When I got a job at a youth shelter, I was thrilled. Not only was I going to be employed, but I was going to be working at a place that I had lived at when I was a street kid. I was passionate about helping youth who were experiencing hardships like I had been through and couldn't believe that this opportunity had been given to me.

My first day at the shelter I met another youth worker, Brian. He was smart, vibrant and non-judgemental. We had a lot in common and I felt instantly connected to him. Unfortunately my first day was his last, because he had gotten a job at a shelter across town.  This wasn't the end of our working relationship though, because we both worked overnight shifts, so often we would call each other at three am to talk about work pressures. I trusted Brian to always treat youth with the respect they deserved so if I had the unfortunate task of discharging a difficult client in the middle of the night, I knew I could send them to Brians shelter and they would have another opportunity there.

There was a regular client in particular that all the staff members at my shelter dreaded and so I often agreed to take him on my caseload. Out of respect for his anonymity, I will call him Bruce. Bruce had been a regular at the shelter and by the time I was hired he was already walking a fine line with the staff. Often he didn't make it through more than a few hours before he had broken so many house rules that he had to be discharged. 

The night I met Bruce he had arrived just before dinner. I was cooking dinner and with only 2 staff members overseeing 35 youth, I took bruce into the kitchen with me. He couldn't be left unsupervised because he tended to be destructive and the other youth harassed and bullied him. No one wanted to share their room with him because he had a smell that permeated everything, and he often rambled loudly about nonsense. 

So there we were in the kitchen, and I had never seen someone eat so much. 4 or 5 plates of food were inhaled and he still asked for more, encouraging me to cook faster. While I cooked he asked me if I believed in God. I responded "yes" and he proceeded to tell me that he was the Messiah. Being used to clients with mental health issues, I tried to engage him but I think that he was so used to being dismissed by workers that he wasn't sure what to do with someone who was actually listening to him, but he did keep reminding me over the course of a few hours that he was the messiah sent by God.

 I don't remember what happened that night which cause us to have to discharge him, probably an argument with another client, but it was a while before I saw him again. The next time he walked into the shelter it was 11am and I was about to start making lunch. Because it was almost noon, the shelter was almost empty and I was the only staff member. I had asked two other residents to stay inside and help me prepare food. 

I was sitting at the desk exhausted from working a double. I had come in at 11pm the night before for my midnight shift and then the day worker was sick, so unable to find anyone else, I stayed to work until 3pm the next day with no sleep.  I was about to get up and go to the kitchen when the doorbell rang and I saw Bruce standing in the foyer. I walked over and opened the door and was hit with a smell so strong that I almost gagged. I invited Bruce in and arranged with him to go to the donation room and find some clean clothes, got him a towel for a shower and volunteered to put his clothes in the wash. He stated to me that he was hungry and I explained that there were no leftovers and that I was about to make lunch which would be ready when he got out of the shower. This made him incredibly irritated and he stormed upstairs towards the bathroom. 

I was just leaving the kitchen with the other two clients when Bruce came down the stairs. He threw his towel in the middle of the floor and demanded I start his intake. I explained to him that I would do it as soon as lunch was done. Not happy with my response he started following me around demanding that I do his intake. The two clients stood there watching me calmly respond over and over again that he would have to wait until after lunch. One of them pointed out that Bruce's increasingly aggressive behaviour was cause for a discharge and I told them that I wasn't going to just discharge him, not yet anyways. Then it happened.

I was tired, irritated and lunch wasn't ready. Bruce was still following me from room to room demanding that I intake him when he started yelling at me. I knew he was pushing me, but suddenly he got right up in my face and called me several things including a "fat b**ch". That was the final straw and I snapped. I turned around, raised my voice, pointed to the door and yelled "get out!" When he didn't move I handed him a subway token and  repeated it again "GET OUT! GO!" He walked out and just had enough time to lock the door before the other two clients left going after him because in their words "No one speaks to you like that!"

I was off work for the weekend and it wasn't until I showed up on Monday that one of my co workers turned and said "I'm really sorry about Bruce."

"What are you talking about?" I responded.

"Oh my god, you don't know!?"

"What?"

It turns out that when I told Bruce to leave, he walked out of the shelter to the subway station ten minutes away and jumped in front of a train killing himself. 

Hearing this news, my brain started to turn. "What if I had just done his intake?" What if I hadn't made him leave?" "What if I hadn't gien him the subway token he used to enter the station?" All my co-workers told me it wasn't my fault, but there was nothing that could be said to alleviate my guilt. I couldn't believe that I had used my position of power to cause someone so much pain that they would commit suicide. It sickened me. 

But the story got wierder.

Several weeks later, one of my co-workers had gone out for coffee with Brian, the worker from the other shelter. When she told him about Bruce, he said that it was impossible, there was no way he had killed himself. When she asked him how he could be so sure, he responded that on Pride weekend, Brian was sitting in a park when Bruce walked up to him and said "Hi".  As my co-worker told me this, we agreed that it must have been a ghost, and that it would make sense, because Brian was the only staff person probably in the whole city who had treated Bruce with any respect. It would make sense that Bruce came back to let Brian know he was OK. Unfortunately I never got to ask Brian about this, because a few months later, Brian passed away as well. 

I can't help thinking about this story at Easter. Bruce, like Jesus, was an outcast. Bruce claimed to be the Messiah, sent by God and no one believed him. Surely the way that many Jews felt about Jesus. Bruce died an untimely death, just a bit younger than when Jesus died at 33. Bruce returned from death to greet one of his supporters, his only one, who saw him and witnessed his presence even after he had succumbed to a violent death.

Hebrews 13:2 reminds us:

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it" (NASB)

I often wonder about Bruce. Maybe he was a messiah of sorts, a messenger from God. Whose purpose was to compel us into radical acts of hospitality. Bruce is a constant reminder to me, that as a follower of Christ's teachings, I am asked to engage with those people who make me uncomfortable. I am called to eminate God's love even with those people I'd sometimes rather just avoid. And this year at Easter I share this story with you, partly as a confession, because I have struggled with so much guilt about this, I haven't told many people of this incident. Partly because I hope that Bruce's life and death wasn't in vain. But mostly because the story of Bruce is a story of reconsiliation and a reminder to myself and others that God works in complicated and unexpected ways which as humans we can only begin to understand. And to remind us that Jesus's charge to love thy neighbour and radiate compassion and understanding doen't only extend to loveing those who make us comfortable. Often in the midst of our uneasiness and challenges is where God is most strongly residing in our lives.