Jesus disguised as youth

She didn't have much, but what she had, she treasured. When we arrived, four adults and 12 youth, to her home -- a small  rental out from our little town of Eunice -- she was flabbergasted that so many would come to help her. We were on a mission, as it were, to help someone who had seen the water rise last week and not stop until it joined her and her son, an autistic 43-year-old in their little house.

The first thing I noticed was the photos. Photos and photos, all wet, all likely ruined beyond repair. Then, the smell, that smell of mildew and rot that I had become so familiar with after Hurricane Katrina. Life used up and thrown out by a strange rain in January. Moments of happiness, the occasional smile and still-life takes us back.

We dumped, pulled, yanked and carried stuff to the "road" where, I presume, the garbage folks would do their thing.

We scrubbed, mopped, swept and carried more stuff (including dressers, entertainment centers, box springs and such) away. Always away. Always gone. That's what the smell represents. Life as it was no longer is; what is is the smell of mildew, and the occasional visiting mouse.

I was hesitant to ask if she had renter's insurance, but I don't really think I needed to ask. As she lit one cigarette after another, all she could do was hold her very old dog and smile.

When we were done, a couple hours out of our lives and lifetime out of hers, she cried. In her husky deep voice, she kept saying she couldn't believe we had come to help.

I was drawn to that passage in Matthew 25 that says:

³⁴ “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. ³⁵ For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, ³⁶ I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

³⁷ “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸ When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹ When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

⁴⁰ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

⁴¹ “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. ⁴² For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, ⁴³ I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

⁴⁴ “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

⁴⁵ “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

Look, we didn't change the word Saturday. We didn't even change her world. Her stuff, collected forever (magazines featuring the death of Michael Jackson and other such), was gone. We didn't bring it back. We didn't bring in new box springs. We didn't fix her son, who seemed to be scared through a tight grin as we, strangers all, came roaring into his life.

But ... and I really believe this is the key to everything the church does today ... we showed her Jesus, what an actual functioning Jesus looks like. We didn't preach, though we prayed together. We didn't try to convert. We just helped. And she got to see youth, exuberant and smiling, wash dishes and floors equally enthusiastically.

I'm terrified from time to time that through all my efforts to reach what Wesley called perfection I'm actually losing ground instead of gaining it. But every once in a while, I see what others do for others and I know I'm in the company of angels. And by their stripes, I am healed just a bit. Jesus lead me on, hard-head and all.