Meeting with a modern Jeremiah

A crazy man came into our office the other day. This isn't completely unusual; I work at United Way, after all. People from all walks of life come through our doors, many of them looking for assistance of one kind or another.

The day he walked in was a busy one for me. It was around noon, and I was getting some documents ready for a Board member who would be coming at 1:30 to review them. Walking back through our office kitchen from the printer, fresh papers in hand, a tall man suddenly approached me from the hallway and said, "Excuse me, I'm looking for someone who can help me."

At first there was no sign things were out of the ordinary. He looked normal: late-40s, thinning hair and a hint of stubble on his face. He wore jeans, new-looking shoes, a green v-neck sweater and a woolen coat.

He'd obviously come in through the magnetically sealed back door, which we occasionally prop open when expecting guests. When people enter our building that way, nine times out of ten they are trying to find the Red Cross, which operates a utility assistance program. So I was a little surprised when he asked, "Is this United Way?"

So he's looking for help, and wants United Way. That's the hard part, see. At United Way, we're all about helping people, but we're not a direct-service organization. Our mission is to strategically and financially support non-profits in the community -- especially those who are placing an emphasis on education, income and health. Sadly, it's hard to explain that to people who come through our doors with personal problems. We're always happy to refer them to our partner agencies, but it still feels a bit like turning people away, and that's hard.

So I was getting ready to explain this to the gentleman, when he began -- at first gently -- to explain how he'd lost everything and had been staying at a local homeless shelter that United Way supports. As he described how he'd been all across the country and stayed in many shelters, he became more animated and his anger began to bubble up. First it started with how this particular shelter only feeds homeless men one meal a day - lunch. For breakfast and dinner, they're on the own. (While that might sound harsh, it's a decision their Board has made, for one thing to conserve badly needed funds, but for another to encourage these men to get out of doors and seek employment and other assistance toward becoming self-sufficient.)

It went from anger over the one meal to indignation that all homeless men had to line up outside to wait for lunch, and after being admitted, leave their personal belongings on a rack near the door. He claimed his backpack had been robbed as a result, and it's more than possible he was telling the truth. (This practice is a protection for the shelter, however, to prevent weapons or drugs from entering the premises, which also houses families and single women.) Why would United Way fund such an agency, he wanted to know?

Though he was angry and speaking loudly, I couldn't help but be impressed with his vocabulary and articulateness. He was obviously well-educated, with a solid background and upbringing. He'd mentioned losing employment and "a lot of money" and I thought to myself, "Here is a true victim of the Great Recession."

And that's when the crazy talk began.

Before I knew it, he was talking about the "lost scrolls" that he needed to recover, and how all these obstacles he faced were part of a conspiracy to prevent him from fulfilling his "calling" from God to travel to the middle East and find them before the Syrians did. You see, these lost scrolls were written by an ancient king who was given a secret language from God -- a language of power and great authority, and he wrote great secrets upon the scrolls that would endow those who found them with the same language and power. So it was a matter of national security for him to get these scrolls and protect the interests of the United States.

That's when I started to get worried. A lot of emotions flooded through me, and I'm embarrassed to admit that fear for my personal safety was the strongest one, at first. Before long a co-worker came to my side and we listened to his story together. One of us must have smiled once or twice, and we probably exchanged a knowing glance or two. Not that we were laughing at him, per se, but sometimes an unstable situation makes you laugh. It's like when you reach the top of the giant hill of a roller coaster and get your first glimpse at the gaping drop-off below, which is now too late to stop yourself from plummeting into.

But as I watched and listened to this man, I was struck by his eyes. Green-gray, clear and shining with passion and light. And I thought, "Wow, I can almost believe this story... because HE believes it. He believes in every word."

I asked his name -- Jeremiah Jackson Bell III. (OK, I don't actually recall if that was his last name, but it was very close to that.)

Jeremiah. The persecuted Old Testament prophet who was attacked by family, scorned by his people, and authored the Book of Lamentations. Here was a modern Jeremiah standing before me, preaching his crazy gospel of lost scrolls (NOT the Dead Sea scrolls, as I made a point of asking). And I, the apostate son of Israel, who had turned to idolatry, did not believe his message.

But there were his eyes. Clear. Desperate. Shining. And inside them I saw a son of God, my brother, who was suffering from a malady not of his choosing, and doing the best he could with it. He was being true to his calling and his message, and I thought that perhaps he does have God's favor.

The prophecies of old will be fulfilled, he told me. And it didn't matter if I was religious or not, or whether I believed him or not, or whether he got to the middle East or whether his body crumbled to dust before he got that opportunity. God is real, whether we believe him Him or not. His purposes will be accomplished.

I was struck then -- still am struck -- by the similarity of his "crazy" beliefs and the things I believe in. No wonder the world thinks my church is weird. We believe that a 14-year-old boy saw and talked with God and Jesus, and that they showed him where to find a set of gold plates written in a forgotten language, and that this language was translated and now lends spiritual power to those who will read it with a believing heart and accept its message.

But then again, your beliefs are "strange" to some people too. I don't care what they are -- to someone else, they're strange.

We calmed Jeremiah down, mostly by listening and by showing him some kindness. A can of Coke, some Nutri-grain bars, and a plastic bag to keep his stuff dry as he went back out into the rain to preach his message to the world.

I have no idea where Jeremiah will go next. But I know this -- he'll stay true to his crazy message, and I have to admire him for it.

Good luck, Jeremiah. And God bless.

How I Called an Office Intervention for...

Me. Yes, I’m calling an intervention for myself. I have an addiction, and while it might not be the worst addiction in the world, it’s still an addiction that could have bad consequences… and I need to overcome it.

Sugar.

Go ahead and laugh, but it’s true. It comes in so many tempting forms – and so far about the only form I can actually resist is the pure white grainy stuff. (Who knows how long before I start spooning it down like that, though?) But if you put it into pies, cakes, cookies, brownies, sweet bread, M&M’s or any other form, I am almost helpless before it.

This is probably amusing to many of you (and I don’t take myself so seriously that I can’t smile about it, too), but I am actually quite serious about kicking this addiction. So I am just putting you all on notice that I’m going to be avoiding all forms of sugar for the next 30 days, including most kinds of carbohydrates. After that I hope to be much more moderate about my sugar intake.

I am embarrassed to share this, but I think it will help me to avoid sugar if you are all aware of what I’m trying to do. Go ahead and mock me – it will probably help.

Your encouragement and support is appreciated. Don’t feel bad about eating sugar in front of me, though – this is my mountain to climb, as they say.

(Sent the above email to my office on 4/10/12)