What follows is a comment about my relationship with Pop, a gentleman I knew for over twenty years and one who frequented the meal and community services program here at Water Street. Pop came to mind recently as I thought about the tremendous task the homeless men and women here at the mission face as they try to find a church home. They very desperately need to be embraced and engaged to become part of the fabric of the local church. Often this transition for them and the local church is difficult.Pop’s abuse of alcohol was lifelong beginning sometime in the Army during the Korean War and continuing for over 30 years. His yellowish skin was creased and weather-worn, the result of too many days and nights spent on the street and in makeshift lodging. One winter Pop had constructed a Styrofoam dwelling in the middle of a local junkyard; the next he lived in an abandoned school bus modified with pieces of cardboard and scrap metal. He was a man of great independence and resourcefulness yet I was very concerned about his health as his liver continued to deteriorate. So it was truly a grand and unexpected event when Pop finally agreed to allow me to transport him to the local veterans’ hospital.
And at the end of the twenty-eight day rehab he looked great the benefit of a regular diet, sleep and medication. His skin glowed again and the prognosis for his future was brighter than ever. And as I thought about his transition back into the neighborhood, I asked him a question. ‘Pop how about you and me going to church when you are done here? I’ll be with you and you’ll be able to make some new, non-drinking friends. It will be a great way of continuing the life you started here - one without alcohol.’ Pop hesitated then looked at me a bit quizzically before saying this, ‘That sounds really good, Stevie but I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t go to church, I don’t have a suit!’
It’s been several years since Pop passed away of liver disease. He never did make it to church. I miss him and he is on my mind a lot. I keep wondering what it would have been like if Pop had come to church. Would he feel welcomed in his frayed and holey jeans and shoes? Would anyone look past the disheveled beard, the unkempt hair, the clothing that reeked of sweat and alcohol? Would anyone intentionally sit by his side, look him in the eyes, listen intently to his story, and invite him home for Sunday dinner? Would Pop understand the protocol of church, the language, when to sit or stand, from which book to read or sing? Would the words of the preacher make sense to him? Would the demons that drove him to drink be addressed? Would anyone strive to engage with Pop in a way that conveyed that God loved him as he was and help him see that he could be free from the control of sin and bad choices?
Sadly, I’m not sure there is a seat for Pop in most of our nice, Bible-believing churches as it so often seems that a lot of our activity is pretty self-absorbed. Are we really expecting a guy like Pop to stop by? And realistically, why would Pop want to visit with us on a Sunday anyway – with or without a suit?
I’m not sure how to answer these questions but I do know this: I’m waiting for Pop. I’m going to be ready when he shows up. I’ll be the one next to the empty seat in jeans and sneakers.
- Steve Brubaker, Residential Ministries
