Personal Moments from Holy Week (Part 3): Jesus Grapes?
The Wednesday of Holy Week I was driving across town to prepare Communion for Good Friday, when I saw a man standing at an intersection asking for money. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence here in Vegas, so I keep a mug of coins by my gearshift in case I see somebody in need. I moved into the left turn-lane per my usual route, rolled down the window, and called the gentleman over. With an outstretched arm, I gave him a palm-full of change, a smile, and a, “Here you go. Happy Easter!” Then, I was more than pleasantly surprised to look-up and see the man’s beaming smile and hear his heartfelt response, “Happy Easter!”
The traffic light immediately turned green, and I instinctually said goodbye and sped-up to catch my light. I felt bad just leaving, as if there was something incomplete about the whole scenario: how could I give the money and run? Was that really a loving thing to do? I decided there had to be something more. The short exchange of “Happy Easter!” had sparked a curiosity in me, and I took the first available U-turn.
Parking at the gas station on the corner, I walked out to the median-strip and expressed to the gentleman my sincere apology for having given the money and run. I told him how excited I was about Easter, and how glad I was when I heard him tell me Happy Easter, too. I asked how he would be celebrating, and he told me about how he recently found a new church where he felt comfortable attending. He told me how many people forget that Easter is about Jesus and the resurrection. Through our simple conversation, Doug and I shared the joy of Easter on a two-foot-wide median strip as cars whizzed by at 35-45 miles an hour.
I was honestly concerned about standing in the middle of the road, but I figured there are worse things to be doing when you die than talking about Jesus with the poor. (I now think it would have be morbidly and gloriously ironic to die talking about Easter and Christ’s resurrection.) Then, in true Gospel fashion, Doug asked if he could pray for me. I was the one with all of the visible blessings of a job, a house, and a car. I was the one who took the time to stop and share a conversation out of the overflow of my blessings; I was the one risking life and limb and comfort-zone to stand out on the median strip; but Doug wanted to pray for me. Regardless of how awkward it felt be prayed for and hugged by a 6′3″ homeless man in the middle of a busy intersection, there was no turning down such a gift. I gratefully accepted and was truly blessed.
When he had finished praying, we spoke a little longer, and he asked for a little more “help”. I was hesitant to give him more money, and I expressed to him how I had just given him some money. When he asked me for food, I felt more willing to help, but I did not want to go all the way home and then come back to give him food. I was in a bit of a time crunch to get across town and prepare Communion for Friday.
When I reached the car, it hit me! I had a whole pound of grapes sitting in the back seat! I had been planning to press them and make grape juice for Friday night. I grabbed the grapes and took them back to Doug. He was shocked at how many grapes there were, and said, “These are a lot of grapes.” I told him, “Eat as many of them as you want, and then share them with a friend.”
As I drove away, I saw tall, lanky, gray-haired Doug standing on the sidewalk. He was holding the bag of grapes tightly to his chest with one hand, as he popped grapes into his mouth with the other. His face honestly shined in the setting sun. I couldn’t help but think and pray, “Taste and know that the Lord is good,” and, “Doug is eating Jesus grapes.”
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