An Advent Message
by Joe Gatlin
“And the word became flesh and made his home among us.” John 1:14
“The word in the Greek for ‘dwell among us’ … originally meant ‘to pitch one’s tent.’ Now today we might translate it, ‘And the Word became flesh and parked his mobile home next to ours.’”
Clarence Jordan, co-founder of Koinonia Farm in “The Substance of Faith.”
Late yesterday morning the doorbell rang and elicited my usual, “Ugh!” And then a long stream of “Uhh—Ohhhhh’s” each one more guttural and primal as I stood up from the desk, stretched my back, and anticipated the long trip down the narrow stairs. “Jesse, it’s got to be Jesse,” I mumbled in vexation, as I made my way across the house to the front door.
My Jesse-radar is accurate about 90% of the time. That’s because it actually is Jesse 90% of the time when the doorbell rings.
“Hi, Jesse,” I tried to muster some politeness. It had only been about three hours since his previous doorbell ring.
“Joe, have you got another cup of coffee?” he raised his eyebrows in earnestness.
I was busy, but… on the other hand, it was cold, Jesse was sober (that called for positive reinforcement), and I didn't want to be a Scrooge especially the first week of Advent. And, moreover, Nancy and I have an unspoken rule that— even though we’ll say no at times to appeals for money—we won’t refuse requests for food or drink (the non-alcoholic kind).
Hoping he would let me off the hook, I explained that the morning’s coffee was all gone and that it would take a while for me to make more.
“Oh,” he replied with a smile, “I don’t mind waiting.” Picking up on subtlety is not one of Jesse’s strong points.
When I returned with his fresh cup of coffee, Jesse had a gift for me: some new hand towels with a red bow wrapped around them. Since he uses our address as his official residence, I knew he had received his Social Security check a couple of days earlier. “One for the girls and one for the boys,” he explained. He was referring to the grandkids who are in our house every day. I accepted them, thanked him, noted to myself there were three towels, not two, but I knew not to ask.
Three hours later the doorbell rang again, Jesse was asking for a bar of soap. We also try to accommodate requests for soap.
Nancy and I have a long history of individuals who, as Nancy explains it, “have adopted us.” We didn’t go looking for them, they found us. There was Jimmy back in our Chicago days who lived in an institutional home and walked around with tatters of a Roman Meal bread wrapper stuffed in his ears so he could communicate with the Vatican. He visited me every day in my neighborhood mediation office in Uptown.
Janelle lived two doors down from us in Waco several decades ago. For most of her life she lived in institutional homes in Texas, and then semi-independently in a garage apartment in her last years. She became a member of our community, challenged us with her ability to bluntly, with no varnish, tell the truth as she saw it, and humbled us with her generosity. Her monthly disability check was usually spent within the first week because she bought groceries for needy people she knew in the neighborhood.
And now Jesse, who has lived on the streets of Waco for several decades, has come to visit us. Well, actually, he lived on our front porch for quite a while, and then on the front porch of the vacant house next door, and this week I’m not sure where he is spending the nights. But most of his possessions—an old sleeping bag, a dolly missing one wheel, a pair of hedge clippers missing one handle, and a variety of other cast-off tools missing one thing or another—still occupy our extra blue recycling bin and the side yard between our house and the vacant house next door.
His background is clouded by brain damage and alcohol. He’s belligerent when he is drunk and overly helpful when sober. He wants nothing more than to belong, but meanwhile manages to not just annoy but also alienate most of the people in his life.
During Advent I’m always moved by the first chapter of John. We didn’t go looking for Jesus. He came and found us. Or as Clarence put it in his inspired and artful contextualization of the gospel for southwest Georgia, “He parked his mobile home next to ours.” We didn’t go looking for Jimmy, Janelle, and Jesse. They came and parked their mobile homes next to ours.
For us they have not been charity cases. That their names all start with “J” is just one more manifestation of God’s grace, just a hint to help me overcome my spiritual denseness. We have known through them and a host of others, Jesus is with us.
Janelle is gone; she died a number of years ago. I expect that Jimmy is with Jesus; the last time I saw him was some 45 years ago. I haven’t seen Jesse yet today, but I imagine the doorbell will be ringing soon.
I’m looking forward to sitting down with all three of them at the messianic banquet table that Jesus has prepared for us. Jimmy’s ears will be clear and he will hear real voices. Janelle will be happy because her neighbors have been filled. The metal plate in Jesse’s head will be gone, and he will be healed. And I will understand better, although not fully I am sure, the mysteries of Christ’s love.
May we all be blessed by Christ’s presence this Advent and all year long.
Joe Gatlin
Joe is a member of Hope Fellowship in Waco and has served on the NCN leadership team for the last six years.