The morning coffee run. It’s not an everyday thing, but the sun is out and it’s dry for the first time in a long time. There’s no reflection of wetness bouncing off the black-gray boulevard asphalt. Some respite from the never-ending winter rain. Such an affordable luxury to get my usual - a decaf americano and one of those prefab breakfast sandwiches that, honestly don’t taste so prefabricated. Heated up, it’s so surprising how unlike it is to the usual soggy breadlike encasing of protein from almost any other cafe chain. The steaming bun is buttery and crispy and the bacon inside? Well, It tastes like the real thing and in fact gives a bit of a crunch when your teeth finally discover the solo strip neatly cut in two, flanking the disc-shaped egg scramble(which is not rubbery but not exactly the fluffy cloud of yolks and whites one cooks at home).
It’s early enough and the road hasn’t yet filled with cars driven by single occupants making their way to work - such an unusual occurrence at 7:30am. The curb in front of Starbucks is already lined with parked vehicles. The super-early birds - the construction folks - have hogged all the curbside space with their service trucks and SUV’s.
“I’m running late. Just keep going. Don’t spill the coffee,” I say to myself as I navigate past the motionless body that lay near the building.
Oh, someone else will take care of her. See! A young man, probably a student, is kneeling down to see if she’s ok. The student pulls open the door and disappears inside the Starbucks. Surely he’s going to help her. He’ll be out soon enough with an extra coffee and an extra sandwich to offer her.
She appears semi-conscious, it’s probably due to lack of sleep. I don’t think she’s injured or high on anything. I heard on the radio this morning that it was minus one last night. How can you possibly get a good night’s sleep or any kind of rest without shelter, especially when it’s below zero . At least it wasn’t raining and wet. Looks like she has a functional setup of a blue tarp and thick blankets stretched out from the Safeway shopping cart and draping over her body like a lean-to. And she’s got a couple of fluffy sleeping bags to lie in and on. Kind of cozy. I’m sure she’s resourceful and knows the regulars lining up to get in their morning brew. I felt confident that she would get her breakfast from the young man.
I’ll just walk on the other side.
I look down at my watch. I’ve got to get to my appointment. What appointment?! Just look purposeful and oblivious. Just look away. Turn a blind eye. Blind eye? Why do you need to turn your eye if it’s already blind?
______________________
And the blind man turns his head, hearing from others that Jesus is walking down the sidewalk. He brings Jesus’ three mile-an-hour cadence to a pause. He calls out: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!'
Jesus stops. Looks at the blind man. Then Jesus asks. “What can I do for you?”
“Lord, I want to see! I REALLY want to see!”
Jesus surveys the sidewalk. He sees the woman under her blue tarp along with the shopping cart holding all her possessions. The head-cover to protect her from the cold is a mauve-coloured scarf spiraled around her head and wound tightly down to her neck. Her left arm protrudes awkwardly out of the mummy-style sleeping bag; a whitish-pink sore the size of a toonie and encircled with a crimson crust is visible on the exposed hand. A trail of snot on her upper lip glistens as the morning sun catches her hardened face. She is asleep.
******************
Then Jesus looks back to the other side of the sidewalk where the blind man is standing. He is no Samaritan. He was warmly dressed in his Patagonia down vest and fleece-lined Arc-teryx joggers. The strap of his Herschel messenger bag is slung across his left shoulder and across his chest - the bag itself positioned against his right hip. The unSamaritan takes the Airpods out of his ears and navigates his chest with his right hand until he finds the zippered breast pocket of his puffy vest to put them away. He faces expectantly and intently in the direction of Jesus’ voice and waits for His reply.
Jesus says to him: “Receive your sight, your faith has healed you.”
Immediately, the blind unSamaritan sees. Praising God, he moves across the sidewalk and he crouches down to the woman under the tarp. He gently touches her arm. She awakens from her slumber. He fixes his eyes on her soft brown eyes. They gaze at each other for just a moment. The unSamaritan sees her in a different way. Not as a motionless and disheveled body tucked under a makeshift canopy. Nor a homeless, drug-dependent mother of two who is numbing the pain of a traumatic past. Not even as a stranger who is giving notice to latte-lovers that she is in need of some attention. She is not one of those but all of them. She is also a child of God.
SHE IS! a Child of God.
He speaks gently to her, “Blessed are you, ma’am, for the Kingdom of God is yours. Can I get you a coffee?”
