One night a year or so ago, I was at my church, getting things out of the kitchen for street outreach, and half-listening to the mostly incoherent mutterings of my friend, Al — a homeless schizophrenic. His face this night was wrinkled and troubled, his thoughts jumbled, his eyes unfocused. I finished up what I was doing, told Al I’d see him later, and then headed for the door.  I wasn’t even sure he knew I was there. But then, his voice stopped me:

“Say, do you know about the Jordan River?”

jor-rivI turned back toward him, and saw that he had taken a seat on the couch. And without waiting for an answer, he began to tell the story of the Jordan River. Soundlessly, I slid to the floor and sat at his feet, with my arms wrapped around my knees, transfixed by his words, and by the sudden change in him.

Slowly, purposefully, he quoted passages of Scripture and marveled aloud at the significance and symbolism of the Jordan River.  It was like a shimmering blue thread running through the story of God’s love for us. And Al’s joy and delight in that river, and in his God, was great. His eyes were clear and bright and his voice was strong and steady. I could feel the presence of the Lord with us and I could see God’s glory reflected on my friend’s face.

Al spoke for a good while, his re-telling of the story of the Jordan River filling him with awe and wonder for the God he so loved.  I remember wanting him not to stop. But eventually, he did. When he finished speaking, we sat in silence for a moment. And then I saw the light leave his eyes and the veil come over his face again.

I asked a question, quickly, wanting to stop time. But it was too late. Al stood up, looked down at me, laughed and said, “Why are you sitting in the floor? Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?” And then he shook his head and turned to walk away.

I touched his arm and said, “Thank you for telling me about the Jordan River.” He looked back at me quizzically, and his next words were jumbled, nonsensical. I watched him walk away, and I wanted to reach out and say, “Don’t go!” Then I heard friends in another room greet him, and I slipped out the door, my mind and my heart both full.

Even now, I can clearly recall the overwhelming sense of comfort and peace  that I felt as I sat and listened to my friend speak. And I feel a real sense of loss that those moments passed by so quickly.  But I’m grateful to God, and to my precious friend Al, that I  know what it is to sit at the feet of Jesus, by the River Jordan.

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