When Jose approached me I stifled a laugh. He was a big guy, at least 6 foot 2, and easily weighing 250 pounds. He wore a sweater that looked like it belonged to his grandmother and he had dress slacks on that didn’t match anything else, least of all the crocodile skin shoes that were 2 sizes two big.
In very broken English he said the one thing that his appearance had already communicated loud and clear, “I need clothes.”
I went ahead and assumed that he preferred Spanish so I answered, “lo siento, no tenemos ropa, pero, podemos hablar y es posible que podamos enviarle un lugar para conseguir algo (I’m sorry, we don’t have clothes, but we can talk and it’s posible that we can tell you where you can get something).
We went into the office area of the front of the Relief Bus and sat down. He was so appreciative that I understood Spanish.
He told me that he had gotten out of jail the day before after serving a 6 year sentence. That night he stayed at one of the New York City shelters that we hear so much about. His first stop after being released was a clothing store where he spent all the money he had in the world on a pair of boots, jeans, and a hoodie. He placed these items beside his bed at the shelter and when he woke up they were gone.
Fresh out of jail, with all of his earthly possessions in the wind, he approached a security guard to report the theft. He told me that this particular security guard was wearing a different pair of shoes than he had started his shift with the night before and that his new footwear looked remarkably like the shoes he had put beside his bed.
Livid with frustration, barefoot, and wearing nothing but his underwear and an undershirt, he went to the office of the supervisor and told him that one of the security guards had stolen his stuff. He received no compassion. The supervisor directed him to a clothing donation room where all he found that he could physically fit into were the clothes he was wearing at that moment.
Now, we tell volunteers all the time that one of the main priorities of our organization is to “love the person in front of you.” We also believe that the mandate of Isaiah 58 to “clothe the naked” is not just a cherry on top of our theological sunday. This is why we give out new socks and toiletry kits. On the other hand, we specifically choose NOT to give away miscellaneous clothing for a reason: our goal is to connect people to local resources and often times programs that offer clothes to the needy and naked also offer the chance at a new life through advocacy and rehabilitation. The other reason is that our mobile outreach doesn’t lend itself to sorting, washing, and distributing clothing in a safe and productive manner.
In this case I felt God telling me to make an exception.
I talked to the co-leader of the outreach that day and told him that I was going to take Jose shopping. We went around the corner to a local sporting goods store and did just that. He had gained a lot of weight in prison and didn’t have a clue what size he was. He tried on everything. He looked for the cheapest prices (which is very doable when you’re shopping in the South Bronx). The first style of hoodie he really wanted had a busted zipper. But instead of just trying a different one, Jose spent 10 minutes trying to fix it. Finally, he put it back and tried a different version of the same style and once again the zipper broke. He took it to the back of the store where the employees seemed to all be furiously trying to repair and sort random articles of clothing. He told them the zipper was broken and they took it and started working on it.
We shopped some more.
I should probably mention, and my wife can vouch for this, that I hate shopping. But there was something sacred about that time. There was something beautiful about Jose wearing his woman’s sweater and crocodile skin shoes trying on new hoodies and pants that made him feel human again.
When he had finally selected his clothes, we paid and we started to head for the exit.
“Now we need to get you some boots.”
“Really?” His face lit up like a Christmas tree.
And for the first time ever, I wasn’t rushing to get out of a store. We went downstairs, found the shoe section, and started all over again.
We walked out of the store and he had all of his new stuff in bags.
He held them close.
We went to a local Burger King so that he could put on his new clothes.
We walked back to the Relief Bus and he couldn’t stop thanking me.
“Listen, I should be thanking you,” I said. “God is the one who told me to get you some new clothes. The only reason I CAN do this is because God provides. It’s all his stuff anyway. He wanted you to experience His love today. God has not forgotten you.”
When we got back to the Relief Bus, Jose immediately picked up our trash picker and started cleaning up the entire block. He worked with us the rest of the day. The following Saturday he came back and served with us again for another 4 hours doing whatever was needed, including some much needed Spanish translations for the prayers that we offer up on behalf of our guests.
Then he was gone.
4 months later I was back in the South Bronx doing the same thing we do every week: trying to love the person in front of me.
I heard a car horn and I turned around to see a utility van double-parked beside the Relief Bus with a driver furiously gesturing for my attention. Being the eternal optimist, I assumed he wanted us to move the Bus or complain about the crowd that our outreach had created on the sidewalk, so I approached with caution.
Then I saw him.
Jose was sitting in the driver’s seat looking fit, well-dressed, and all smiles.
“I’ve got a job making $20 an hour! I have a nice place and it’s thanks to YOU!”
I pointed up at the sky, and said, “hermano, all I did was get you some clothes. You and God worked out the rest.”
Sometimes even shopping can be a sacred act of worship… sometimes.
Grace and Peace,
Josiah Haken
