A Sidewalk to Life

Posted by parkejladd on Jun 1, 2010 in Featured {Article}, Prague, Slider | 6 comments

This past Friday, two gentlemen started their journey with the Lord! We were talking with them as they passed, waiting for their trams to arrive, when we started discussing Jesus and the gospel. Both men had been searching for a long time and were obviously ready to start walking with the Lord. It was an incredible night. This is the account of one of those stories from the streets of Prague. Praise the Lord!

The LORD is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid? –Psalm 27:1

With my right hand I gripped the old man’s shoulder as he stood in front of me, eyes scanning my face for signs of worry, signs that I wasn’t really who I said I was–some reason to pack up and walk away as quickly as possible, never to be seen or heard from again. In passing, he had overheard our conversation and asked us to tell him more. The man was seeking something, in dire need of some news which he believed we had to offer. I could feel the warmth of his left arm come and go between the thickly knitted threads of his coarse, wool sweater. Heat moved out, cold moved in, over and over like a dying vehicle burning through fuel, unable to conserve energy. The man’s arm, hardly noticeable within the confines of his heavy sweater, was weak and weathered from another lonely day spent wandering. I could squeeze the weariness from him; weariness typical of those trudging through the thick of life with no hope, joy or time to go round again. He had the look of a man who had long since given up on finding peace, praying for death because death defined his current understanding of life. His face was sullen yet longing, downcast yet searching, dejected yet not ready to cease breathing.

His shoulder trembled slightly as I held to it. A frayed, winter hat camouflaged his parted, gray hair, concealing the wrinkly outline of his forehead and ears. As I held my stance and braced against his shoulder, tears started trailing down his cheeks, seeking shelter amongst the thick, grainy whiskers composing his burly, brown beard. He asked us for a clean tissue, and we quickly retrieved a few from the packs slung over our shoulders. The man was broken before us. Amidst tears and trembling, he appeared a blurred, shadowy picture of a soul crying out for sight. The moment was heavy upon his frame; weighty from the pressure and pain of an entire lifetime come into focus. Feeling his shoulder droop in my hand, pressing in and shrinking downward, I felt as though the man’s whole world was collapsing in my grasp, slowly crumbling before my eyes. His soul appeared in an instant and then it was gone, only glimpses leaking from weary eyes and tired, shaking sobs. The man’s life seemed as though it was supported by our hands upon him, my wife’s hand upon his back and my friend’s on his side. With every tear the cracks in his heart deepened till what we saw of the man before us was nothing more than a crumbling heart, tired from the journey, longing for someone to help show him a way apart from his own dying path.

We’d been sitting with another man, a homeless gentleman with a crooked nose and fake leg that could be screwed on and off. The leg, which was currently off, was displaced somewhere amongst disheveled belongings beside him like a glove that could be worn or not worn depending on the forecast. We sat talking with this gentleman—an experienced street sojourner—about Catholicism, Buddhism, Islam, and the rest of the world’s religions. We shared our stories of how Jesus had changed our lives, but the man wasn’t interested in what we had to say. We told him that we too hated religion and had come not to share more rules and regulations but love and relationship. Yet his heart was hard, and he would not receive it. Disinterested yet warm to talk with, we sat and spoke until another man with a thick wool sweater and coarse, brown beard came up to our group, inquiring as to what we had to say concerning God and Jesus.

He wished to know more so we jumped to our feet, quickly saying goodbye to the man with the one good leg. He replied happily and kissed my wife’s hand goodbye. She laughed and smiled at him in return as we began speaking with the new man, just now coming into reach. We were happy to tell him what we knew. As we shared the story of Jesus his heart leaped in front of us like a prisoner whose heavy chains had just now been released. I gripped the man’s shoulder, and he prayed to God for help and forgiveness. He prayed for salvation and for a relationship with Jesus. The tears wouldn’t stop. They flowed down his cheeks and splattered the cold, cobble-stoned sidewalk we stood on. People—tourists from all over the world, speaking more languages than I could ever hope to count—passed us on every side, quickly moving to their destinations, laughing and shopping and photographing. Yet we hardly noticed them. Everything around us faded away like a movie nearing the climax when everything the protagonist had hoped to be real actually turned out to be so, and nothing else mattered to him except for that final confirmation of truth. I prayed for the man. I held on tightly to his shoulder and prayed for his life, thankful to God for his love for us and his grace in our time of need. We prayed for the man as a member of our own family and extended our love to him as such. The man stood upright, departing from his slouch, and looked me square in the eye. He grasped my forearm as it rested easily on his shoulder and said thank you in his native tongue. His eyes matched the deep green color of the scarf he wore round his neck, and I knew, upon gazing into them, there was something different about this man who now stood before me. Trails from remnant tears still plodded down his cheeks like rain drop streaks on a new, leather jacket.  And for the first time I saw the old man for who he was—a brother, friend, and new companion to one day meet again. He thanked each of us, turned slowly and walked away with the crowds of others moving with and around him as he proceeded forward.