On this day, standing on Colfax, she embodies that chaos. 

Yet, let me say it again. There’s a person in there. Today, I connect with HER at her deepest level; for a few blessed moments, chaos flees. Those moments define our ministry. When we connect here, showing our love and Jesus’ love, our friends can find their own center, the place where—secure in being loved—they can make choices to move forward. 

Several weeks have passed, and I find myself returning to the encounter, turning it over in my mind and heart, praying for her. Her life is hard and her road to sanity is long. I pray she finds it. We stand ready to help.

Thinking back, I was nagged by the sense that there was something I missed, some lesson on top of ones already learned. Then, it came to me. More than the moment being intimate and eternal, it was holy, deeply so, dripping, even aflame with the presence of Jesus, with the bright holiness of the Father. For me, one of the holiest moments of my life, filling me with worship for a God who would create us such and love us so.

CS Lewis, in “The Weight of Glory,” said something like this: If we could only see people the way God created them, the way they were meant to be, the way they will be in glory, we would be completely overwhelmed by the sight of glory in them, falling on our knees in awe of them and in worship of God. It is the weight of glory placed in all humans. The sight of that is wondrous

Such was this moment for me. 

PS: We have had a beautiful holiday season with our friends, celebrating both Thanksgiving and Christmas. We are grateful for that. As the year winds down, we again thank you for your support of JOC. If you would like to make a year-end gift, simply follow the Donate Tab.