The Pains of a Broken Heart

This is an encounter I had with a gentlemen while working for an homeless service provider for persons living with HIV/AIDS:

Miguel* sat before me, his head curled up in his arms as I watched his heavy tears hit the plastic covering of his grandmother’s funeral program. I tried to coax him to look up at me, but he hid his face in shame. I can’t say that I didn’t blame him for weeping. He spent the last 15 years of his life in jail for one charge of child molestation. Now 38, Miguel has been a free man for three weeks, and we have been trying to provide him with temporary housing until he can get on his feet — there isn’t much for a sex offender in these parts.

Miguel weeps because he is going back to jail because of a probation violation. He didn’t register in time. We still don’t know how long he is going to be in there. As his case manager continued to make frantic calls, I studied him. I could feel the war wage within my heart — this man has done unspeakable evil. He has misused an innocent child and surely he is only getting what he deserved. 

In my superiority, I thought he is only a child molester. Worthless. Addicted. Homeless. A public safety threat. Sinner. Lazy. No good. With my nose turned up, my judgemental eyes scoured his body. Pathetic. In my visual search, my eyes caught something. A crumbled up piece of paper with drawings on it — I asked him if I could see it. Without looking at me, defeated… he handed it to me. It was a poem, and I received permission to share it here:

~

“Too many things 

I just don’t understand 

like how to be a man 

but still play this crooked hand 

that was dealt me. 

I shout out for help

but no one wants to stand

and defend those souls 

left in the land 

of the homeless. 

Is this a fight for justice?

Shall I really overcome?

They say God has you a blessing,

just let it mature some. 

Another chance is all I ask

to right the things I’ve done.

I wish I never made bad choices

cause my whole life is falling apart

the world might be better off

if I wasn’t here from the start 

that’s just the way I feel

that’s just the pain of a broken heart.” 

~ 

As I continued to read, I felt the calm and gentle warmth of the Holy Spirit convict my heart. Though it be tear-stained, and filled with broken English and misspelled words… it was in every way a mandate from the Kingdom of God. I felt compassion flood through my veins. This man is my brother. His offensives before God are no greater than my own. And as he wept over his most prized possession, a program with his grandmother’s picture protected with plastic — I saw the woman with the alabaster jar lay her sins before her Savior. Weeping. Covering His feet with her expensive perfume. And Jesus did not shoo her away — He did not say, “Get away from me prostitute! Leave my presence child molester!” He did not refuse her offerings. 

After I turn up my nose, and walk away in judgement… Jesus remains. He cradles Miguel’s head, wipes his tears and whispers: Precious. Honored. Chosen. Child. Forgiven. Worth it all. Made in My likeness. Adored… My most cherished son.