Discerning the difference between defining moments and poignant moments has been interesting over the past few weeks. Honestly, I’ve wondered if I’ve gotten some the moments wrong, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter to anyone but me. So today’s moment—which is a story still in the making—could quite possibly be a defining moment for me…or it could just be a poignant moment. We’ll see as I sort through the thoughts and feelings that have been brewing ever since receiving the following text on Tuesday morning:
Oh, Deanna. I think our visitor from church on Sunday morning was arrested yesterday. Or if it wasn’t him, then it was his twin.
As I was finishing worship set-up for Sunday morning, I noticed a visitor coming into the church. The ushers greeted him and gave him a bulletin. He happily spoke back. Then he walked into the church, did the sign of the cross as he entered, and found a seat midway up the right side of the church. The couple in front of him welcomed him and engaged him in conversation. I went to say welcome and found myself quickly engaged in a conversation about whether or not Crocs hurt my feet. Mine do not; our visitor’s do. I pointed out our visitor to Patrick. Patrick greeted him as well. He seemed very happy to be with us on Sunday, observing everyone who walked by him, smiling at everyone who smiled back.
For the past many months, so much of what Patrick has preached has been about the importance of sharing the love of Christ with everyone—even, and maybe especially even, those who are different—those from the community—those who did not grow up in our faith culture. And our visitor was different. I knew by his sign of the cross. I knew by his ragged shirt and shorts. I knew by how he made little noises during the service. I knew by the plastic grocery bag in which he carried his stuff.
After the service, I asked our visitor if he needed a sturdier bag for his stuff. He said that would be great, especially since some other members of the church were taking him to the food pantry. I went to my car to get two of the reusable shopping bags that I keep in my trunk, then I set out to find him. He was walking toward the exit at the far end of the parking lot when I spotted him again. I walked as quickly as I could to catch up with him, and as I helped him put his, now, two plastic bags in the sturdier bags, he was so grateful. He asked my name. I told him. I asked his name. He told me. We shook hands. We parted ways. I stopped to talk to a church member who asked our visitor’s name. I’m pretty sure the church member offered him a ride home even though he said he lived just down the road.
I was standing in the rain the entire time.
So when I received my friend’s text on Tuesday morning, I was somewhat shocked. Our visitor from church on Sunday morning was arrested on Monday for felony hit and run. I later found out that he’s been arrested for before for driving under the influence.
Yesterday, another of my friends sent me a statement that she’d seen on a church sign: You never know what’s going on behind closed doors. I read the statement as one of skepticism and judgment. She read it as a call to pray for those around us because we don’t know what people are experiencing behind closed doors. I like her interpretation much, much better.
I told her the story of our visitor on Sunday morning. She said, “Oh wow. I think it’s touching that a man in desperate need of help was actually seeking it at church. Maybe he was seeking a shelter of love.” I agreed with her. And she agreed with me that our little church actually did what a church should do. And yet…our visitor was arrested for felony hit and run the next day.
Like I wrote at the beginning of this note, this story is still unfolding. I haven’t yet been able to name why it is affecting me so much. But it is. I keep thinking about it a lot—wondering if there was more we could have done for Russell—that’s our Sunday morning visitor’s name—if there is more we can do—if having an AA group in the church/community would be viable—wondering about the people walk into church completely broken—both visitors and members alike—wondering what is going on behind closed doors—behind the eyes that we see—and wondering how we can affect change when sometimes we are presented with just one moment.
This is going to sound ridiculous, but I find myself wanting to find Russell and give him a hug. I find myself wanting to know his story and what led to him to where he is. Addiction is a terrible monster. It is not something easily controlled and it is littered sometimes with more failure than success. But I believe it is possible to overcome. And somehow, more than anything this week, I want our Sunday morning visitor to know that it’s possible, too.
So was that text a defining moment in my my life? Will it somehow influence or change the course of my existence? I don’t know. But either way, it is sitting heavy with me now and is something that I likely will never forget.
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