Yesterday (11/11) I went out to walk and see some sights in Marseille and be with Jesus...wrestling through the fear of man that is often so strong on me here...and I was walking back to the apartment coming from the Joliette area, and I came up on a homeless man who was sitting beside the sidewalk.
He asked me for a cigarette, which seems to be more and more common, and I told him that I don't have any because I don't smoke. I introduced myself...he did too...his name is Patrick. I told him that I would be glad to offer him something to eat if he wanted, but I didn't even have any change to give him. He said with a brash, rough tone, "Quelque chose de chaud!" So I went to get him a Donner Kébab sandwich up the street...came back, and gave it to him, and asked him if I could sit down with him, which he agreed. Like most of the homeless people I've spent time with in Marseille (and in the USA for that matter), Patrick was drinking heavily and smoking whatever cigarettes he could bum off of passersby. He was a rough man who had obviously been hardened by some serious suffering in his lifetime. I shared with him extensively about Jesus and His suffering, death, and resurrection of Patrick's behalf...and he was asking me some questions about which disciple it was who betrayed Jesus, and he asked about Moses too. In my mind I had to remind myself that I was no longer in the desert of Niger, where the people had never heard the gospel before...rather now, I'm back in France talking to a homeless man, who nonetheless knows about Jesus and what He did. A tinge of frustration and aggravation came over me as I thought about how ridiculous it is that I'm trying to share Jesus with people who know all about Him intellectually, but they have absolutely no idea who He is intimately. Anyway, Patrick seemed like he was listening. At one point he finally was successful in getting a few cigarettes from a girl who took the time to stop and not ignore him like 99% of the people do. Of course the people that were walking by immediately lumped me in the category with Patrick, as another homeless man...but I don't care. I prefer being with the poor than the rich. Anyway I shared pretty extensively about my own story and how Jesus grabbed and transformed me in the midst of a huge depression and plans to commit suicide. Eventually I realized how stone cold this man was. I asked Patrick what he was searching for in life. What did he yearn for? I specified the question by saying that I didn't mean tangible things like possessions, but intangible things like peace, love, etc. Patrick told me with this chilling tone, "La guerre." (War). I paused after he said that and thought about our time in Côte d'Ivoire and the havoc that country has endured because of war. I thought about the countless children who have been massacred and women who have been raped and killed, and the country that has been ripped apart because of war. I actually, instead of immediately responding with a trite answer...took a minute to think. And Patrick continued talking. Come to find out, he was in the French Army for 15 years in active combat in Djibouti, Cambodia, Vietnam, and Lebanon (and Congo too I think). He began to describe what is like to kill another person. I just sat there listening, not really sure what to say. Patrick vividly lived out one particular time when there was apparently a line of men in front of him, and he decided not to kill them all, but to shoot one man repeatedly. He died. Along these same lines, he described in detail how he hates the Arabs (he used the extremely derogatory word "racaille" which means "scum"). I thought about how I hated the brutality that the French have used towards who knows how many countries during the colony era...taking over countries and taking over their resources (all 4 of the countries Patrick fought in are now French speaking to varying degrees, for that reason). No wonder the French are hated by so many. Here's a man sitting right beside me who traveled extensively just like I do, going to nations executing orders to kill people, and now he's miserable, stone-cold, homeless, and dead inside. Obviously war isn't the solution. I thought about how I'm going into some of the very nations that had been France's targets for so long as colonies, and now I'm being sent by Jesus to these same French speaking places bringing redemption and hope in Him instead of war and hate. Patrick asked me if I had ever fought in a war, and I said emphatically, "No, and I don't want to either." I began to tell him how I just got back from Africa and saw with my own eyes how war devastates and kills and how it is not the solution like he said it was. It felt satisfying to stand up for what I thought and tell him that war AIN'T the answer. I think Patrick is the coldest and hardest man I've met yet in Marseille...maybe aside from Michel, but at least Michel recognizes his misery and need. Patrick doesn't. In fact, while we were talking, a city vehicle pulled up in front of us, and at first I thought it was the police coming to reprimand us for sitting on the entrance of a private building. Nope...it was Social Services of the City of Marseille, and the man that approached called out to Patrick by name, so I knew immediately that they see each other often. The man asked Patrick if he was coming to the shelter to eat and sleep. Patrick just sat there, obstinate. The man asked him probably 10 more times, but not in a mean way, but as if he actually cared about Patrick. I was astounded that the city actually has a department that goes around and rounds up homeless people and takes them to a shelter where they can eat and sleep. Patrick continued to refuse to go. I began to ponder the vast difference between the poverty situation of Patrick's life and the millions of Africans who are in way worse poverty...not because they want to, but because they have no other choice. At least Patrick is in a city where there is help, food, and shelter available. How many places in the world are fortunate enough to have free services that care for those who are without? Most of Africa isn't in that category. I saw Patrick's obstinance, and the Social Services man asked me what my opinion was. Before I had the chance to say anything, Patrick told the man that I am a Christian that believes in Jesus Christ. Eventually the man left, realizing that Patrick wasn't going to the shelter. You can't force somebody to receive. Patrick needs far more than shelter and food. After the man left, I asked Patrick if I could offer him a blanket. I insisted...he didn't respond really, just wanted cigarettes. I told him I preferred not to get him cigarettes, but something that will actually do him some good, like blankets, clothes, food, etc. The words of James rung strong in my ears...not simply speaking to people about Jesus, but providing them with tangible needs. Eventually, Patrick's obstinate heart gave in...he at first thought I wouldn't come back. I left, came to the apartment, got a bag and put a sheet, blanket, some food, shoes, a towel, etc. in it. I went back and gave it to him...he reluctantly took it. Patrick said, "You came back?" I said, "Yes, I came back. I'm a man of my word. What I say, I do." It's always such an eye-opening experience to actually sit down with the homeless of Marseille and treat them with dignity as people. You put yourself in their category, so to speak. I watched the people walking by who would in varying degrees ignore the both of us. At that point, I couldn't care less what they thought about me being with a homeless man. It bothers me immensely when I do that very thing myself...ignore those people who are supposedly the "dregs" of society. A few minutes later, a young guy about my age and his girlfriend came by and the guy started talking to Patrick and I. Come to find out, they've talked before. They were moved that I would stop and sit with him and care for him. I told the guy that the people in the streets are human beings too, just like everybody else. I could tell that they were really struck by what I was doing. I was equally moved that these young people would stop and talk to Patrick. Once again, my harsh generalizations of the French (even though they were of Arab descent) were shattered, and I felt hope penetrate my heart for them. The guy told me to take care of Patrick...he gave him some change, and they left. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that they stopped about 100 meters down the street, turned around and watched us for a second before continuing. I knew they were really touched by what I did. I wonder if they are believers in Jesus. There was one other person that stopped. It was a young Muslim lady with her head covered, like thousands of others in Marseille. But this lady was different. She approached, and Patrick asked her if she had a cigarette, and she just kept walking. Then she turned around and came back and said, "Would you like some bread?" She asked both me and Patrick, which I was glad because that meant that I was seen as the same as him, not separate. I told her that I was fine, but that Patrick probably wanted some. She broke the baguette in half, and handed it to him with such compassion. I was just struck. Here's a Muslim woman by herself at night and she gave bread to us. Wow. Most Christians wouldn't have even done that. She had a beautiful, smiling face as she handed him the bread. Thank You Jesus for that lady. I learn so much being with the homeless. Jesus reminded me through Matthew 25 that every time I feed the hungry, clothe the poor, and invite them in and give them a place to stay (which I want to do for Fatima), visit them when they're sick, I am doing it unto Jesus Himself. But every time that I DON'T do it, I ignore Jesus. Lord give me courage to take every opportunity You give me to be generous to the poor. Thank You Jesus. Patrick laid down, still stone cold in his heart, faced the other way, and went to sleep. I laid my hand on him, and began praying in tongues over him, wanting the Holy Spirit to touch him and draw him to Jesus, and then left.