Lamb of God
What happens when you begin to see beyond the outsides of things? This reflection explores how small acts of kindness, authentic human connection, and a willingness to see the sacred in others can transform everyday encounters.
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The following article is one of my favorites because of its subject matter: Kevin Lamb. He is my own personal patron saint. He saw beyond the outsides of things. He recognized the dignity in people. See if this essay speaks to something in your heart.
When I originally published this essay, his youngest brother, Matt, was inspired. In memory of his brother, he put together an initiative that, for now, is entitled “Homeless Bags.” For a donation, you can get one or many of these bags to keep in your car. When you meet a homeless person, this gives you a convenient way to make meaningful contact and provide them some on-the-spot support.
At the end of this article, you will find a link to that initiative.
Lamb of God
News of Kevin Lamb’s death knocked the legs out from under me, like when Dad died. It wasn’t just the suddenness, or the prematurity (he was only 38). Somehow, for a guy I didn’t see that often, he managed to occupy the “Reserved for the Beloveds” space inside of me. Maybe you’ve heard of the Celtic notion of “thin places”? That term signifies times or localities where the membrane that separates heaven and Earth is remarkably permeable. Kevin was a walking thin place.
Lisa and I didn’t have to recruit; we inherited him. Just as we took up our tenure as co-directors of a thing called “Christian Family Camp” (one part retreat to two parts camping trip), Kevin transitioned from a camper to a staffer. Each summer, in the steamy woods of a Southern Illinois state park, he and his fellow college-aged compatriots would surrender two weeks of their summer paychecks to sweat, swat bugs, and swim with their assigned age group. Kids gravitated to him like metal to magnet. The Kevin Lamb file, stored more in my heart than my head, is chock full of images: mostly primary school kids attached like ticks to the most patient, lovable, loyal dog imaginable. Every year, a group of camp moms would surreptitiously vote him “Hottest Staff Member.” As much as I would have enjoyed being a contestant alongside him, I couldn’t argue. Thing is, it wasn’t just his objectively handsome looks. It was the way that his deep heart animated those looks. When you stood in the beam of his brown eyes and ready smile, you didn’t just feel that he was fully present to you. He was. You felt…well…loved. Authentically loved.
I had lost track of Kevin for a handful of years when I got the news that he’d suffered a fatal injury during one of his months-long walkabouts in Europe. From that moment, through the wake and funeral, I read and heard story after story about him. Apparently, Kevin had become one of those holy characters that populated his beloved Dostoyevsky novels. Just like the little ones at camp, Kevin would never think to turn away those whom the world considered small.
I found out that whenever a panhandler would approach, Kevin would display for them the money he was carrying (which wasn’t much given his status as a kind of vagabond himself). Apparently, he developed a habit of kneeling before the homeless person and begging their blessing. After the benediction, he’d open his eyes, thank the beggar (turned momentary priest), and then hand over what little stipend he could offer. I’d like to think that Kevin reminded each of these castaways, even if for a moment, of the inestimable dignity hidden just below their disguise of rags.
When I heard these stories, I imagined Teilhard de Chardin and Saint Francis of Assisi as the welcoming committee sent to greet Kevin as he pulled into Camp on the other side of death. I saw them kneeling before the gentle force that is Kevin Lamb. Francis would show up because, as one who kissed lepers and beggars, he would have recognized in Kevin a twin pea from his own pod. Chardin would comprehend a kind of spiritual principle of physics at work in Kevin. By Chardin’s way of seeing things, Kevin’s deep heart and audacious practices went a long way in leveraging the world a whole lot closer to its fulfillment in God.
Kevin has become a kind of patron saint for me when I’m encountering unhoused or barely housed people. As I approach someone asking for a little help, I’ll think of Kevin, and even engage in a little internal conversation with him, or her. What’s resulted for me is an accumulation of simple little practices that facilitate an authentic encounter.
WWKD Ideas for an Encounter with a Homeless Person
While handing them one of Matt’s “Homeless Bags," introduce yourself by first name.
Ask for their name, and use it.
Reach out your hand in a greeting as if you were meeting someone with great dignity (you are).
Thank them for allowing you to give to them.
Ask them if there is something you can pray for on their behalf. Then ask them to pray for something on your behalf.
Here’s a small sample of what I’ve heard:
Molly: “That I can find housing for me and my kids.”
Gene: “That I can make better choices.”
Joe: “That my cancer treatment works.”
Dante: “That I can get these burned legs healed.”
Dialogue and Discussion Questions:
Longtime SMC readers know that “the Dialogue” section of this article is set aside for a good conversation over a cup of coffee—with a friend, with a group, or just with yourself! As always, feel free to share your reaction or reflection in the “Comments” section below.
Who has been a “Kevin” in your life? What did you learn from them?
Can you think of a memorable encounter you’ve had with an unhoused or barely housed person?
What are the contexts that make you feel safe enough to have one of these encounters? Which ones do you avoid?
The poor are blessed; poverty is not. Where do you invest yourself to diminish poverty, or change systems that result in more of it?
Please share with the SMC community your thoughts and/or reflections in the comments below.
Comments