by Gene Gross

In February 1990, a software engineer at Data General named Gene Gross described a night from his years as a volunteer at a coffeehouse mission in Orlando, Florida. He was answering a question: what does Christianity actually offer people whose lives are shattered? His answer was not a doctrine. It was a story. This post stands as one of the plainest and most human testimonies in the early years of soc.religion.christian — faith described not as argument but as action, held in a cold alley, over a sick boy's face.

The evening had begun getting raw quickly, which was typical for a winter night in Orlando, Florida. I had been working inside for about five hours and wanted to get some cool air to shake the cobwebs away.

I walked out front of our coffeehouse mission and took in a big gulp of air. I knew it was going to be a tough night to get all the kids, mostly runaways, into warm quarters for the night. Then I heard a noise coming from around the corner. So I went to investigate.

What I found was a young lad of about 18 throwing up. What drugs he'd done was anyone's guess. But to add to his misery, he had drunk some homemade rotgut — probably laced with sterno from the smell. To make matters even worse, he was drifting in and out of consciousness. When he started to nod out, his face would fall into his own vomit and the residuals of the recent rains. In short, he was in danger of drowning in his own vomit and filthy rainwater runoff.

There was nothing for it. I went to him and held his head in my lap while he continued to be sick. Finally, there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up. So, next came the blood. I yelled for someone to get help — even before the blood started because it was obvious the direction this situation was going in.

One of the other workers came out and saw what was going on. He went to call for a doctor who donated his services to our mission. While waiting for him, I looked down into the eyes of the young lad I was holding. He was looking back at me. The thought went through my head that this was one of the ones that Jesus loved. The young lad, Tim by name, suddenly shivered. I tried to put my arms around him more so that he could share some of my body warmth. With his face quite close enough now for me to smell his breath, he asked, "Why?" I could only reply, "Because He loved me when no one else did." At that point, he threw up again.

To cut this story short, I went with Tim to the hospital. And they admitted him. He was quite ill for some time. I visited everyday. One day, he told me what he remembered about that night. He remembered my eyes and the love that he saw there. He couldn't understand that love.

He finally came to meet my friend who taught me about love, compassion, mercy, forgiveness, and a way of life that brings peace.

I'm sorry, Dwight, but you can't separate Christianity into some neat little package of religion and philosophy. No philosophy in the world can lift one person up as Jesus has done in the lives of so many humans. No philosophy can make such a difference in the life of one individual.

Our calling as followers (IMHO) is to those who are seen as failures. It is to the sick. It is to the imprisoned. It is to the hungry. And it is to those who are rich as well, because wealth is not material possessions. No amount of wealth can buy what Tim found, nor what I found years before.

Peace and Blessings,

Gene

Colophon

Written by Gene Gross ([address removed]), Data General Corporation, Research Triangle Park, NC. Posted to soc.religion.christian, 5 February 1990, in response to a question about what Christianity offers people facing failure. Original Message-ID: <[email protected]>.

Preserved from the Usenet archive for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.

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