The Unannounced Christmas Visitor, page 9
John cleared his throat. “Well, if you mean my body, after all, I’m aware that the Bible calls our bodies temples, I do a pretty good job taking care of it. For the most part, I watch what I eat and exercise fairly regularly. Until lately, that is…”
The look on Enoch’s face said it all. In a softer tone, he said, “If you could look in the mirror and, instead of seeing your true reflection, see how your wife and children observe you, would you like what you saw staring back at you?”
“No,” John replied, without hesitation.
Enoch remained silent, unwilling to be the next to speak.
John took a few deep exasperated breaths and exhaled. Is this man a shrink or something? Whoever he was, John felt comfortable enough to take the next step, even with so many others eavesdropping on them. “If, by house, you mean at home, well...” He wondered if Lydia had already spilled the beans to this wise old man. “...lately things haven’t been so rosy with me and Lydia.”
“I see. Care to share why?”
“I’ll admit it’s mostly my fault. I feel like I’m in an endless rut.”
“Why do you feel that way?”
“There’s this constant pressure to keep pushing hard to earn a good wage so I can support my family. It’s been a real struggle lately. Even without the constant financial pressures,” John confessed, without revealing what happened at work earlier, “nothing seems real to me anymore. Nothing makes sense like it used to. Life has become a demoralizing rotating cycle. I feel so burnt out.”
“I understand your concern, John,” Enoch said. “But you need to know everything you do in life produces a wage of some sort, whether good or bad. For instance, raising your children properly produces a good wage in the form of a thriving legacy. The kind things you do for others, like bringing us food, produces a good wage in that you get to feel good about yourself.
“On the other hand,” the old man said, growing more serious, “the bad wages of working too much is separation from your family. I’m sure your wife and kids would gladly trade any additional wages you may earn in the future, just to spend more time with you.”
Enoch paused and waited until John’s eyes had fully settled onto his, then went on, “But the worst kind of wage comes from the sins we commit in life. Romans chapter six, verse twenty-three clearly states that “the wages of sin is death.”
“Amen to that,” Leroy declared, still chewing the taco in his mouth.
John let Enoch’s words register, then sighed. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just that everything seems meaningless these days. My marriage. Family life. My job. Even going to church. I mean, what’s the point? I feel like I’ve reached the breaking point. Part of me wants to give up.”
“As in ending the precious life God gave to you?”
John clammed up. He suddenly felt foolish for sharing his innermost thoughts with a man he just met, especially surrounded by a bunch of homeless people. But he couldn’t help but feel drawn to Enoch.
The old man closed his eyes and, from memory, recited, “‘Meaningless! Meaningless! says the Teacher. Utterly meaningless. Everything is meaningless. What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever.
“The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises. The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course. All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, there they return again.’”
Enoch reached for a breath and continued, “‘All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.
“Is there anything of which one can say, ‘Look! This is something new’? It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time. No one remembers the former generations, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them.’” Enoch opened his eyes.
Finally, someone who understands me, John thought. Perhaps he is a shrink! “Sounds familiar. Shakespeare?”
“No. King Solomon, son of King David. The wisest man who ever lived.”
“Really?” John replied, feeling a little foolish.
“Yes, from the Old Testament, in the first chapter of the Book of Ecclesiastes, verses two through eleven.”
John sighed. “Pretty much sums me up.”
“You are not alone in this matter, John. Everyone arrives at this crucial point in life, including King Solomon. He applied his mind to study all that was done under the sun. Having seen all things, he concluded that all of them were meaningless, a chasing after the wind. I challenge you to read the Book of Ecclesiastes. It might help with your present dilemma.”
“I’m just scratching the surface,” John thought to say, but refrained. “Are you a prophet or something?”
“Let’s just say I am here to do the will of God.”
“Fair enough.” Who is this man? Everything about him was shrouded in mystery.
There was a long pause as both men surveyed the landscape. John stared at a man sleeping on the grass a few feet away from him. He was bundled up from head to toe. “Must get cold here at night...”
“Quite cold.”
John winced. What right do I have to complain about anything? He pointed a finger at a man buried beneath a blanket ten-feet away. He was shivering uncontrollably. “What’s his problem?”
“Heroin addict. Like many here, he receives government assistance on the first of each month. Some use the money to stay at cheap hotels until the money runs out, and they are forced back on the streets until the next allotment arrives. The majority, however, spend whatever they have on drugs and alcohol, including him.
“The first half of the month he is high as a kite on heroin. Once the money runs out, he suffers from violent withdraw attacks. He shakes uncontrollably for days on end before finally drying out. Then the first of the month comes and the same thing happens all over again.”
John shook his head in bewilderment, “I see.”
There was another pause. Then, “So, did I pass your test so far?”
“What test?” John asked.
“Oh, nothing, I just hope you feel comfortable enough to still want me as your dinner guest.”
“Okay, I’ll admit my main reason for coming here was to feel you out a bit, to make sure you were harmless.”
“And what have you concluded?”
“I can see why my family likes you so much. And, yes, I still want you to come for dinner.”
“Thank you, kind sir.”
“What time is Lydia planning to pick you up?”
“Four o’clock.”
“Would you like to come a little earlier? I mean, why make her drive when I’m already here, right?”
“Makes sense to me.”
“Why don’t you gather up all your belongings, so we can wash them back at the house.”
“Since I don’t have much, would it be possible to bring some of my friends’ things? They would be most grateful. Despite what some might think, many of us clean ourselves each day in the park bathroom. The problem is that we’re forced to put the same dirty clothes back on our just-washed bodies, making it nearly impossible to rid ourselves of that unpleasant odor I’m sure you can easily detect.”
John glanced at the impoverished lot of humanity before him. For the most part, distant eyes stared back. “Sure, why not?”
“Thank you, kind sir.”
“Shall we?”
13
LYDIA WAS ON THE couch folding laundry when the front door opened. To her great surprise, Enoch suddenly appeared in the doorway.
Freeway sprung to her feet, then froze. Ears propped up, head turned sideways, the look on her face was, who is this strange visitor to my domain?
Matthew and Grace were seated at the kitchen table doing their homework. Both heard the front door open and knew it was their father. After the way he’d misbehaved the past few months, running into Daddy’s arms was gradually replaced with, “Hi Dad,” or “How was work?”
Nothing more.
John walked through the door loaded down with filthy backpacks and duffel bags full of dirty laundry.
Seeing her master, Freeway raced to greet him. Of late, the mixed-breed canine was the only family member happy to see him come home from work each day. Tail wagging a mile a minute, her attention was divided—half on John, the other half investigating this new stranger using the old sniff maneuver.
Satisfied that he was a “friendly” Freeway welcomed Enoch warmly without the slightest concern for his ragged appearance.
“I wasn’t expecting you until later,” Lydia said cordially, rising from the couch to greet her dinner guest.
“Nice to see you again, Lydia,” Enoch said, in a voice that was unmistakably his, diverting Matthew’s and Grace’s attention to the living room.
“Enoch!” Grace exclaimed, racing from the kitchen to greet him.
Matthew followed close behind his sister. “Hi Enoch!”
“Hi Daddy.” Grace embraced her father.
“Hi Dad,” said Matthew. He was merely going through the motions.
Lydia glanced to John. “No work today?”
“I left early.” John’s brow was wrinkled from too much worrying.
Lydia wanted to further inquire, but something told her not to. Not now, anyway. “I hope you like roast beef, broccoli, glazed carrots and mashed potatoes,” she said to Enoch.
“Sounds delicious.”
“The roast beef’s still in the oven and won’t be done for an hour or so.”
“I am fine for now. John was kind enough to bring tacos to the park for me and the others.”
Lydia shot a sideways look at her husband. She arched an eyebrow, unable to mask her shock. “He did, did he?”
“That’ll give us plenty of time to start the laundry,” John remarked, diverting the unwanted attention leveled upon him, from his wife. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you, John.” Enoch said, taking a seat on the couch.
“Take everything to the laundry room,” Lydia told John. “I’ll do the rest.”
“There’s more in the trunk,” John said to Matthew. “Can you help me, son?”
Matthew’s eyes lit up. “Sure!” He was just thankful to be doing something with his father again; even if it involved carrying dirty laundry.
“Would you like to shower before dinner?” Lydia asked Enoch.
“I would like that very much.”
“This way I can wash the clothes you’re wearing. In the meantime, I’ll get you a clean change of clothing, washcloth and a towel.”
“Thank you, Lydia,” the old man said.
John and Matthew returned a moment later, arms wide open, hugging a bunch of filthy blankets. The nasty stench attacked their nostrils, making them woozy to the point of gagging a few times.
Though unpleasant, the two Jensen males toughed-it-out all the way to the laundry room, where they dropped everything onto the floor.
After his bath, Enoch rejoined the family wearing one of John’s sweat suits that had grown too tight on him. What was too tight for John was quite the opposite for Enoch. Two of him could have easily fit inside.
Grace wasted no time. “Can I brush your hair?”
Enoch peeked to see if either parent objected. Seeing that they didn’t, he said, “Sure you may, Grace.”
“It will be better if you sit on the floor, so I can reach your head.”
“As you wish,” came the reply.
As the old man gingerly lowered himself onto the carpeted floor, Grace positioned herself on the couch behind him. Freeway inched up as close to her new friend as she could. Tail wagging briskly, the mixed breed dog persisted until her wish was granted.
Using his left hand, Enoch stroked Freeway’s back until she finally had enough and rolled over, prompting Enoch to rub her belly.
With so many knots in his long hair, Grace was extra gentle. “You should use conditioner next time.”
Enoch erupted in a volcano of laughter. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
Even with no place to live, John marveled at how the old man had a laughter reminiscent of a child who hadn’t yet realized the world wasn’t simply fun and games. He seemed wise in all matters where wisdom was needed, yet ignorant of the unnecessary things that most deemed vital.
Nice man or not, his childlike aura rubbed John the wrong way.
Lydia wondered how long it had been since his hair had been so clean. She dared not ask him.
It took some doing, but the seven-year-old was finally able to loosen all the kinks in Enoch’s hair.
“Thank you, dear Grace.”
“My pleasure,” she said sincerely.
With their homework finished, the washer working overtime removing vicious stains and odors from backpacks, clothing and blankets, Enoch’s hair brushed to near perfection, and the roast beef fully cooked, Lydia called everyone to the dinner table.
“Everything looks delicious,” Enoch said gratefully.
“Would you be kind enough to bless the food?”
The old man nodded, and everyone held hands. After praying, everyone dug in.
Now safely back on his home turf John no longer felt vulnerable like he did at the city park, with so many unfortunates constantly eyeballing him. With each bite of food he took, his apathy and skepticism toward life and religion slowly returned.
It was time to put the knowledge he spent four years and six figures to obtain in college to good use. What better way than a healthy debate?
“I must say, your faith in God is remarkable,” the man of the house said to his lowly dinner guest, rather stiffly. “It’s hard for me to comprehend you having nothing, yet praying to your Maker as if you were perfectly contented in this world.”
Lydia lowered her head hoping her husband wouldn’t go off on one of his tirades in front of this kind old man.
“Well, John,” Enoch answered, “my unshakable faith in Yahweh is nothing for which I can take credit. Faith is a gift God freely gives to all who belong to Him. Without faith, it’s impossible to please God. One must believe in faith, live by faith and walk by faith. According to Ephesians six, verse sixteen, faith is part of the armor of God, the shield with which we protect ourselves from the flaming arrows of the evil one. So, in that sense, it is essential in our daily walk with the Creator.”
Smug look on his face, John looked like a reporter zeroed in on his target waiting for the perfect time to pounce on him, thus discrediting him. “Didn’t Jesus say only those with childlike faith will inherit the Kingdom of God?”
Before Enoch could reply, John shook his head. “That statement’s always bothered me. I mean, aren’t children supposed to be vulnerable and easily led astray, thinking up the silliest things? Quite frankly, reverting back to that way of thinking insults the intelligence of so many, myself included.”
“Actually, the Bible never exhorts us to have childlike faith. Nor does it tell us to believe as children believe. As you rightly said, children are easily fooled and led astray. They tend to accept things unquestioningly, often missing truth while being drawn to man-created myths and fantasies. We need to look no further than this so-called Santa Claus many in the world embrace this time of year, to the point of worship, I might add.
“It takes great faith for anyone to believe that an old man dressed in a red suit could travel the entire world in a single day, leaving gifts under millions of Christmas trees for countless children, his mode of transportation a sleigh flown by animals who cannot even fly. Yet, most children exposed to the Santa Claus myth believe and embrace it wholeheartedly. Their faith is commendable, even if misguided.
“Often misunderstood is Matthew eighteen, verses two through four, where Yeshua said we must become as little children. Said Messiah, ‘Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.’ Verse four states, ‘Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.’ It’s clear in verse four that Yeshua was not referring to faith here, but rather humility.”
Enoch paused to take a sip of water. “The point to consider, John, is unless one is humble like a child to receive the Gospel message, which leads to conversion and is the very essence of being born again, I might add, he cannot enter the kingdom of Heaven. But it would be foolish for anyone to think Yahweh wants us to remain as children. Scripture exhorts us to mature in the faith and knowledge of Christ.
“First Corinthians chapter fourteen, verse twenty makes it clear, ‘Brothers, do not be children in your thinking. Be infants in evil, but in your thinking be mature.’ Those who do not mature are in danger of being tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes.”
“Well that’s a relief,” John said, almost mockingly, stiffening up in his chair. He sure knows his Bible. I’ll give him that.
Lydia silently prayed that John would remain calm. At least he wasn’t drinking beer now.
“I hear what you’re saying, but it’s hard for me to have faith at times with so many atrocities being committed by those who proclaim to represent God’s Kingdom here on earth. I can’t tell you how many stories I’ve heard over the years of pastors swindling money from churches, priests sexually molesting young children and a myriad of other great evils.”
Fully mindful of John’s “everything is meaningless” mindset, Enoch let him continue.
“And don’t even get me started with those so-called evangelists, on TV and on the internet, seducing so many by promising them endless material blessings in return for sowing into their ministries. Do they think they’re gods? They’re not givers, they’re takers. They sicken me.”
Stabbing his fork in the roast beef on his plate, John said, “To be honest the whole tithing thing doesn’t sit well with me. I mean, where does all that money go? I could go on and on...”
