The Hitchhiker

Jesus is six feet ten inches tall. No exaggeration. Six feet ten, really. And black as the ace of spades. I know because I talked to him today.

He called the church this morning and asked for me by name. He had found my name in the telephone directory at the Best Western where he had spent the night.

His story began typically enough, with a rather long uninterrupted narrative that began at a prison in Texas and had a hopeful ending somewhere near Springfield, Missouri with a stop at Conway in between. Through the years it has become all too familiar: someone wants to tell me their life story before getting around to telling me what they want. But before my cynicism could set in completely, I found myself actually listening to his story.

Sure enough he had been incarcerated somewhere in Texas, where he had met some folk who were involved in the Emmaus/Kairos community. He had made a turn in his life and was trying to get back to Missouri where he wanted to attempt to reconcile with his wife. He told me he had made some bad mistakes and wanted to first show her that he was the man she had married, the man she loved, a man who wanted to get it right this time.

My caller’s name was Mike, and I later learned his wife’s name was Mary. Someone at a Church of Christ in North Little Rock had gotten Mike as far as Conway, and he had managed to get a room at Best Western for the night. Now all he wanted was a ride to Greenbrier, just a few miles north of here, and from there he would continue hitchhiking on up through Clinton, Harrison, and on into Missouri. Now I was a little surprised and I asked him to tell me again: so you just want a ride to Greenbrier? Yes, that was it.

This was not quite like the other calls, which usually end with a request for money or gas or a bus ticket or another motel room for the night. Quickly I told Mike I could get him to Greenbrier. After I clarified where he was I told him I would pick him up in fifteen minutes. I told him what kind of car to look for and he told me I could not miss him, saying he was six feet ten and would be standing right there in the parking lot.

After I hung up I realized what I had done. I had agreed to pick up a hitchhiker, sight unseen, and give him a ride in my car. Before leaving the office I took my credit cards out of my wallet, gave my secretary my license plate number and told her if she did not hear from me by ten thirty she was to call the police. On a cognitive level I realized the risk I was taking but on a spiritual level I knew it was ok. I am very intuitive that way. I was going to pick up Mike and take him to Greenbrier.

When I turned in to the Best Western parking lot I could see Mike standing there and instantly knew I had made the right choice. There he was, all six foot ten of him, with his canvas jacket and his bag which probably contained all his remaining belongings. He was a big gentle man. As he got in my car I told him he would probably need to push the seat back, to which he said, “I’ve heard that before!” And no doubt he had, many times.

In our telephone conversation I had learned that Mike knew a bit about religion and about churches. This much became obvious in just a few minutes. On our ride he told me that he had read a lot in prison and he was quite conversant about matters of faith. He asked me where I was from, where I went to school, and how long I had been in Arkansas. This was a little unusual because I am always the one who gets the other person talking. Mike and I made very easy conversation, and in just a few minutes we were in Greenbrier and found a place where he was ready to stop. In a very short time I had told Mike all about the places I had lived and served in the ministry, my widowhood and the blessing of my second marriage, and about some things he might watch out for further up the road. We discussed race and religion. I told him about an old friend of mine who was a Church of Christ pastor and how we loved to engage in friendly arguments about religious topics. He asked me about a town north of here that is notorious for its inhospitality to black people, and I apologetically told him he should be careful there. He assured me he had friends there and would be fine, to which I agreed. Then he shared with me that racism, as he put it, was a two-edged sword, that his wife was white and she had experienced it from the other direction. I gained some understanding from what he shared.

When we stopped I gave Mike a water bottle with our church logo on it and a little cash from my pocket. I wished him good luck on his journey and getting back in touch with his wife. He asked me to pray for them, and repeated her name, Mary. I said I will pray for you, Mike and Mary. He shook my hand, got out of the car and said, thank you for treating me the way Christ would have. I called my secretary on my cellphone and told her I was safe and on my way back to the office. As I was driving back I could not help the feeling that I had been with Jesus, who today was six feet ten inches tall and black. He had a small bag of his possessions, a plastic bag of food, and a couple of books.

Frederick Buechner said there is a treasure from God every day if we just look for it. Perhaps at the end of each day we should look back and find the treasure. My treasure for this day was giving Mike a ride, which at first I hesitated to do. What an opportunity I would have missed. An opportunity to “be Christ” for another human being and, in turn for him to “be Christ” for me.