I was in Prison and you visited Me

My heart breaks for Lucio.  I don’t really know his story.  I know what they said in the papers and on TV.  “A homeless man was arrested on charges of attempted kidnapping.”  The face under the headline was familiar.  That’s my friend.  I know him.  I pray for him every day.

I already believe he is addicted to street drugs.  I have seen him when he was high.  He could not remember me when he was high.  But I prayed for him.  I could be wrong, but I really think he is a psych patient – probably self-medicating while drifting on the streets.

So I went to the jail and visited him.  I did not ask.  I did not ask any questions.  Well, I asked one.  But I did not ask if he did it.  I did not ask what he did.  I did not ask why.  I feel terrible for the lady that got attacked, and I thank God she survived it and got away before the crime was completed (at least I hope she did).  But I am sure, she has support from the community, from the prosecutor’s office, from friends.  Victims have a lot of support network, and I don’t begrudge a bit of that.  But there is precious little support for the homeless, the addicted, and the mentally ill.  I stand in Lucio’s corner, but it does not mean I am against his victim.  It does not mean I hope he gets out to do it again.  But I do hope he gets forgiveness and freedom from the demons that ravage him.

So I showed up out of the blue.  He did not know I was coming.  I just showed up and asked for a visit.  He is in jail.  He did not say no.

He looked really surprised to see me.  And I did not stay long, but I told him that I am praying for him – that we are praying for him.  I think it shocked him.  He said he is praying every day too.  I bet he is.  He could be in some deep trouble over this.  It makes me so sad.  I don’t want my friend in deep trouble.  I know he needs to act right, but I want him to get help and to know God loves him and that God’s people do to.  So I told him about praying for him.  I hope it brings hope and healing to him to know that.

I would really like it if people reading here would speak up and tell him that they prayed for him too.  Even if you only prayed for him one time, it would be good if you left a message on Agent X’s blog and tell him.  Because I know X prays for him too, and I think some day Lucio will get out of there, and I will make sure he has the blog address.  I think it would be cool if he saw all the people praying for him all over the world.

I think if I was a homeless man in jail for a serious crime, I would be affected by it if I found people out there in the world who took a couple of minutes to talk to God about me and then took a couple more minutes to tell the world about it too.  I think it is one really small but important way we can all minister to Lucio, and it might have real power to change his life.

Really? God? Is This Your Answer To My Prayer???

I care about this man. I hope you will pray for him too.

Fat Beggars School of Prophets

So I have this lengthy prayer list.  An ever growing list of homeless friends that I pray for by name almost daily.  In fact, it is a daily habit that only occasionally gets interrupted.  And last night/this morning, one of the lead stories in town is about a homeless man on my prayer list.

Please pray for the woman he victimized.  I do not wish to belittle her trauma at all.  But of course the other person in this crime appears to be a victim of neglect by a system that does not care – enough.

I invite my readers to pray for this one too.  Perhaps together, we can assure that he is not neglected by prayer.

Here is the story:

http://lubbockonline.com/news/crime-and-courts/2017-10-04/police-officers-respond-woman-s-screams-during-attempted-kidnapping

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Street Wise

A man on the sidewalk outside Walmart holding a beer in a brown bag with USMC tattooed on his arm announces, “You don’t have to do anything.  You don’t have to do anything.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but you have to except the consequences.”

Then after a brief silence, the beer holding tattooed man says, “You don’t have to walk to your execution.  They will carry you.  You don’t have to walk to your execution, they can carry you.”

Wise words to die by.

Making a Stink in Church

After reading Agent X’s blog and the mission assignment, I felt like God was calling me to humble myself before him.  So I did like the assignment said.  I skipped my shower for a couple of days.  Did some labor in the yard and then wore my nasty work clothes to church last Sunday.

I don’t usually talk to many people there.  I mostly say hi to just a couple of people and sometimes I don’t see even them.  Sometimes people want to greet me, but not that often.  But last Sunday, I tried to just hang low.  I came into the service as soon as I heard the singing get started because I thought that way I would not have to talk to people.  It worked, but I felt like that was cheating too.  So I stayed there in the pew until almost everybody left.

I shook one guy’s hand on the way out.  But we didn’t say anything more than greetings.

I didn’t hear the voices.  Sometimes I hear them, but this time is was like I felt them.  I could sense people, not the voices in my head, but the people all around me talking.  But I never heard them say anything either.  So, really, it wasn’t my disease, it was my imagination going wild.

I felt so ashamed to stink like that.  There is no reason for people in America to stink like that.  Accept if they are homeless.  Then they sometimes stink because they cant always shower daily.

It felt like my church was against me.  Even people I don’t know.  Which is almost everybody.  I felt like I didn’t belong there.  Like nobody would want to sit with me or talk to me.  I felt like they probably wish I would get the hint and leave because they didn’t talk to me.  But that is not fair, really because how can I know that unless they say it?

But that is what it felt like.  I was afraid I would have to talk to people about it, but I didn’t.  Not really.  But I felt like I wasn’t wanted either.  So, I felt like I could hear them talking about me behind my back.

“That guy” or “the smelly bum” or whatever.

The whole time I did it, I was praying for me.  I needed strength to actually go through with it.  But after talking to X about it, I am praying for them.  I am praying for my church now.  I came looking and smelling like the Jesus they really don’t want to be confronted with.  And it is lonely being Jesus in church.

CJ’s Prayers To God

Perhaps by divine providential mystery, somehow (I do not know) the handwritten prayers below, offered up to God by  “Minster* CJ” (formerly Sista CJ), wound up here at the Fat Beggars School of Prophets office today.  I am really puzzled by how they got here.  But they did.

Sista CJ is a long time friend of this ministry (though not homeless herself) and has lived in fine homes (in which she raised her three children as a single parent) provided by charitable Christians in Lubbock off and on for years.  When she says she has had problems before, she means it.  But as you can see in these prayers, her tender heart is grateful to God for his abundant care.

Surely we can all take these prayers to heart.

This is a voice you won’t likely hear anywhere else.

 

 

 

*As you can see from the handwritten notes CJ spells the word “minister” as “Minsta” or “Minster”.  It is my understanding (though not independently verified (but I have no reason to doubt her)) that CJ completed a program of Bible study for ministers and missionaries at Sunset International Bible Institute (SIBI).  Thus the name change with the title “Minster”.

John and Gina

So there we are sitting down to eat a fine meal at the old St. Benedict’s Chapel downtown one night as the crowds of homeless and poor jam up the sidewalk and the doorway.  I didn’t know Gina before that night, but John suffers schizophrenia, and I know him from the streets.

John is a young guy.  Long blonde hair wearing what looks like a heavy-metal concert tee, but when you look closer, you realize it’s really a Jesus tee shirt.  “For God so loved the world” it says, with a picture of Christ crucified across the front.  John is delusional today.  He hears voices the others don’t.  But he met Agent X in the line out front as they waited their turn to get in, and they had prayed on their knees for all the other pilgrims out there so that they could hustle through dinner and clear a seat for someone else fast.

So when I take a seat next to X across from John, I don’t know the young lady who in the seat next to him.  X introduces himself, and then we all do after him.

Gina.

Gina with sad eyes.

Attractive young lady.  Why is she homeless?  I wonder it, but I don’t ask.  She is not from around here.  Just glad she found this meal.  St. Benedict’s offers a very nice meal each day.  It is not your average soup kitchen.  Several different churches take turns serving, and there is one restaurant in town that also contributes.  The food is high quality.  The service is friendly.  The price is free.  But, it draws crowds and you have to eat fast to make space for the next guy.  Somehow Gina found us.

But John starts talking about spiritual things.  He is seeing into the spirit world.  He says he can see Michael and the angels of God doing battle, and he tells us about it while we eat.

Someone at the next table makes fun of John for talking like that.  But X asks him questions about it – you know, like he is interested, like as if John can really see visions from God.  And John says, “They need our prayers”.  So X starts praying for the battle in the spirit world.  And John starts chanting some gibberish or maybe speaking in tongues – I don’t really know.

That’s when Gina begin to look a little nervous.  She timidly asks, “Who are you guys?”  And X says, “We are prophets of God on a mission to bear God’s image in this city.”

That seems to excite John all the more.  He babbles louder and stands up with his eyes and hands lifted up.  He says, “Behold!  The image of God is winning the battle!”

Then he sits back down.

Suddenly I notice that Gina is softly sobbing as she eats.  I really don’t know if she is scared or what.  She is with strangers – people she doesn’t know.  I get nervous around people I do know and this is getting weird.  X asks her if she is okay then, and she says, “It’s beautiful.  I see it now.”

And then John starts prophesying that we were having an interplanetary experience of the Holy Spirit.  X shouts “Amen!”

A few minutes later, we are all back out on the street going our separate ways.  I have never seen either John or Gina since that day.  But I saw them see God.  I think.

Testing the waters

This is not a real blog post.  Well – ok – it is.  But the content here is not.  I am learning how to this stuff now.  Will post a real post soon.

Hanging Out

I like to hang around where I don’t belong.  I might come hang out at your face book or your blog.  If you don’t want me there, call the cops.  But if you put up a sign that says “No Loitering” … you can bet I will be there.