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Homeless man on a bench in the snow - Getty Images
“We ministers like to say that God is in every person,” Jim mused as we approached the cathedral-like church where he once served as the reigning cleric.
“Maybe we really mean that God can come to us through any person, even those we least expect,” he added.
“Beautiful place,” I mumbled, peering up at the ornate spires, and Jim nodded in agreement.
“If it wasn't for God, I'd still be working here,” he continued.
For most of his ministerial career Jim had embraced the “religious high life,” as he called it. His eloquence and charisma propelled him into an opulent suburban church flush with members and money. Everything in his ministerial life was copasetic, antiseptic and pleasing, until the day God showed up.
“I was in the middle of some pop psychology sermon about self-esteem when in walks this filthy, raving street person. He shrugs off a couple of ushers, staggers to the front row, looks me square in the eyes, and starts hollering about repentance and salvation," Jim explained.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just froze. Soon this guy was escorted out by the ushers but then came back in and started raving again. Finally, an off-duty cop hauled him away. Despite my professed Christian values, I found no way to acknowledge or embrace that man,” he recounted.
“What did this teach you?” I asked.
“That I had deluded myself into believing that religious ritual was more important than human need, that my fear was greater than my compassion, that my so-called faith wilted in the face of real suffering,” he replied.
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Soul Searching
Jim was spiritually stunned. After an agonizing period of soul-searching, he alarmed his flock by suggesting the church sell off much of its art, ceremonial accouterments, and real estate, move to a humble facility, and use the proceeds to help the homeless. After that fell flat, he proposed using the basement of the church as a shelter and inviting street people to church services and functions.
“Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, comfort the sick,” he kept reminding the church council. Before long, they reminded him where to find the door.
“I don't blame them,” Jim added. “It's human to want the easy side of religion, the country club atmosphere, the pomp and circumstance. But I kept seeing that man's face, and I just couldn't continue in that vein.”
Subsequently, Jim moved his ministry to an inner-city church and the surrounding streets. On those streets, he got spit on, threatened, and even kicked on occasion, but nobody chastised him for misquoting a Biblical passage or failing to use theologically correct speech.
“So, what about that raving man who changed your life?” I asked.
“At the time, I thought he was just another whacked-out doper or mental case,” he said. “Now, I'm pretty sure he was God.”
Divine Revelation
Jim always figured if he ever saw a divine vision, it would be an angel or a blinding light of unspeakable beauty, not a poor, half-crazed man crying in a wilderness of stained glass and flowing vestments.
“Most spiritual people hope for a divine revelation or vision to affirm their faith,” he told me.
“And you?” I asked.
“I received the vision I had hoped for, but it was far different than what I expected,” he replied.
Marianne Williamson said, “Each of us has a unique part to play in the healing of the world.”
As Jim discovered, one’s part can emerge in mysterious ways.
