Engineering basketball has the tendency of coming up every spring semester around Itasca Community College. This year it so happened to fall on Thursdays at 7:30 at night. Engineers play. Non-engineers who care enough to be there look on. It's the ICC Engineering basketball way.
I was there that night. So was John.
So as the gentleman was dribbling the basketball in the corner, watching engineering basketball games, he was noticed. No one said hello.
It was cold out that night. He wore a thick, worn coat. His hair took the form of dreadlocks, free around his dark face. His soft brownish-black eyes were keen and analytical of the players before him, but turned down to the floor every time another human walked around him. If you've ever been alone in a room full of people, you'll probably have a clue of how he felt.
I was safe standing silently in my small circle of friends in our corner of the gym. However, life isn't safe. It isn't comfortable. If you truly feel safe and comfortable, I would go out on a limb and wonder if you're actually living at all. Life demands we step out in faith. So I did. I stepped from safety into eternal impact. I said "Hi."
There's a verse in the Bible, quoting Jesus, saying, "Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me (Matthew 25:40)." Jesus was talking to his followers, the Disciples, about how they should treat these people around them. He was talking about the crippled, the homeless, the widowed, the orphaned, the sick, the prostitutes, and the outcasts. "Do to them like you would do to me." I have always found it interesting how Jesus related to, viewed, and treated people. At first I just assumed I was acting out to "do to Jesus". Now I'm not so sure. He looked up with surprise on his face. I would get that look many more times before I left the gym that night.
I asked simple questions. I asked about basketball, life, and work. As it turns out, he was born and raised in Belize. His son is an engineering student. He watches his son play every Thursday. As soon as he mentioned, "Belize", I'm pretty sure my face lit up. That's where the gushing of stories about being born in Costa Rica, growing up in Honduras, and traveling to Belize by a 2-motor fishing boat probably came out. Maybe even the story about our boat driver covertly bribing Belizian border officials with bananas and banana pop came up. Or perhaps how one of our motors went out in the middle of the Carribean with 5 foot waves. Cue: a look of surprise with every story told. We spoke about Belize, American culture, soccer, ultimate frisbee, and winter (mostly how much we disliked the last one).
I think when Jesus said, "Whatever you do to the least of these..", he knew something we didn't. Perhaps he knew when we approach the people no one else does, our attitude and outlook of them changes. They're no longer "the least". They're humans with stories and struggles. They're objects of God's love and mercy. They have a past and a future. They've made mistakes and have an outlet for redemption through Jesus Christ. They're the people Jesus said to whom we should go talk.
I saw John again at another game. Then at my church the following week.
I can't completely explain my actions that night at the engineering basketball game. Maybe all that really happened was my outlook of John changing from being one of "the least of these". He was John. Born and raised in Belize, he was a fish out of water. He wasn't "the least". He was just like me.
