I had selected an Airbnb in Quebec City based on pictures, reviews, accessibility to noteworthy landmarks, and availability. What I hadn’t fully explored was the neighborhood in which our lovely apartment was located.
It didn’t take long for us to realize that the property lived up to our expectations for comfort and style—and it also didn’t take long to realize we were in a section of Quebec City that was home to a community of men who appeared to be primarily living on the street.
In the course of three days, we were never confronted with an unsafe encounter, but we were often uncomfortable.
Yesterday morning, as we exited our steep stairway down to street level, Dale—my brother-in-law—and I encountered a profoundly dirty and incoherent man. As the door closed behind us, Dale looked at me and said, “I wonder what his story is?”
In that very short sentence, I was acutely aware that those were the words of Jesus. This was His language, and more importantly, His posture toward individuals just like this.
While I was attempting to avoid and dismiss, Dale was echoing the mercy of Christ.
The vivid picture of brokenness that we encountered again and again along Rue Saint-Joseph provoked one of two responses: a desire for separation or a pathway to compassion. I had been opting for separation. In fact, I think that’s my default. And with separation comes a subtle and damaging wave of judgmentalism.
What I realized in Dale’s simple statement is that each of these crushed lives has both value imputed by God and a story to tell. More often than not, I skip to my own uninformed story about the person or situation. I avoid—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually.
The script I write blames. It assumes. It devalues. It imputes motive.
It also prescribes solutions—remedies for undiagnosed problems.
I have no expectation that, in a few seconds, I could change the destiny of an individual on the streets of Quebec City—in part because most of those I encountered seemed mentally vacant and unaware. But a posture shift in my own heart was not only possible, it was commanded, as a follower of Jesus the Christ. He showed us the way—with lepers and addicts, with the villainized and the marginalized.
Jesus didn’t recoil. He engaged—with tenderness, with mercy, with love.
He didn’t diminish the decisions that fractured the foundation of our lives, but He offered grace, restoration, dignity and hope. And He did so by revealing how our story can be impacted by His story.
He’s not lazy in His discovery process. He leans into the mess without becoming an agent of shame.
“And Jesus went throughout all the cities and villages… When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” (Matthew 9:35–36)
Harassed and helpless. Not unemployable rejects. Not a blight. Not objects to be ignored. But image-bearers with a story to tell.
And in that very short sentence, Dale became my instructor—and my model.
“I wonder what his story is?”
From those standing on street corners with cups in their hands, to those sleeping under bridges or in doorways, that simple question changes my pathway to compassion as it reveals the heart of Christ.
{ 0 comments… add one now }