It was around 11 o'clock last night and me and some buddies decided to hit up the hookah bar for some gyro and celebratory caramel-apple hookah.
None of us were planning on anything more than good food, good hookah, and good catching up but God had other plans. We sit down outside and had been chatting and smoking when out of the blue we hear a harmonica. We turn around and see an elderly african-american man standing behind a table of high-schoolers a few tables down. The whole place gets quiet and this man sings and blows his harmonica. The music was almost eerie, it seemed to just put a spell of captivation and sorrow in the air, the sensation was almost tangible.
He finishes playing and everyone awkwardly claps and then continues on their conversations, he comes over to our table and stands behind us so we ask him to play another song, "this is a song about the Lord coming," he said then he blew a few notes and sang, "he's a-coming and no one can hide, the trumps will sound and he'll be back riding the cloud with the silver lining, ain't no one can hide, ain't no one can hide." He continued for a few more verses and then smiled and stood there as we clapped. "Y'all fellows can help me with my funds? Can you help with my funds?" he asked us. Instantly I was thrown back to this summer to when I was standing in the parking lot with two other of God's image-bearers who, like this man, had for various reasons been living a very long hard life on the street. I couldn't help but wonder how many others living on the streets of America there are like these three people who have come into my life.
We invited him to sit down and ordered him a burger and coke and stated talking. He told us his life story; mother, father, and brother all dead, he lives with his sister who just had a child named after him, Benjamin. He said he works at the Goalpost gas station mopping and cleaning some but hadn't slept in two days and only ate when, "God told someone to give him some food." I hated myself because they whole time he was talking I was sitting in my chair, in my comfort, looking at him and doubting his words. His fingernails were long, caked in grime and dirt, his jeans filthy and to short to keep the cold out, his shirt as a fleece jacket that was semi-clean in comparison.
I found myself questioning the validity of his seemingly crazy stories. "God told yall to buy me this food," Benjamin said, snapping me back to reality. We continued to talk and he told us he was manic-depressive and no doctor would give him medicine anymore. By now it was after midnight and time was stretching thin. A few of us had to leave and by the end of it only two of us were left sitting with this man at the hookah bar on this pre-ordained chilly October night in Auburn. "God is good, he blesses and he does, yes sir, don't you forget that he does." Benjamin said with a goofy grin on his face as he finished off the rest of his burger. When we left, we agreed to meet again same place next thursday night at nine to talk more and get in the scripture together. On my way home last night all I could think of was Benjamin's Jazz and Gospel. Did he really understand what wisdom was coming from his lips when he spoke of promises and blessings and the return of our King? Did he understand how loved he really is? Can he ever? These questions are still swirling around in my head and until we meet again next thursday I'll just have to wait and see. The definition of real blue jazz, true sorrow, and brokenness was shown not half a continent away in Peru but in Auburn, my everyday home. The need of spreading God's love is overwhelming and we must seek it out, God will put opportunities in our lives all we have to do is respond. It's not our job to convert, its sure as hell not our job to judge, all we are called to do is share the love we have found with beggars like ourselves.
