I used to work in a store called Peckhams. We sold all sorts of different wines and spirits as well as fresh deli items- it was typical upper middle class fayre as were the customers. One item we did stock though was ‘K Cider’. This was 6% alcohol in a can for 79p. The reason we stocked it however was because one guy would buy it- sometimes 12 cans per day on separate occasions. One night he broke down in the store and explained he was living in a bedsit. Most nights he was too drunk to make it back to the bedist in time for curfew and as a result would have to sleep outside. His fingernails were bloody from scraping the ground- he thought he was in bed pulling the sheets over himself. One night, 30 minutes before closing (11.30) he was slumped up against our door, barely recognisable as a functioning person. i handed over the keys to a workmate and walked him to his bedsit. Before letting him go in, i asked him if i could pray for him. In his stupor he simply said ‘All i want is a house’. Nervously, i prayer for him- handing over his needs to God and asking for another chance on his behalf. We went separate ways, sceptical that what had just happened was heard.
3 weeks ago, and roughly 8 months later, the same guy walks into Re:Hope. He was much more weathered from the last time i saw him, bandaged up on his head and his left eye had some blood in it. His fingernails were clean. We’re in the middle of second worship and alot of people are getting prayed for, its hard to hear but coyly i approach him, call him by his name and ask how his situation is. He is surprised since he clearly doesnt remember me but gains some trust in me expressing an interest. He talks about how the council found him a flat in Blairdardie, he no longer lives on the streets when he cant make the walk home. However, he goes on to talk about one night when he was walking home from the shop after getting bread and is savagely beaten up outside his front door. He spent the next 3 months in hospital in a coma. He lost his flat since he doesnt have a cosigner or a next of kin. His one chance to break out left him back where he was-back in the bedsit- but this time with less of a desire to drink. I pray for him again although this time he is far more weary and soon leaves.
On sunday, He came back in. This time he recognised me. I was at the communion table- sharing the joy of the empty tomb and the blood shed for us with anyone who came back to recieve it. He spends some time observing people do this and starts to talk about a prgramme he watched on channel 4 last wednesday. It was about the last supper and the death of Christ. Wondering where he was going with the conversation, i turned to him to see him crying. He simply says- ‘I want to be a Christian’. Weary, i lean in to see if i smell alcohol but hes fine. His bandages are off and his fingernails are clean. He asks how he can do it. I explain that for now, all he needs to do is ask for forgiveness. We pray, and he offers his life as no longer his and asks for mercy. I ask if he wants to take communion with me, barely able to explain what it symbolises. I find the words from something i had heard from a friend who had said the words before. We pick up the bread and dip it in the wine;
He knew you’re name on the cross.
You Humble me, Lord.
