I’d seen him walk by a few times in the past weeks. Apparently we was living up the street with Manuel. Today, he stopped, took a hesitant step forward and then asked if he could come in. I closed my laptop and rose to greet him. His name was Francisco.
“Would you like to sit down?” I asked.
“Sure.” He took a seat opposite me at the plastic folding table where I had been working. His tired eyes took a quick survey of the room. He looked like a man with a burden.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“My wife kicked me out of the house.”
“Alcohol?” I asked.
He nodded.
Over the next half hour Francisco told me bits and pieces of his story. The slow slide into alcoholism; being kicked out of the house numerous times; arguments with his wife; his son’s accident with the dog. As he spoke I squinted my eyes in concentration, trying to understand his Spanish while searching my mind for a Bible passage to share with him.
I told Francisco I was no expert in counselling or alcoholism, but that I would try my best to help him see and understand what God says to us in His Word. I led him first to the wise words of Proverbs 23, and then later to what our Lord Jesus says in Matthew 11:28. He was receptive to what the passages said and as he left he promised to stop by again the following week.
He never did stop by, at least not the following week. A month or so after we returned from furlough in Canada, I bumped into Francisco on the street. I asked how he was doing and he said not much had improved, although he seemed to be in good spirits. I invited him to our Sunday service and told him we could do a bible study if he was interested.
He was interested, and the following Sunday he slipped in late to our 6 p.m. service. Afterwards he assured us that he really enjoyed it and would be back the following Sunday. During the week I kept in touch with him and he even called me after I was slow to respond to a text message. When I told him about my fever and sore throat he was eager to give me advice on the correct course of treatment. He told me he used to be a pharmacist.
On Sunday I sent him a message reminding him of the service.
“Gracias” was his response.
“Uh-oh” I thought, “that usually means no.”
Sure enough, Francisco didn’t come. The next Sunday, just before the service, I knocked on his door and asked if he was coming. He said he was. But he didn’t. He even walked by during the service and gave me a quick, sheepish wave.
I don’t know what’s going on in Francisco’s life, or his heart. I don’t why he seemed really interested one day, and then essentially gave me the cold shoulder the next. Maybe he slipped back into depression and couldn’t muster the energy to attend. Maybe family and societal pressure gave him second thoughts about attending a “Christian church.” I don’t know.
As much as I want to knock on Francisco’s door, grab him by the shoulders, and shake some gospel-sense into him, I can’t do that. What I need to do is pray I pray that God is doing something in his life and is softening his heart to accept the good news of Jesus Christ. I need to pray for more opportunites to speak to him and to let him know I care, and so does Jesus.
Bit by bit, at snail-pace, I’m learning to pray more, and then to be ready for however God answers my prayer.
The Rabbi's Burrito 
Leave a comment