The Currency of Heaven

"I am honored to have met you,"

I said to our new friend as I crouched by his feet in a church basement. *Ethan met some members of our team a day previous and had rendezvous'd with us at 42nd and 10th as we rounded the corner out of the Lincoln Tunnel in a van. 

He hesitated. The first thing he said was how embarrassed he was because he smelled bad. Undeterred, we welcomed him in to our van and proceeded to drive uptown to the host church for the night's Don't Walk By outreach.

At the outreach some volunteer nurses cared for a deep wound in *Ethan's leg that had been causing him much pain. After they re-wrapped the wound, *Ethan sat in his chair, head down, eyes leaking, hurting. He said to me, "there is no honor in this."

It's been said that, "honor is the currency of heaven"; but this is not honor just in words, but with action attached to it. Honor that cedes to each person the reality of their own belovedness.  *Ethan sat, tears streaming, others honoring him by attending to his need of food, medical care, and most of all, friendship.

At the end of the night, *Ethan was the last guest to remain and made the choice to accept our offer of a warm bed for the night, a place to stretch out his aching, wounded leg, and rest for his soul. Driving uptown, we hit almost every light green and safely delivered him to home for the night. As we were on the way back to NJ, he called a member of our team so say how glad he was he decided to accept the bed for the night, and that he had found new hope.