What would happen if we slowed down this week? If we took the time to really see the people around us? If we listened to the stories they were waiting to share with compassion and tenderness? If we took the time required to treat others with love and dignity?
What would happen if we slowed down?
Last week, I went to church downtown. I’ve been looking for my Indy church home since moving here last summer, and I may very well have found it in this little community that meets off one of my favorite downtown streets. I was running late; truthfully, I don’t think I’ve ever made it to church here on time. Yet. So I slid inside during singing and secured a seat toward the back at one of the round tables.
Time came to meet others and say good mornings, and I found myself still in rush mode. I hadn’t fully settled yet, and my interactions with those around me reflected it. I felt the awareness of it settle in my heart – a little Holy Spirit nudging. I need to slow down. So as we entered back into worship, I asked God to slow me down so I could engage with those around me well. And by group discussion time at the end of our gathering, I was feeling much more “with it.”
Pastor Aaron spoke on the Lord’s prayer and he gave us some questions to consider. One was this: Am I living in such a way that I’m following Jesus – going where He’d go, doing what He’d do?
I had plans downtown later that afternoon with about an hour in between it and church dispersing. I had planned to walk to Starbucks and grab an oatmeal – use a gift card, save some money. So I walked that way, stopping into a shop on my way down just to browse and fill my time. When I got to the Starbucks, I decided I wasn’t hungry enough yet and went to sit outside on the patio around the corner. A man sitting on the bench right outside the Starbucks called out to me after I’d passed by, and I stopped and turned to face him.
At first glance, I couldn’t quite tell he was homeless. But in my experience, if someone is stopping me on the street downtown, there’s a good chance that they are. Him asking me if I had any money so he could use his bus pass to pop over to the McDonald’s and eat lunch was confirmation.
I’m not a perfect person. I get awkward and uncomfortable in these kinds of interactions more times than not. This time was no exception. Do I give him some money? Do I want to give him the cash I have left? Do I turn away? Why’d he stop me after I’d already walked by him? Should I offer to buy him food here? God, what do I do? Tell me what to do.
I removed my backpack and moved off to the side so I could prop it up on the wall and fish out my wallet. I only had a few dollars left, and handed him two. He thanked me, and normally this is the part where we both move on and go our separate ways. Transaction complete. Good – or facsimile of good – deed done. Not today.
Today, I asked him for his name.
He told me with a grin, and I introduced myself in return. He let me know that I could call him JT. The seemingly simple question rolled off my tongue in response – “what’s the T stand for?” – and that’s when we dove straight into deeper waters.
JT told me his story.
He told me how he was named after his dad, about his home life growing up, and some of the deep pain and loss he’s experienced in his life. He told me about the struggle to find a job and the perseverance he has to keep trying. He told me about how he’s been going all over the city trying to find an apartment, the way he’s been hurt by others he thought he could trust in this journey, and the fight he has to do the work and wade through his pain through counseling.
When the tears came as he talked about a particular instance of grief, he apologized to me, and my own tears filled my eyes. I’m so sorry was on repeat in my mind as I listened – and finally echoed them with my voice before we parted ways. I told him that I had been in counseling myself, and it was really helpful for me, too. He seemed surprised and asked me why, so I shared a bit about that with him, too. Our lives are – and have been – so very different, but not so different that there isn’t common ground to be found in our humanity.
Eventually, I asked him if he was on this particular street often, and I pointed out the building I had just left half an hour earlier. I told him a church meets there on Sundays. That my experience with these people of God has been one of genuine love, compassion, and welcome – for myself and for others. I invited him to walk right in, any Sunday, and know that he would be welcomed in, too.
This man didn’t know me from any other person on Massachusetts Avenue, and yet there he was, trusting me with his life story on a Sunday afternoon, right there on a busy sidewalk. And it struck me as I processed the conversation in my car after we talked: this is what happens when you slow down.
When you slow down, you will truly see people. When you slow down, what might have been transaction or interruption turns into genuine interaction. When you slow down, you leave space for the Holy Spirit to fill with opportunity to be light in someone else’s day. When you slow down, you can impart kindness, love, truth and hope into those around you. But only when you slow down enough to see, to listen, to engage.
What would happen if we slowed down this week? What would happen?
I haven’t seen JT since that Sunday – so far. My hope for him, though, is that wherever he is and whatever he’s doing, the love of God would meet him there. My prayer is that he would find the deep healing and rest for his soul that comes in knowing, loving and trusting Jesus. And if our paths do cross again on a sidewalk outside of Starbucks, I pray that I’m slowed down enough to see him and engage the way the Spirit leads.
