Concerning the Week of October 22nd

Randy Riggs is out of St. John’s hospital. Apparently they kicked him out. I haven’t bothered to free the details of the incident from Randy except to say that they told him not to come back.

He came walking up to the Refuge Thursday. When I noticed him sitting on the dock I ran over to see how he was and catch up on his hospital stay. In speaking to him, he seemed as lucid as I’d ever known him to be.

Randy usually takes a few seconds to assemble and complete the sentences that he starts. The deeper into the alcohol he is, the more pronounced the delay seems to become. When I spoke to him Thursday he bore almost no noticeable pause in his speech whatsoever and for once I thought it possible that he was entirely sober.

Knowing that he had only shortly hit the ground from detox, I pressed him to find out what his plan would be in relation to getting ‘back on his feet.’ He told me that first he needed to get new identification. Someone had walked off with a pair of pants containing his state ID and Social Security card some weeks earlier. In order to get above-board, legal work and to take advantage of the works programs in the area, he would need these two pieces, at least. I was happy to hear he had a plan of action.

While we were catching up he mentioned that he hadn’t slept in about two days and when I looked at him, it was evident that he was on the verge of passing out. Noting to myself that it was one in the afternoon, and that just behind me, within the Refuge, lie nineteen or-so empty beds, I offered him mine saying, “If you need a nap you can crash on my bed for a while and I’ll make sure to kick you out with a few hours of daylight left so you can figure out where you’re going to stay overnight.”

He agreed happily and I walked him back to my mattress, where he appeared to immediately zonk out. Then I walked over to one of the shelter officials, Paula, to let her know that I was letting Randy take a nap; in case anyone asked what he was doing sleeping here. (He was kicked out of the joint just two weeks earlier, after all – and some may seek to create turmoil where there is none, taking new offense at his mere presence.)

Paula immediately came at me with chastisements, first saying “I wish you wouldn’t have done that. You need to ask one of us before you let someone use your bed.”

“You know, he did a lot to make people angry around here. Is he drunk?”

I told her that as far as I knew he had just been released from detox at the Hawthorne center and that he seemed about as sober as I’d ever seen him. Then she said something that really tried my patience.

“Well, as full as we are here lately, I wouldn’t be risking my own bed for a guy like Randy Riggs.”

To begin with, that statement is a thinly veiled threat upon my residency at the Refuge. Inasmuch it is also an antagonism intended to lure me into some heated verbal dispute. Further it is as an insult upon a good friend of mine and just the kind of ungodly judgment we are all called to refrain from all throughout the Bible and the teaching’s of Christ; lest we ourselves should at any time risk coming under the same judgment, finding the Almighty for a magistrate.

Most offensive is the lack of charity, compassion, and love in Paula’s response: It was neither a godly, nor a Christian way to behave.

I think when Paula finds herself left in charge she fears, consciously or otherwise, that she might be found lacking or in error by the other ‘administrators’ at the Refuge; perhaps even by the pastor. Therein Paula has a tendency to be overly forceful in upholding the house rules, which are typically left slack by the other head-residents unless a situation of clear abuse transpires. Should any moment arise in which Paula has to make a call herself she will uphold the status quo of the day, even when that status quo stands in opposition to the godly, the Christian, or even the shelter doctrine.

I don’t believe I apologized to her for bringing Randy in, but I simply endured the negativity of her discourse and finished by reiterating my message of ‘Here he is; this is why; and I’m responsible.’

I went back to my bed where Randy was hovering between consciousness and slumber, and I quietly started putting together my backpack for a trip down to the Discount Liquor store to buy some more tobacco. Randy popped an eye open and we started chatting.

He had overheard some of what Paula and I had exchanged, and he didn’t want to get me in trouble. He moved to get up but I bid him to stay telling him, ‘Don’t worry about it: You need to get some sleep and I have an empty bed. It would be altogether unchristian of me to deny a man something he had need of, when I hold the same in plenty. And if anyone here wants to judge me by that, I will receive their judgment happily.’

Quickly our conversation turned to the true nature of God; That God is love. And that our God’s love is made manifest in charity, compassion, forgiveness, and long-suffering. We talked about the Christ-obsession; the notion that tends to run rampant through the Christian church: that acceptance of Christ as personal savior is the end-all, be-all of godliness; and the lackings of such a philosophy in its ignorance toward the doing of the word and even the teachings of Jesus himself.

In the end we were talking about the call to bottomless charity, endless forgiveness, and unflappable love when Paula came walking up in a fluster.

“I’m sorry Randy, but you just have to leave.”

Paula went on for a moment self-justifying and self-excusing as we sat in silence at the end of my bed. Eventually she turned and walked away; with Randy and I following shortly thereafter in her wake. We left the building in awe and laughter, musing over the timing and synchronicity of the thing: Paula appearing to kick Randy out of a Christian shelter just as our conversation had peaked upon the ideals of godliness in charity and love.

The confrontation was enough to snap Randy back to a fully waking state, if only temporarily. We walked off into the sunset in pursuit of tobacco and a bed. I put Randy Riggs back on Tony’s sofa for the night; resolving to return the next day and accompany him on his quest for a new ID.

-

There is an Indian missionary (dots not feathers) who’s been coming around the Refuge sporadically for the last few weeks. He is in his sixties and says he’s been doing missionary work in India and elsewhere most of his life.

Whenever I have seen or spoken to him, he has handed me a new pamphlet or article he’s authored. The first one I saw was on the topic of putting away riches and rewards in heaven.

It is a biblical concept passed down from Paul, I believe, and based upon the words of Jesus, that the good works we do in this life - in ministry, charity, and the reaping of men’s souls - shall be rewarded in heaven. That by doing the work of the Lord on Earth we are amassing a great wealth of spiritual riches which shall lie in store until our arrival at the pearly gates.

The Indian preacher repeats this basic premise throughout the document, both adding to and diminishing it as it suits his overall concept. I took a liking to the preacher when I first spoke to him: The mystery and allure of the overseas missionary and a life spent traveling the globe in service to God was, in and of itself, endearing. So when I read his musings I gave the text my unwavering attention and unblemished hope of good things.

What I found in his pages was disappointing. It focused so heavily on the idea of “running the race” (another of Paul’s writings telling us to work zealously and feverishly for God as if it were a competition that only one could win) and rooted itself so firmly in the philosophies of a reward-based faith that all I could do was smile at its author politely.

Where “running the race” tells us to be zealous in our godly works I am in agreement. But where it may imply that the spreading of God’s message and His will is, or should be, regarded as a competitive event, I am offended. And though there be many passages in the bible which reinforce the notion of a reward-based faith, I do not find it a good teaching.

Instead I find our true reward is first the fruit of our lives lived in the purity and the truth of God. I place this first because it is a much overlooked facet of the life of faith. So much time is spent, in Christianity, teaching to obey God out of fear and reverence; yet nary have I heard a sermon mention the earthly blessings of residing in the Lord; at least none that didn’t suggest God was going to buy you a new pickup truck.

Often we are taught to prepare ourselves for the tribulations that will befall God’s servants on Earth but few have stood to remind us that the pains, trials, and deprivations which the forces of man may lay upon us are but a nuisance when we suffer them for, and from within, the spirit of God.

It is the life of service itself which conceals the lesser, often overlooked, portion of our reward. Following the philosophies, edicts, and commands lain out by Jesus and those of the living God reveals to each who discovers them a life that is truly worth living; where love abounds and worry is no more; where hope, faith, and conviction are multiplied and doubt is lain to rest; where the purity of unbridled freedom flies so that no cage is able to contain it; and where the powers and principalities of the world cannot tread nor bid to loose us of our love.

I am certain that the agony the disciples and apostles suffered when they were tortured, crucified, burned alive, and fed to lions, was a joyous holiday when compared to the endless banality and recurring torment of a life lived complete in ignorance or denial of God’s love.

Herein the first reward of the disciple is in the beauty added to him and to his earthly days in obedience to those perfect teachings of the Father. Yes, greater rewards await beyond the confines of the flesh: Everlasting life; spiritual form; true congress with the Father… But in all honesty, I am content if even only this first reward were true. So much greater is the life I know now than any of my other worldly pursuits - so much the more fulfilling and meaningful than any other person I have been or any other path that I have walked - that I am satisfied to follow God thusly until my last day, receiving none other reward but this I know on Earth; thereafter sleeping forevermore.

So it offends me when this Indian preacher attempts to move people to godly works and charity by motivation of some heavenly capitalism; by the principle that the harder and longer you work for God, the more you get in the end.

After reading it I recall remarking to someone at the Refuge that if there is any such form of capitalism in heaven you can cast me into the lake of fire right now. I wish no part in a heaven that contains the same melodrama of one-ups-man-ship I suffer about me today. I expect and demand more than that of the afterlife. I demand an afterlife that espouses a greater morality than the ‘every man for himself’ ethos of personal gain.

My thoughts turn to this parable, spoken by Jesus:

“For the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is an householder, which went out early in the morning to hire labourers into his vineyard. And when he had agreed with the labourers for a penny a day, he sent them into his vineyard. And he went out about the third hour, and saw others standing idle in the marketplace, And said unto them; Go ye also into the vineyard, and whatsoever is right I will give you. And they went their way. Again he went out about the sixth and ninth hour, and did likewise.

And about the eleventh hour he went out, and found others standing idle, and saith unto them, Why stand ye here all the day idle? They say unto him, Because no man hath hired us. He saith unto them, Go ye also into the vineyard; and whatsoever is right, that shall ye receive.

So when even was come, the lord of the vineyard saith unto his steward, Call the labourers, and give them their hire, beginning from the last unto the first. And when they came that were hired about the eleventh hour, they received every man a penny. But when the first came, they supposed that they should have received more; and they likewise received every man a penny. And when they had received it, they murmured against the goodman of the house, saying, these last have wrought but one hour, and thou hast made them equal unto us, which have borne the burden and heat of the day.

But he answered one of them, and said, Friend, I do thee no wrong: didst not thou agree with me for a penny? Take that thine is, and go thy way: I will give unto this last, even as unto thee. Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, because I am good?

So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many be called, but few chosen.” (Mat. 20:1-16)

Later that day the Indian preacher discovered that I am a computer repair technician by trade, and that I know how to program web pages. He has a site up at the web address http://www.wealthyever.com/ and he needs someone to register it with the various search engines.

The website is an even worse version of the sheet I read. In fairness, the man is just looking to generate donations for Christian oriented programs which would benefit the poor and starving in the east. Nonetheless I have never been one to condone or believe in justifying the means by the ends. And when it comes to God, I abhor any who will stoop to ‘market’ His message. Even moreso do I lament those who would manipulate the message toward their own purpose.

So I was uncertain as to whether I should help this missionary register his website. On one hand I am taught of Jesus that those who aren’t against us are with us; and surely this man is ‘with us’ at least insomuch as he exalts the name of Jesus and calls others to charity and fellowship with the poor and in-need. On the other hand I am taught in the second epistle of John that our allies are proven in the doctrine of Christ and that to assist him who is found false in the doctrine is to partake of his “evil deeds.” By measure of the doctrine I find this man waning.

I told him that I would look at it again when next I got my laptop online, making no explicit promise to assist him, neither ruling it out.

The next time I saw him he handed me another of his writings; this one entitled “God or Gun?” Within the three page document I was informed that abortion is wrong because it is murder, but it’s okay to go to war and kill full grown human beings – that is, if your government is endorsed by God. I was also told that the Lord generally prefers conservative politicians and that the Indian preacher himself is responsible for getting George W. Bush elected in America.

He wrote that in the 2000 election, he asked God who was going to win the American presidency. God told him Al Gore would be the victor. But knowing that “God prefers conservatives” he prayed that the voters would be confused and would accidentally vote for Bush instead. His prayers were answered in Florida. Seven years and over one million deaths later, God’s will be done?

So between claiming responsibility for placing a murderous administration into power, and outright contradicting the doctrines of Jesus by suggesting that it is okay to kill your brother under the right circumstances… It is with great regret that I must inform you I will not be assisting the Indian missionary in his online pursuits at this time. May the Lord bless and keep him.

-

Since I first decided to hit the road, I’ve been reading through the New Testament. In truth I was drawn first to the gospels and the life of Christ. Once I read, in full, the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, I was washed in the beauty of Christ’s teachings and necessarily craved more.

So I continued reading through the letters and epistles of the New Testament. As I write this I can now say that my eyes have touched every word of this latter doctrine, even unto the last marking in the book of Revelation.

But when my readings reached Galatians I started taking notes. I have a pocket sized notebook wherein, when I find a passage that resonates a special truth, I will make a quick summation of its meaning to me, notating the chapter and verse where it can be found. Between Galatians and Jude I have filled three pages with these markers; often writing in a size font-two hand.

Placing the gospels aside, as I hold them in a greater reverence than any other text within the Bible, I have found the general epistle of James to be my favorite. His words are straight and direct, speaking truth after truth with little ceremony or bluster between.

If any read these pages, finding interest in the message of Christ, yet are daunted by the length, parable nature, or sheer gravity of the gospels, I tender you the book of James. In just five chapters and three pages much of the heart of the message is stated.

Of these five chapters I have filled my little notebook with the following references:

Be swift to hear, slow to speak, and slow to wrath; 1:19-20
Be doers, not only hearers; 1:22-27
Those seeming religious, but with unbridled tongue; 1:26-27
Have no respect of persons (rich and poor); 2:1-9
Faith without works is dead; 2:14-17
Keep thy tongue; 3:1-13 (2-3)
Pursuit of earthly means (friend of the world is enemy of God); 4:1-4
Making plans without God; 4:13-15
The rich are corrupted; 5:1-5 (6)
Swear not and make no oaths; 5:12

This epistle of James kicks my ass. It comes hard and fast and doesn’t take pause for comfort’s sake. After reading so much of Paul’s writings, which are often longwinded, heavy, and self justifying, I found relief in the rebellious, youthful vigor of this testament. If you only read one book of the bible, gospels aside, read James.

-

On Friday I went down to Tony’s to pick up Randy. We loosed the bloodhounds and began the day’s hunt for a Missouri state photo ID. Our first stop was Soul’s Harbor: the most oft spoken of homeless shelter in the area.

The last time Randy lost his ID – which is an easy thing to do when you’re homeless – the people at Soul’s Harbor helped him fill out the proper forms and do whatever was needed for the state to reissue. With that history in mind, it seemed most expedient to ask for their assistance again.

We traversed the ten blocks to the Soul’s Harbor main office; Randy, who rarely wears shoes, slipped on a pair of sandals; and we entered. I’ve never been to Soul’s Harbor before - either their main offices or the shelter - so I didn’t know what to expect.

My fellow vagrants have told me few positive stories relating to the Harbor. Most often I’ve heard about the heavy handed rules and restrictions placed on its residents, and how those rules led to their eventual ousting. I have gathered, from this second-hand information, that if you are to stay at the Harbor you are expected to be in-house by 10:00p, from then on locked in for the night; You must be out by some ungodly hour in the morning; Attendance of bi-weekly church services and recovery programs is mandatory; And each night an alcohol blow-test is administered. Failure to pass this test results in immediate removal and suspension from use of Soul Harbor facilities for some amount of time.

(To be honest I’ve discovered that the Refuge has much the same written rules. It is only the grace of the staff which allows for the bending and easing of these restrictions.)

My aversion to rule-makers aside, I brought a positive outlook to this first experience with Soul’s Harbor, refusing to judge it by any other man’s opinion. When we walked in we were greeted with the site of an elderly, grey haired woman in the midst of conversation with an older man seated on a bench. A few desks behind her sat a larger, younger, red headed woman at a computer.

Randy was called back by the woman at the computer and I took a seat, expecting a long wait. The older lady quickly finished with the man she was talking to and sent him out the door. Almost immediately she turned to Randy, presumably overhearing what he and the redhead were discussing, saying in a loud, authoritative tone, “I don’t have time for you today, Randy. You come back next week.”

Randy got up from the redhead, walking back toward me, and seated himself on the bench across from where the elderly woman stood.

“The last time you helped me with this all I need was my Medicaid card,” Randy said.

The redhead called out, “No. Your going to need your birth certificate. Where were you born.”

As Randy and the redhead talked, the elderly woman chimed in again with a scorning, motherly tone saying, “I don’t have time today, you’ll have to come back.”

The redhead chimed in, “Actually we’ll be pretty busy Monday too. You should just come back Tuesday.”

As I listened to all this I could feel the hope draining out of Randy’s soul. I had come over to Tony’s and motivated him to get out and work his plan: getting his ID, then his Social Security card, then going down to the employment center. These woman were telling him that if it was going to happen at all, he would first need his birth certificate: a document that can take weeks to get and cost ridiculous amounts of money, depending upon the will of the state. And even if he were to produce this fabled scroll, they refuse to assist him in it for another five days.

I chimed in, asking what-all he would need. If it was going to turn into a huge ordeal getting this ID, I wanted to know all the steps that he and I could take in the interim, on our own. Inasmuch I thought that if I knew what had to be done I could get firmly behind Randy, doing whatever I could to make it happen.

While I was still trying to pry the information loose from the somewhat affable redhead, the elderly woman blurted out, “You’re drunk, Randy. Get out of here!”

With a snap, Randy got up and walked out. I followed quickly, still lingering within a mild disbelief of how he had been treated by this “Christian” woman and her “Christian” organization. These people require their residents to attend church twice a week, yet their representatives “don’t have time” for the needy; had rendered judgment upon Randy from the moment he walked in; and rebuked an alcoholic looking for help.

As the glass door slowly shut behind me I turned around, catching the elderly woman’s eye, and spoke in a clear, sorrowful voice, “It shall be said that when I was an hungered you did not feed me.”

The look on her face was priceless. Her mouth hung slightly open; her eyes wide and brows raised; pupils tight: staring daggers at me. It was an expression of either fear, insult, great hatred, or some mixture of the three.

As I walked away a thought came into my mind that made me chuckle, even as Randy still cursed the world in the midst of his frustration. It is my greatest hope that those women, having done us no benefit and having run us from their property even as we asked for their help, should wonder if, in me, they had just entertained an angel.

The bible tells us to “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”(Heb. 13:2) They did not know me nor have they seen me ever before. I stood in wait of Randy, hovering over him and taking his cause as my own. And when I left them I spoke the words of Jesus. Plus, I look pretty austere in the P-Coat I’ve been wearing. I pulled it out of the refuge donations. I could definitely hide a pair of wings under this thing.

If only a brief flash of question occurred in their minds: that they knew not whom they had just treated with such distain; then I am happy. For therein have they the chance to repent their folly and attempt to change the oh-so-human and oh-so-ungodly behavior that led them to wonder of my origin.

As we walked away I recall saying to Randy, “You know, this town treats you like you’re the anti-Christ. Jesus taught that if a city rejects us we should kick even the dust of its streets from off our feet and move on. You need to get the hell out of here, man.”

But Randy has his own plan. Joplin is a cheap town with cheap living. Randy figures if he can get a job and save up his money, he can return to LA with enough to put the first and last on an apartment. I’ve tried to express to him the folly of making plans without God, but he’s not really a believer in the first place. He abides most of the doctrine of Jesus as a peace loving man, but where I might ask him to accept that there truly is a God he remains agnostic; favoring an ambiguous definition of God that focuses on cosmic energies and nonintervention.

What can I say, except, ‘been there.’ Honestly, there isn’t much to separate our ideals on God’s nature other than that I now accept, wholeheartedly, that God is a father and provider. God does not leave us to fend for ourselves, but when we act in a godly way He intervenes; filling us with His strength and power, protecting us from unnecessary harm, and guiding us to do His will and follow His path.

I still favor an idea of God that looks to omnipresence and ethereal greatness; A God so ever-present that it cannot truly be defined nor contained in the pronoun Him; A thought and nature that does not liken God to any human form, pegging it as some mighty, grey-haired King seated atop a golden throne in the sky. Nonetheless my God understands me, hears my thoughts and prayers, leads and teaches me, and pours “His” glory into my cup that I may use “His” might and beauty to exalt “Him” before my brothers in mankind.

Where Randy and I differ, I think, is where God hears, cares, promises, and intervenes.

A bit daunted by our experience at Soul’s Harbor, we walked on. Randy was certain that he didn’t need his birth certificate to get an ID. This time we would go straight to the horse’s mouth: The DMV.

After a brief respite at The Refuge we crossed the 7th street bridge to the Department of Motor Vehicles. Hailing from Michigan I am used to a different setup. In Michigan there is no DMV, only a Secretary of State wherein near every transaction between citizen and state is overseen. So when Randy and I entered the Joplin, Missouri DMV to the sight of short lines and the absence of any Take-a-Number ticket system, I thought it a bit odd.

He walked right up to the counter without wait or hesitation. I lingered, leaning against a wall, across the room while he talked with the DMV agent. When he returned he brought with him a cup full of clarity, though no ID.

First off, Randy would not need his birth certificate to get his ID, but only his Medicaid card and $11.00; just as he had thought. This makes the Soul’s Harbor ladies, not only ignorant of God, but ignorant of their own jobs. Second, it became clear why there was no wait and no line between Randy and the counter: The computers were “down!”

Boy, I hate that term: “The computers are down.” As a computer repair technician it only urks me to hear such a ludicrous statement. If the power is up, the computers can’t be “down;” not all of them. One or two might blow a power supply in sequence but not all of them! What you mean to say, lady, is that the internet connection linking these computers to the offsite servers (aka.: the network) has gone offline. Okay? The computers are up… The network connection is down.

But I digress. We had discovered that we would have no further need of the Soul’s Harbor staff. Though it seemed we would be unable to get the ID today. That meant waiting until Monday, which pushed the possibility of getting Randy’s Social Security card, not to mention applying for work, even farther off. Again we met defeat.

We left the DMV and turned east; Randy wanted a beer. With a friendly tone I shunned the activity, nonetheless accompanying him for the purchase and consumption thereof. Before we entered the store I told him, “I don’t know how much money you’ve got but whatever you do: Set that $11.00 for the ID aside so we can get it Monday.” He agreed, we bought the twelve pack, and he slammed two or three of them in the alley beside the store.

We’d passed about a half hour sitting beside the grocers so when we stood to leave Randy suggested we swing by the DMV again, to see if the “computers were up.” As we approached the DMV Randy queried one of the exiting patrons, discovering the happy news that the computers were functional again.

Out of necessity, I waited outside the DMV as Randy waited in line. We were now traveling with an opened twelve pack of Steel Reserve - 8.1% alcohol by volume - beer. I tucked it behind my legs, letting the back of my coat cover the box, as I sat on the building’s window ledge.

Within ten minutes Randy emerged.

“You got it?!” I asked excitedly, with the day’s victory in mind.

“I didn’t have the money.”

“But I told you not to spend the eleven!”

“I know… but I’ve got another twenty back at Tony’s house that I thought I had with me.”

“Oh hell.”

We sat there for a moment, sulking; more defeated than ever. Soon enough the spark plugs warmed and fired in my skull. A few days earlier my mom had sent me a care package in the mail. In it she stuck a $20.00 bill which now found its residence in my wallet.

I bust out the twenty saying, “Go get your ID son.”

Three hours, two demonic Soul’s Harbor employees, a twelve pack, and one failed network connection later: Randy Riggs now has a Missouri state photo ID.

Let nothing whatsoever obstruct the work of the Lord.

-

Friends, I am soon to depart Joplin toward Spring Hill, Florida by way of Nashville, Tennessee. My grandparents will be holding a sort-of reunion Thanksgiving dinner that I have every intention of attending. Within the next 7 to 10 days I will meet the highway and outstretch my thumb, hoping to land in Nashville by the 16th, where I shall meet my uncle who has agreed to cart my vagrant buttocks into the warm embrace of the sunshine state; where friends, family, and – mmm – my grandmother’s cooking awaits.

It is possible that I will winter along the southern Florida coasts if such be the will of God. You may all expect at least one more update before I depart. There is much left to tell of Joplin, Randy Riggs, the Refuge, and its peoples. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day to tell it all.

May you walk with God.

Joplin, Missouri - written 10-31;11-1,2,3,4-07