Jesus on the Street

Traffic light (red), sidewalk next to MLK Blvd, Portland Oregon, late June, 2012: ‘You from around here?’ I turned to see a thirty-something guy, a half-smile on his face, glancing at me with friendly but sad eyes. He was white, five foot eight, thin – a well-worn baseball cap on his head. He was also holding a ratty backpack by one of the straps. I could see why – his faded  tank-top revealed shoulders that were sun-burnt and peeling.

We eyed the signal on the street corner – each with somewhere to go, but neither quite knowing the way. As for me, there was birthday money in my pocket, waiting to be spent at Portland Music – a local seller of  instruments and gear. Having already parked the car on a side street (this is Portland after all), I scanned the road – was it north or south? No idea. Just off the bus from Eugene (Oregon), the sunburned fella hefted his pack and told me that his destination was an adult store called ‘Taboo Video’: “You know, where they sell dildos and stuff…” Was he serious? I couldn’t tell, but chuckled anyway. His presence struck me as gentle and self-effacing – and he wasn’t asking me for money. Feeling at ease, I paid him some attention.

He went on to say that he was supposed to meet his girlfriend at the store, but that she had been a little vague on the exact location, hence his uncertainty. Well, that seemed a little odd to me – if you’re going to travel a long distance you’d make sure that you had solid directions, right? But of course, I’d done pretty much the same thing – jeesh…. So we stood there and chatted awhile. After the light changed a few times and we still hadn’t moved, it was clear to me that he probably needed some assistance to get him where he was going.

So I did something that I never do – I looked at him and said – ‘Hey, I think I know where it might be, let’s go back to my car and I’ll drive you there.’ Was this even true? Not really. All I recall thinking was that maybe we could find it somehow. And no, I wasn’t worried or concerned about letting this stranger in my car – not even a little. And that was odd indeed.

Settled in the passenger seat of the Prius he marveled at the electronic dash display like we were in a rocket ship – he’d never seen anything like it. The class distinction between us was suddenly palpable, and for me, slightly embarrassing. I reminded myself that finding ‘Taboo Video’ was more important. Maybe it was on Burnside… (And BTW, no – I couldn’t have just whipped out my iPhone to find it – I don’t have one!)

Well we drove down Burnside, each scanning the buildings – nothing. Knowing that I was going to the instrument store he said something about playing bass – that he only used 2 of the four strings. Huh, cool. I basically do the same thing.  We had something in common. By now a couple of miles east from where we started, it was clear that Taboo wasn’t anywhere near where I’d guessed it might be. What to do?

Just about then Music Millennium came into view – a Portland treasure, and one of America’s last great record shops. It seemed as good a place as any  to ask directions. Taking the best parking spot I could find – not legal, but nearby, I ran inside as he stood beside the car to shoo off any threats. Laughter burst forth as I explained my situation to the guys behind the counter, but one soon turned to the computer to find the way – it was about a block from where we started.

Pulling away from the record store, I finally asked my passenger his name (although, as often happens – I almost immediately forgot it), and we shook hands. Then I sort of laughingly said: “Well, my wife would kill me if she knew I picked you up today.” I don’t know if I thought he would appreciate this or think it was funny or what, but he looked me straight in the eye for the first time and said: “You know, sometimes people just really need help.”

Believe it or not, this one little sentence stopped me short. An unexpected, naked truth had tumbled forth, and with his sad eyes locked into mine, I suddenly felt very emotional. I think I could have cried right there and then. Weird, I know. But I was  driving, so I pushed it back. At the time, I couldn’t fathom my reaction. I also couldn’t come up with another thing to say.

As we drove west he took up the slack, telling me that his precious backpack was in fact a recent replacement for one stolen after he’d left it briefly with a ‘friend’. I got the sense that it had contained most of the precious stuff he had. Luckily someone else had noticed his plight and had given him his current pack – allowing him to make the trip. He expressed surprise at the gesture, and seemed quite grateful.

Seemingly out of the blue he asked me if I’d ever used Oxycontin – the pain drug. I had not – was he asking if I had any? I told him that all I knew was that they were quite addictive – and that you needed to be careful with it. He assured me that he knew, but said he’d recently injured his back and having lost his medicine with the original pack,  he’d been in a lot of pain until a woman on the bus noticed and gave him one. Again, I recall his sense of gratitude, almost of wonder at this act of kindness.

Getting close now. I said something like – “I imagine your girlfriend will he happy to see you.” He said: “Well, she isn’t really my girlfriend – I met her once in Eugene – she is from here –  gave me her phone number. She said I could call her some time – and we could meet up…” Once again, in some ill-defined way I was shocked. Who does something like that? The distance, time and effort – and for what – the chance that she might actually be there?

Suddenly, the destination loomed – ‘Taboo Video’ at last – a squat, grey structure on the corner, with blacked out windows and a near-empty parking lot. As we approached he looked out the window and smiled before gripping my hand again. Then he jumped out, opened the back car door for his pack, and said with a half-laugh: “I don’t want to lose this.” I did a quick scan around – nobody else there – certainly no one waiting.  Maybe she was inside. As I pulled away, I caught a last glimpse of his form jangling in the rear view mirror as he walked toward the store.

***

I can see how all this might seem a bit too much about too little. So I had a short interaction with a poor guy, whose name I immediately forgot – big deal. Maybe I just don’t get out enough into the ‘real’ world to see what it’s like. Yes, I can understand that point of view – even sort of agree with it.

But be that as it may, the effect on me was real enough – the episode wormed itself into my consciousness in a surprisingly forceful way. In fact, on the way home that day, I had already assigned the guy’s name as ‘Jesus’ in my mind.

Jesus? Huh? Well, it caught me off guard too. It might help to know that I am essentially an atheist – not a Christian by any stretch. So no,  I never thought the guy was literally ‘Jesus of Nazareth’ or any such thing. ‘Buddha’ would have probably worked just as well – but I was raised a Catholic, so what are you gonna do? Regardless, weeks later the memories of the interaction refused to vacate my mind, and the name stuck too, essentially forcing me to figure out why. Clearly there was some kind of lesson in all of this – not that I believe my Jesus friend was overtly intending to ‘teach’ me anything. Nope, he was just a normal guy, living his life, doing what he did – a teeny bit of which I observed, some of which he told me.

So what exactly was this lesson – what did I learn? After a lot more contemplation it turned out to be simple, basic stuff – things I should have already known.

The Nature of Vulnerability:

The reason why you don’t do what I did – pick up and drive around with a stranger – is because it puts you at risk. Easy enough to understand – this is what we teach our kids, right? Without knowing someone at all you have no idea what they might do – you might get hurt, killed. So we pass them by, even the ones that we might be able to do something for. It just isn’t worth the danger – you have your family to consider.

Generally, that’s the way I think about it, but that mindset excludes something important. What about the other guy – Jesus? Wasn’t he, much more than I, truly vulnerable? Out of sheer necessity, he flat-out put his trust in people everywhere he went: the woman who said that they might meet up, the ‘friend’ who watched his backpack – the lady who gave him a random pill. And then, me. At every point – and I can imagine untold others – he simply assumed that folks would do what they said they would.

How many times had this man been disappointed in his life, frightened, hurt? And yet he approached me with a kind smile and unvarnished optimism that I would prove trustworthy. I find that incredible, amazing.  And humbling too, since I know that this is far, far beyond my own capacity.

Recognition and Compassion:

Maybe on some level I understood all of this right away – I honestly don’t know. But I must have processed quite a bit on the fly – I knew that I was going to try to do something for this guy within a few moments of meeting him. An invisible barrier between us dropped, allowing me to move past (or through) the preconceptions that usually let me to ignore people such as he. This unconscious recognition, not of our differences – but of our shared humanity – allowed his “sometimes people really need help” comment to knock me over. Apparently for me to fully understand, I needed to be directly told:  compassion is an essential part of being alive. If you had asked me, I would have said I already knew this – but in practice, I did not.

Somehow I had forgotten.

Along the way an ‘amnesia’ had set in – it seems that I lost sight of what it meant to care, even minimally, for those outside my circle of friends and family. Sure, I donate money to charity, clothing to Goodwill, etc., but how often do I personally encounter and do something for a stranger? Rarely. Mostly they exist somewhere else, apart from my awareness, on the other side of my car window…

Then along comes this eccentric guy – Jesus – gently shaking me, waking me up a little.

I know that all this ‘Jesus’ stuff is loaded terminology – a lot of baggage,  for sure. I actually think there is a better name for people such as he:  ‘Functional Christ’.  It sounds a clinical, but also maybe helps distinguish and separate things a little from that historical figure. A Functional Christ could be thought of as a type of person who (consciously aware of it or not) reminds us of our better, more caring nature – as Jesus of Nazareth supposedly did.

Maybe the concept could be more clearly understood as a question: What was/is the actual function of Jesus Christ? Was he there to save souls from damnation? To get people to some place called ‘Heaven’? What if it was actually something more basic to the human condition – right here on Earth. An Episcopal Bishop, John Shelby Sprong said it like this: “The function of the Christ is not to rescue the sinners – but to inspire you and to call you to be more deeply human than you’ve ever realized there was the potential within you to be.”

Atheist or not – I can understand that.

So this ‘Jesus’ (or Buddha, or whatever name fits) walks right up to me on Martin Luther King Boulevard – requiring only that I be open, just a little. How many times had something similar happened without me realising or understanding? God knows… But perhaps this is the nature of things – to forget again and again about our relationship to our fellow-men –  until these ‘Functional Christs’ show up  and prod us to remember. How many are out there right now – have always been there? And what if Jesus of Nazareth was just a really well-known version of that himself? Would that be such a bad thing?

Finally, here is a beautiful little video that illustrates the wonder that can come with being open to an unexpected encounter with a stranger:  

I would sincerely  like to thank Mike Kellie for introducing me to both the Dylan video as well as one with Bishop Sprong, whom I quoted above.