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Owed to Arlo GuthrieBy Bert Montgomery It started out just like any other man-date. I won two tickets to see Arlo Guthrie in Lexington, Kentucky, and my wife was unable to go with me, so I invited my good friend Daniel Bailey. We met up at Mellow Mushroom, enjoyed a pre-concert dinner that couldn’t be beat, and talked about Jesus and his mandate—you know, to care for the poor, the neglected, the “least of these.” Then, we made our way on over to the performance hall to be serenaded by the legendary folkie. It was a memorable concert filled with great songs and great stories about great things like peace and love and, of course, shovels and rakes and implements of destruction. The very first song Arlo sang was his 1973 classic “Last Train”; it was as if Arlo himself had been listening in on our conversation at the Mellow Mushroom and decided to sing this first song for Daniel and me: Maybe you’ve been lying down in the jailhouse After the concert, Daniel and I stood between our two cars, saying goodbye, when out-of-nowhere a third person began walking toward us—and when I say out-of-nowhere, I mean that there was nothing but the two of us, our two cars, and an empty parking lot, and then a man seemed to materialize out of the night. He told us he was homeless. He told us he was an addict. He told us he was on his way to a long-term residential rehab facility in a nearby city. He told us he just needed a place to stay for the night. So here we were talking about Jesus’ mandate to care for the poor and the outcasts, singing Arlo songs about community and love, and ready to go back to our comfortable homes and climb into our comfortable beds, then here comes this homeless guy asking us to do unto him as Jesus would. I mean, if we take Jesus seriously, I mean, if we really take Jesus at his word…here comes Jesus—Jesus! In the person of a young homeless man! Jesus! Coming to two ministers of the gospel of Jesus Christ as if checking to see if we were going to let our lives bear witness to what we’d been talking and singing about. And with great hesitation on our part, with no game-plan to guide us, and with nobody to help us if this situation turned violent, Daniel and I took this homeless man to a nearby motel. We got him a room, bought him some food, gave him some cash, said a prayer for him, and said goodnight. Daniel and I got back into my car wondering if we had done the right thing, wondering if the homeless man would stay in the room that night, enjoy a breakfast at the Waffle House next door the next morning, and get on a bus headed for Cincinnati—which is what he told us he was going to do; or, if he was going to take the little bit of cash we left him, leave the room, and blow the money on alcohol or drugs or something else. We drove back to the still-empty parking lot asking ourselves all these questions, second-guessing ourselves, and trying to convince each other that we weren’t complete idiots. I’m not so sure anymore that Jesus lets us see the results of our actions—whether they are wonderful, give-thanks-to-God-we-helped-someone results, or if they are boy-we-got-duped-and-manipulated-and-enabled-an-addict-to-hustle-another-day results. In the Gospels, Jesus doesn’t seem to care so much about what other people do with our generosity, as much as whether or not we are loving and generous and kind and merciful and forgiving. I mean, Jesus doesn’t tell us he’s going to hold us accountable for what other people do with what we give them. Jesus only tells us he’s going to hold us accountable for whether or not we freely give. Which brings me back to Arlo. Remember Arlo? This is an ode (actually, an owed) to Arlo. Maybe an old hippie folksinger understands Jesus better than this seminary-trained-paid-professional clergyman (and most others I know)… Maybe your ticket on the last train to glory, Questions for Reflection • Matthew 25—the parable of the sheep and the goats—is simple and explicit in its description of what Jesus calls us to do. In what ways do we make excuses and try to find loopholes in Jesus’ call for our lives? How do those of us in the Church miss this instruction—and with what other “doctrines” or “beliefs” do we emphasis in its place? |