Meet Dennis

I'd like to introduce you to someone who broke my heart today.

I won't tell you his real name; I don't know it. 

Meet Dennis.

Pastor John is talking about Jesus. There's this man sitting beside me; this man who I've met several times, this man who never remembers my name. 

John says something about the way he used to be, and the way he is now. He's speaking truth, he's opening his heart, and he's sharing Jesus. 

This man sits beside me, and all I hear coming from his mouth is, "I hate Jesus Christ."

Pastor John chose tonight to be a night with time for volunteers to share their personal stories with a homeless friend, pushing them out of their shells, and into honest conversations that lead to restoration in the lives of these precious people (homed or not). 

Did he just say what I think? He hates Jesus? Hates. Really?

John calls all the volunteers to stand so they can find folks to talk with, and I look to make sure everyone gets connected with someone, and the only person left is this man who hates Jesus. 

I'm the only volunteer left.

Here goes.

Raped at age eight by an uncle, he's fathered more than ten children. 

He shot his own brother in both of his knees so he couldn't walk, as he and six friends beat him to death. 

He's spent more than ten years in jail, for different crimes. 

He is only 34 years old.

He has scars to prove the stories he tells. Chunks of skin are missing from his back, some that have been grafted to the back of his skull because he was beaten by police officers during an arrest in Las Vegas for selling heroine. 

I asked him what the hardest thing in his life is. 

He told me, without hesitation, it's his addiction to heroine. 

Dennis told me that Dennis isn't his real name.

He hates his real name. 

He hates it because he's named after this gang leader uncle of his.

Dennis' uncle (not the one who abused him as a child, but another of his) was a huge leader in the 'Crips' gang. Dennis learned the way of the streets when he was very young. 

He hates.

Oh, the hate radiates from his words, from his eyes, from his heart. 

Oh, how he needs love.

He talked to me about his addictions, and I told him what it is to be free.

He said I know nothing of drugs or addiction.

"How old are you?"

"Dennis, I'm 21."

I think this may be the twentieth time I've told him that.

He couldn't tell you my name, but he now knows my story.

I told him about the dark shadows in my past, and the holes left in my heart by them.

Then I told him about the freedom I have now.

Freedom.

I told him I have freedom.

And I do. 

Dennis' son was murdered. He was shot, and the man who killed him is being released from jail soon. Dennis anxiously awaits his release, so as to get revenge.

I listened to Dennis share his story for so long tonight, just pouring out this ache inside him.

Oh, how he wants to be known. He aches to be loved, to be free, and you can see it.

It's almost tangible how much he needs community, how much he needs Redemption & Truth. 

I asked Dennis why he murdered his brother.

Silence.

"Dennis?"

He nods. 

"I don't know... But I know I'd do it again." 

Reaching in his pocket, he says,

"Would you like to see what my brother looks like?" 

"Yes, Dennis, very much." 

I look down at the ground, with every ounce of strength I have I try to keep tears from escaping my eyes.

"Look at me," he says, "he was my twin. He looked just like me."

Oh, Dennis.

Can I reach out to you? Will you hear my heart? Can your heart still hear?

I know there's hope.

"Will you tell me their names?" He asks.

"Whose names?" I respond. 
"The men who did that to you, I want to kill them." 

Oh, Lord. Tell me what to say.

"Dennis, I've forgiven them. It's hard. It's so hard. I hated them. Dennis, I killed them a dozen times in my heart. I saw it in my mind, and I did it, over and over. Do you know who that hurt? Do you know who that burdened? Me. It didn't affect them at all. Grace, Dennis. It's set me free. I forgave them." 
"They don't deserve to be forgiven. I want to know their names." 

Dennis says, raising his voice.

"No, Dennis, they don't. Not at all. But neither do I. I don't deserve to be forgiven for the awful things I've done, but whether I deserve it or not... In fact, whether I accept it or not, I've already been forgiven." 

"I don't deserve it." He says, matter-of-factly.

"Nope. But again, you already have been." 

"I'd kill him again... What's your name again?"

"Lee Anne."

"I'd kill him again, Lee Anne, in a heartbeat. I don't deserve to be forgiven, and I won't be. I'll burn in hell just like my mother said I would."

Silence.

"I love you, Dennis."

"You don't know me."

"I don't need to. I love you because.."

"Because why? Because of Jesus?"

I nod. 

"I hate Jesus."

After nearly an hour of conversation like this, diving into the both of our stories, and my desperate attempts to share with him the way that grace has been poured into my life and what that's done to cause me to have grace with people in my life... After a dozen or more interruptions asking about blankets, breakfasts, the Homeless Challenge, bus passes, etc... 

Dennis asked me my name again, hugged my neck, and said goodnight.