Bungee Cord 9-30-13

Hello,

I was just finishing locking up after worship yesterday when I heard my name being called from the landing near the doors to our educational building.  I followed the call of the voice down the stairs to find one of my parishioners standing next to a young man who had indicated to her that he needed to talk to the pastor.  The thin young man wore cut off camouflage pants, a hoodie that was printed with countless number of skulls.  His hair was dyed yellowish/blond, his fingernails were painted black, tattoos covered his arms, and he had a piercing halfway between his lip and his jaw.  He had the smell and look of showerlessness, and over his shoulder was a black backpack.

The reason he was in need of talking to me was that he had come to Greensburg to present some papers to the court in order to gain custody of a 1-year-old daughter that had been placed in the foster care system.  His buddy brought him to Greensburg, but then abandoned him, and stranding him.

These sorts of encounters are pretty commonplace for me and other pastors, and over the years I have developed some personal rules for dealing with them.  One of those rules is that we are not in a position to help people with transportation.  With limited funds we have to focus our efforts on life and death issues, like hunger.

“I am sorry,” I told the young man, “but I cannot help you with transportation.  We just don’t have the funds for that.”

“Oh, I don’t need money,” he said, “I have 20 dollars to give someone for gas to take me back home.”

“Where’s home?”  I asked.

Ready to hear “Pittsburgh”, I was surprised to hear a town of which I had never heard before.  “Where’s that?”  I asked.  Turned out it was the opposite direction from Pittsburgh, about 20 minutes east of my house.  So, I thought for a bit, and seeing it was a nice day for a ride into the mountains, I did what my rules tell me I should not do:  I told him I would give him a lift.  I never give people rides anywhere for safety concerns, but as I appraised this situation, and knowing that my wife would be travelling with us, and it was in the middle of the day…well, I decided that it might be worth the risk to help this young man out.

So, Kate jumped in the back seat of my Mini-Cooper, and he took his seat in front.  I had him sit in front for two reasons: I wanted to keep my eye on him, and I wanted to talk with him on our eastward ride.

Having dealt with thousands of folks coming off the street seeking help, I have become very skeptical of every story that I hear, this young man’s included.  But, I thought that if his story was true, I wanted to support him in his efforts….and if it wasn’t true, I hoped that he would discover that there was someone who actually cared about his station in life.  As we drove I kept the conversation going…where did he grow up?  What did he like to do?  What music did he listen to?  What was the progress in getting his daughter back?

I thought it was a good conversation.  He told me about the death of his sister, his struggle with heroin, his love of “death metal” music, his enjoyment of tattoos, his hopes for getting a job laying granite countertops, his search for a spiritual higher power (he had been raised a Catholic and it was obvious that Christianity was not the direction of his search)….on and on…45 minutes of conversation.  As we talked I knew in the back of my mind that none of what he was saying might have been true, but just in case it was I tried to engage him with caring concern.

I dropped him off at a gas station, where he said he could get a friend to pick him up.  As he got out of my car, I shook his hand and said, “God bless you.  I hope things work out for you.”  He walked away from my car, and I set my car back on the road, westward, back toward my house that I had passed 20 miles ago.  As we headed home, I said to Kate, “Well, I don’t know how much of what he said was true, but I hope that he found out that someone cared.”

Later in the afternoon, as I was relaxing in my hot tub, I thought about this young man, wondering if he taken me for a ride.  Was he laughing with his buddies about the gullible pastor who bought his story hook, line and sinker?  It all left me second-guessing my decision to give this young man a lift.

But as I considered it all, it seemed to me that such is the risk of being a Christian…the risk of being had.  I had judged rightly that he had not been a physical risk, a risk that I do not believe is worth my taking.  But I don’t know…I had risked being played for the fool…and it may have just been the case that I was.  But for the sake of showing this young man the love of Christ that was concerned about him and the life that he was living…I guess that the risk of being played the fool is just part of being captivated by Jesus’ unconditional love for me.

He may be laughing about my perceived naïveté, but maybe….just maybe….he discovered a care for him in Christ that he had never known before.  I will probably never know, but my words to him still remain true, “God bless you.  I hope things work out for you.”

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger