Denver
It got to be the 1960s. All them years I worked for them plantations, the Man didn’t tell me there was colored schools I coulda gone to, or that I coulda learned a trade. He didn’t tell me I coulda joined the army and worked my way up, earned some money of my own and some respect. I didn’t know about World War II, the war in Korea, or the one in Vietnam. And I didn’t know colored folks had been risin up all around Louisiana for years, demandin better treatment.
I didn’t know I was different . . .
I knowed there was other places. I had heard my brother, Thurman, was out in California stackin hisself some paper money. So one day, I just decided to head out that way. Didn’t think about it much, just walked out to the railroad tracks and waited for the train to come a-rollin. There was another fella hangin around by the tracks, a hobo who’d been ridin the rails for a lotta years. He said he’d show me which train was goin to California.
I was about twenty-seven, twenty-eight years old by the time I wound up homeless in Fort Worth. Little children likes to say, “It takes one to know one!” So if you want to know about homeless folks, just ask me ’cause I was one of ’em for a whole lotta years.
Now, there ain’t no two ways about it: some homeless folks is just plain ol’, no-account lazy. I don’t mean to be bad-mouthin nobody, but that’s the truth.
On the other hand, though, there’s a whole lotta homeless that got that way ’cause they kept tryin and tryin, and no amount a’ tryin they done ever amounted to much. You can work a little pickup job for a day and make twenty or thirty dollars. But what you gon’ do with twenty or thirty dollars? Maybe you can rent you a room for the night or have a decent meal. But what you gon’ do after that?
Did you ever lose somethin or somebody you cared about? Somethin or somebody you really loved? I’m telling you what—if you did, you know that ain’t somethin you can get over real easy.
Like I couldn’t get rid of the pain when I watched my grandma, Big Mama, get burned to death in her shack. Or when that man ran outta the woods and stabbed my daddy to death. Or when my Aunt Etha, that was takin care a’ me after that, took sick and died. All them things happened when I was just a little-bitty boy.
Lotta homeless folks been hurt like that. And the hurt just hangs around you like a stray dog that smells a bone. You can’t never get rid of it unless you gets rid of the bone.
I always did believe in Jesus.
Most a’ the people on the streets know Jesus loves ’em. But they figure nobody else loves ’em but Jesus. Street people done heard more sermons than most preachers ever preached. Lotta good folks come ’round the ’hood, talkin ’bout Jesus this, Jesus that. Tellin us about Him is one thing . . . who gon’ stick around and show us Jesus? See, deliverin kindness ain’t the pastor’s job. That’s our job. When Jesus sent the disciples out two by two, He didn’t go with ’em. He stayed back and laid low, maybe had Hisself a cup a’ coffee.
Listen at this: Jesus sent the disciples out. John and Mark and Nathaniel and them went into the villages. When I was homeless, one thing I just couldn’t understand is why all these folks kept tryin to invitin me in someplace that I didn’t wanna be. They’d come out and hand me some kinda piece a’ paper, talkin ’bout, “Jesus loves you! Come fellowship with us!” Now, their hearts was in the right place, and they just tryin to show me the love a’ God. But seemed like they didn’t understand that it just ain’t that easy.
For one thing, them folks that invited me was all smilin and clean, and I was all ragged and dirty. ’Sides that, most a’ em was white, and I was black as a coffee bean. Wadn’t no way I was gon’ show up at their church lookin like I looked.
For another thing, where was I gon’ leave my bags with all my worldly goods, my blanket and my soap and my half-pint and what have you? It wadn’t much, but wadn’t no way I was gon’ leave it in the ’hood with all them fellas ready to split it up amongst themselves. And I was pretty sure they didn’t have no luggage check at the church.
Then they’d say, “God bless you!” and leave me with that piece a’ paper so I wouldn’t forget where I was s’posed to show up. ’Course, they didn’t know I couldn’t read.
See, we don’t need to be tryin to drag the homeless, or any kinda needy people, to “programs,” to “services.” What people needs is people.
And needy people don’t need no perfect people neither. When Jesus sent His disciples out, He sent Peter right along, knowin Peter had a bad temper and a potty mouth and was gon’ deny Him three times. He sent John and James even though they was full a’ pride and fightin over the best seat at the table. He even sent Judas, knowin Judas was gon’ betray Him. Even though Jesus knowed all a’ their sin and weakness, He sent ’em anyway.
Listen, if the devil ain’t messin with you, he’s already got you. If you is waitin to clean up your own life before you get out and help somebody else, you may as well take off your shoes and crawl back in the bed ’cause it ain’t never gon’ happen. Jesus don’t need no help from no perfect saints. If He did, He wouldn’t a’ gone up yonder and left us down here in charge.