We connected during a public presentation at a church by a left-leaning Mennonite about nuclear disarmament and social justice. I was twenty-four. We spoke at length afterwards over coffee and we agreed to stay in touch. We both believed that God was calling us into a similar, rather delicate field of Christian street ministry. We were also two very awkward misfits which made us rather needy of friendship. Then I defected to his church and was soon a member of his coalition of Christian losers. This was during the days when one could actually survive on welfare and I think I was the only one in this collective who actually worked for a living.
He lived in a rooming house in the West End and his place became known as "the Mission." This man cared about people. He was extraordinarily kind, shared everything, and so strong on his own theology of love. For him love was it. God was love and God wanted us all to know that he loved us. So far so good. To others, this charismatic individual was a pathetic unemployed loser with poor hygiene. He was the axis to which we all clung. We prayed together, we bore one another's burdens and he always had a need to be the voice of God to everyone else. I was young, hurt and in need of a mentor so I listened to him. I became caught up in his personal vortex, one of Jupiter's moons.
When I stood up to him three years later there was no forgiveness. He never forgave me though we did remain friends on some level or other for years to come. He was so full of his own pain, and so willing and eager to share the pain of others. Had his life not been so much like the broken and wounded Jesus I would have easily written him off as a charlatan. But he was not a charlatan. He loved too boldly and too authentically to be a fake. My one mistake was to get trapped in his undertow and I had to learn the hard way to not let anyone do this to me, ever, or should I say to not do this sort of thing to myself?
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