A Disquieting Good Neighbor
by Carl Mazza
Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.
- Hebrews 13:2

Last month we got a call from the Sheriff asking for information about Jim. He had been found dead and there were no apparent next of kin. He died of cardiac arrest in the home of a formerly homeless woman who was providing him a temporary place to live. Jim had been an on-and-off resident at Clairvaux Farm for the past two years. We knew him well, and, although it was not entirely unexpected, the news of his death was sad for our community.

Jim had come to the Farm for the last time a few days before Christmas. When I saw him then it seemed like he had never been happier. In the chronic homelessness which marked the last years of his life he found a sense of belonging with our community, and finally, with the home which had now been offered to him. Those small bits of connection were sufficient, it seems, for a man who was chronically ill and who had been cut off from all family and most friends.

Jim seems always to have been troubled. He had little success with family, career, or in social standing. He had little to show for the years of his life, certainly no material gain at all. No one fully knows the reasons -- certainly not the few distant family members who lost contact with him many years ago. Jim himself probably never fully understood all that was behind the sadness of his past. Even in his terminal illness, he paid only lip service to reforming the habits which were so self-destructive. Perhaps overindulging in food, sugar, salt, and tobacco had been too much his life-long "friendships" and the thought of giving them up was too threatening.

Nevertheless, the man I knew was unendingly kind and gentle. He smiled broadly with his whole face when he said good morning and was sincere in the same manner to say good night. From time to time, he would quietly, almost sheepishly, approach me, gently grab my arm and ask to be remembered in prayer. I can't recall a more sincere request for such benefit, nor a more deeper evidence of the kind of longing faith and desire which motivated him to ask. When I visited him in the hospital, I was always amazed at how little he wanted to speak about his own trouble but eagerly and sincerely inquired about others by name.
When Jim was living at Clairvaux Farm, some in the community felt he was getting away with too much. It was observed that he ate more than he should, smoked cigarettes (and in the wrong places), or that he didn't keep his personals and sleeping area clean enough. The comment was made more than once that perhaps what was needed in Jim's case was a little more "tough love."

Yet, I remember on more than one occasion walking into the dining hall and watching Jim strain to wash dishes or clean off the counter. He was barely able to stand and did not have the energy to speak, but he struggled to complete his assigned chores. At meals he was invariably kind, quiet, and friendly. Newcomers, especially, benefitted from his gentle demeanor. While he irritated some by his habits and omissions, he allowed us to love him, and to show that our care meant something to him.

All the discussions about how or in what manner we should have treated him, for his own best interest -- are now silenced. Jim has left us. He slipped away quietly, in his sleep, during the night. My last recollection of him was a sad, warm smile and a tight bear hug. If Jim was ever offended or angry by our insistence that he reform his ways and clean up his act -- he surely never let us know. I cannot recall a critical or condemning word from his mouth. (Except perhaps in the hospital when he complained that a nicotine patch he was issued was "not strong enough to do the trick!") If he was ever offended, he calmly pardoned us and kept it to himself until the end.

As it turned out, we knew Jim, and struggled in our relationship with him in the time which proved to be the last months of his life. All questions, frustrations, and disputes are moot and made quickly meaningless. The larger issue which remains is: did we, as a community, do right by him? Finally, it was decided with much reluctance, that Jim should leave Clairvaux Farm. It worked out for the best in his case, as by the kindness of another person who knew what it was to be homeless.

If Jim ever felt rejected or humiliated because of this decision, we again never knew. He never complained once, as far as we knew, and accepted his exile with grace and good cheer. Would more "tough love" have helped? Should we have asked him to leave sooner? Did we fail in our commitment to him by asking him to leave at all? Was it his own fault that he was chronically homeless? These are the questions we ask, and continue to ask, and for which there are no ready or easy answers.

One thing is, however, crystal clear to me. Though his personality was difficult and even irksome sometimes, it also showed the most godlike qualities: his gentleness, quiet good humor, longing loneliness, and his quick capacity to forgive. When I think of this, my imagination can range far and wide. If Jesus himself were to return to earth, say, from time to time, just to check things out --how might he appear?

Perhaps in the disguise of a social worker, or fire inspector, clip board in hand, checking the quality and sincerity of our care for others. Maybe he would come in a mini-van loaded with useful items to donate toward the needs of the homeless. Perhaps he would be a volunteer, tutoring the children or patiently driving persons in need of transportation to one long appointment after another.
Or just perhaps he might appear, for a day, as a despised, troubled personality -- enough to make us laugh quietly and consider how lucky we are not to be in his shoes.

I suppose the whole idea of Jesus making a clandestine tour of inspection is a little far-fetched. Yet, I can't help but remember how so many of Jim's qualities were like those of Jesus. They were genuine traits as well. He did not pretend to be gentle or forgiving, and his tolerance of the faults of others was a natural extension of his personality. All that aside, I am absolutely certain that Jim was not Jesus in disguise.

Well, perhaps I am not that certain. Maybe if Jesus were looking to make such a visit, he might come as the most difficult, disagreeable, and troubled of persons. Possibly in this way he could test the true nature of our kindness, grace, and compassion. Would we embrace this Jesus with wild enthusiasm? Or would our demanding love, with its static criteria, reject him, in much the same way as he was rejected in his original visitation? I ask this question of myself, full knowing Jim wouldn't have even asked it. He would always take me in.

As I said, the questions are easier to come by than the answers. All that I know is that my imagination is not as wildly off course as I like to pretend. For I know without doubt, that the one who loves us beyond comprehension is indeed as close as that disquieting neighbor who demands, without apology, our kind and generous attention.