We’d best remember all sin and fall short

You know something? Nobody is perfect. Now this might come as a great surprise to some of you just as it did to me. 

The Gospel of Matthew talks of the world as being a mixture of weeds and wheat, but despite all the good seed, we know that at night when everyone was asleep someone must have crept into our lives and sown the weeds among the wheat. At the very heart of our struggles each day with our own personal weeds, we know that it was good seed that was sown, and that it too can sprout within us to show the divine within the heart of our humanity. 

However, it must be given a chance to grow by meeting someone who comes into our lives who can see through the weeds and call forth the divinity within.

It was a warm summer’s evening as I arrived downtown, thankful that the winter months were over and there would be a greater opportunity to interact with those on the streets. Reality quickly confronted me as I saw two police cars in the middle of “downtown tent city.” The owner of a pizza shop said, “Be careful tonight. We’They’re investigating a murder, and where there is one murder, there is often retaliation.” 

I continued down a nearby street which has seen its share of violence, and I saw a man I have known for many years. Joe has been no stranger to the weeds of life and has spent many years in prison. Still, he has always had a faith which has grown through the weeds. 

“Hey deacon, come over here,” he shouted. “This is my wife, the one I have told you about.” 

She looked at me quizzically, and said, “So you are the one who walks the streets. Joe has told me all about you, I was beginning to wonder if you really existed.” 

I crossed the street to the large cluster of addicts who frequent the boundaries of an old church. It is the focal point of much drug use and has become the locus of many acts of violence over the years. I first approached a young man of around thirteen who I mentioned in a previous article. Once again, he was trying to light up his crack pipe and so I stopped and asked him if he was OK. He just stared vacantly, furrowing his brow as if he did not understand what I was saying, and continued to shake. 

I thought again of the weeds that society must have sown in such a young man. A few steps away, was another lady that I have known for several years. When I first met her, she was a beautiful young lady with a sense of humour but 10 years on she was sitting on the ground, staring into the distance. 

“Hi Jenny, you are a good person, take care of yourself,” I said, but even the smile which once came to her lips so easily had disappeared. In the dark of the late evening, I made my way to the area where the prostitutes hang around the streets, hoping to meet the lady I have previously mentioned who is from Uganda, and who I fear may be a victim of trafficking. It had been about three months since I last saw her, and I wondered if she had been moved to another part of the city, and I had lost my chance to find out more about her circumstances and her life.  She was not there, but I was surprised to see a lady who I have not seen for about ten years. 

“Don’t tell me you are still out on the streets Marie,” I shouted. “It’s been years since I saw you.”

 “I remember you” she said. “I can’t believe you are still walking the streets looking out for us girls.” 

“By the way,” I asked, “do you know Joan? I am worried about her. I have not seen her for a while.” 

“Oh, she lives in these apartments,” she said, “but comes out earlier in the evening now.” 

With that, I made my way home, stopping by the doorway where my friend “Chilli” died of an overdose, and said a prayer for her, and to her.