I was late for the bus tonight as I got off work, so I went for a walk around the perimeter of the Great Mall whilst waiting for the next Bus 70. A crowd had gathered around the parking garage, and curious, I tiptoed through the swarm to see what was going on. A young man, obviously shot, was curled on the asphalt drifting between life and death. I could see that he was horrified, frightened, and astounded that yes, he was going to die this very night, in front of all these people. He was aware that he was going to die when he clearly did not want to die. I could only fathom the pain he felt knowing that his last few moments on this earth would be spent bleeding to death in front of strangers instead of being surrounded by the love and warmth of his family.
I felt for this man, and I could only feel compassion for him. It broke my heart to know that among the crowd there was not a loving face to look to, or least a familiar face to focus on. If only I could, I would have held his hand and reassured him that everything would be alright. Somehow, I felt my spirit prompting me (to borrow a Pentecostal term) to say something. My heart wanted to reach out to him and yell over the murmuring crowd, “You are God’s beloved child. He loves you, and embraces you now. He welcomes you home.”
And I didn’t say a word. I DID NOT SAY A WORD. I just stood there like the rest of that heartless crowd. I let that man die without knowing he was loved by God, and that it wasn’t God’s will that he should die like this without somebody caring. I failed my God, and I feel guilty. So fucking guilty over it. How could I let him die like that? How could I let this broken figure, this icon of the Crucified Christ, feel alone in his final moments? I could have said something over the crowd, but no, I just waited for him to breathe his final breath. After the medics pronounced him dead, it was only then that I said a prayer of commendation.
What also pained me was that I knew this young man wasn’t a crime statistic in the San Francisco Bay Area, but that this man was a living human being – the image of God – who loved, felt, and had dreams. To know that his man had possibilities and such potential, then to be turned into worm food within hours just devastated me. He will never realize his dreams, he will never marry, he will never walk his daughter down the aisle, and he will never spend the last of his days tending his own vine or resting under his own fig tree. This man could have been a Supreme Court justice, my child’s schoolteacher, or even the very person who may discover the cure to AIDS.
Tonight, I mourn this possible agent of God’s redemptive grace and creative power in the world. It makes me think, by God, that could have been me, or that could be me tomorrow. Have I lived every moment to the fullest? I must live in the present. The past has no hold over the present, and tomorrow may not be mine. Therefore I choose to live in Christ’s promise of life, and to have it in all its fullness.
Dear God, I’m so sorry. I let that man die without knowing that you loved him, and that he was your beloved child. I failed to show your love, and I stood there with that gawking crowd waiting for him to die. I did not tell him that you did not want this terrible thing to happen to him. I let him lie there feeling abandoned by you, his loving Creator and Redeemer. I did not reassure him that you cared. I’m so sorry. In his final moments, I failed to be your agent of love and grace. God, please forgive me. Please. I lacked the courage to do it. I’m so sorry.
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