A story from Rev Allen Tysick, The Victoria Dandelion Society Ministry http://dandelionsociety.ca/.  This story has been shortened to fit in this space. To read the full text, see http://atysick.blogspot.ca/2012/05/cougers-rabbits-by-allen-tysick.html

A nurse called from the Royal Jubilee Hospital asking if I could pick up a homeless man that had broken his ankle, now in a cast. I immediately headed to the hospital. When I arrived there he was standing against the stark red brick wall, his head hanging towards the ground. As I called out his name he raised his head, a major laceration over his swollen shut eye was quite evident, set against the black and blue colour of his face. As he saw me, a big smile came over his face. “Rev. you are the only one that would come and pick up this worn-out old rounder like me.”

No he is not on welfare. He is not on disability. Nor is he on any pension. He’s too proud of a man for that. He panhandles four days a week and collects pop cans two days a week. He never works on Sunday. That's how he survives.

That morning I'm not sure why but he shared his personal story with me….

“I was in my first alcohol treatment center at age 17 at a private exclusive center paid for by my Dad. I swear it was the most beautiful place on earth. A serious of treatment centers followed for the next 10 years all paid for by my family. I met a woman in the last treatment center, and we were married a month later. One night I came home after a three-day drunk spree. She was gone and so were the two kids.”

“Rev. I never looked for them.” Tears rolled down his face. “No I didn't even pick up the phone.” After a moment of silence he continued. “But I damn well looked for the bottle. She gave me a good excuse to climb in again… I have no one to blame but myself I am alone my greatest enemy…”

“Rev. the questions of why hunt me now at the end of my life, all those years running away from one city to the next, from one shelter to the next from one alley to another… One cannot run away from themselves!  My lover the bottle was always waiting for me whatever the destination, there always was another bottle to crack open…”

“Why? Why? Was it that I was plain stupid? Was it genetic? Was I just dam lazy? Was I an addict when I was born? Was God punishing me for being me?....”

The questions lingered in the air the silence that we both sat with screamed out for answers. At that moment I wish I was a fundamentalist; one with all the answers.

Somewhere from within my faith the words came from out of my mouth.  “The harder questions are important to wrestle with at the end of our lives. They are like demons buried deep within the magma of our past selves.”

“Rev, he asked, What if I cannot go there and the questions come with me to the casket?

There was a silence before words from within my own magma came out of my mouth.  “You will be in good company, for Jesus himself - bathing in his own blood, his question still not answered - cried out in anguish, ‘Take this cup from me’.”

Silence filled the air once again as the sun cast a beam of light on his weather beaten face like an artist brush-stroking his cheeks. The handsome man of his youth spoke “O lord have mercy” his words spewing from deep within his pain, distorting the silence and all in its path. “Have mercy on us”…  have mercy on us indeed….

How would you have answered this man's heart cry?