This is not a religious post and there is no great life lesson to be learnt. But I really did see Jesus this morning.
Jetlag is one of those things that airline crew have to deal with but that I never really managed to overcome. Unlike New York it is nice and quiet here in down-town Washington DC. Still, I was awake by 4 o’clock this morning and needless to say getting hungry by six. My body thought it was lunchtime already even if the sun was just rising over the magnificent stone buildings of the Capital.
Over the years I have fallen in love with these buildings and the beautiful stone work that they are built with. There is something really weird that happens deep inside me when I touch these stones that were formed millions of years ago. On the way to breakfast I walk past one of my favourite buildings St Patrick’s Parish on 10th Street. I like how it says on the sign that it was “erected about 1792”. About 225 years ago!
When I walk past the impressive entrance, I stroke my fingers lightly over the roughly dressed black stones in the wall. Lucky for me, there was nobody around because I could not help giggling like a school girl. The coolness and solid presence of those stones made me feel like a child again. I really love that building, not just for the stone but maybe the name – St Patrick. It just sounds so royal and way up there. I walked around the corner to look at it from the other side.
Maybe because the streets were empty, I noticed a homeless person sleeping on the bench next to the church. Beggars and homeless people always make me feel uneasy. I resented this one’s presence because I didn’t want to get to close to him. I think it is a man but the body looks so frail that it could easily be a women as well. I liked the rough texture of his cape or is that a coat, I am not sure, still it matches nicely with the walls of the church. I decide to sneak closer and take a picture.
He must be fast asleep. I walk a bit closer for another picture but right then a police car turned into the deserted street and I pretend to walk back towards the diner like nothing is wrong. Would the policeman think it is weird that I took a picture of a homeless person sleeping on the street? When I cross 10th street my eye catches JFK looking at me through the display window of Madame Tussauds. I wonder what he would have thought about the homeless people in DC. I walk past Abe Lincoln’s house and turn right into the diner.
The Lincoln Waffle House is almost empty, just a few hardened shift workers form the nearby power company. I ask to join them and as is usually the case they want to know where I am from. Australia, is the middle aged man’s guess. Then once they hear that I am from South Africa, they want to know how long the flight is to Africa. Before I can answer, the policeman from the patrol car walks in. His eyes lock on me and the diner goes quiet while he walks straight towards us. He nods and sits down at the counter across from me.
Once everybody started talking and going about there business again, I felt myself relax. In my mind I was wondering if DC policemen also got a free cup of coffee and a doughnut, like they do in the movies. The electrical guys from the utility company, must have met him earlier, because he asked them about a transformer that needed fixing. Straight after breakfast they said. Soon the utility guys left and it didn’t take long for me to start explaining why I was taking a picture of that homeless guy on the bench. The policeman didn’t say much, just that it was a guy and that he always sleeps there on the bench in front of St Patrick’s. I couldn’t help wondering if this homeless guy felt the same affinity towards the building and those beautiful stones.
Just before I left, I ordered a waffle and coffee to go. This diner makes the best waffles in the world. Trust me, I am a pilot. I crossed the street in front of the Ford Theatre heading towards St Patrick’s. I am sure the guy would not mind if I bribed him with a waffle. A picture for a waffle sounded like a reasonable deal to me. He was still sleeping but once I got close enough, I was stopped in my tracks! There were two huge gashes visible on the top of his feet. Now I knew what a Damascus moment must have felt like. Judge for yourself.
Maybe because of the change in the light, I noticed for the first time, that it was actually a work of art. I am sure if the artist watched me, it would have brought a smile to his face. How cleverly done. I am so used to the marks on the hands of Jesus but never thought about the kind of marks it would leave on his feet. Timothy Schmalz, a Canadian sculptor, said he wanted his "Jesus the Homeless" to be provocative. He definitely succeeded in shocking me.
I found another homeless man a bit further along, still asleep. His feet were also sticking out. I suppose that is why I noticed him. I could not see if there were any crucifixion marks on his feet but he was definitely breathing. This man was sleeping on the steps of the Calvary Baptist Church and above his head was something drawn on the wall. It almost looked like an angel was watching over him.