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debate. His face was as intense as a German Shepherd pursuing an unfamiliar sound in the night. He

seemed to melt into the crowd and then emerged in the center of it surveying the more vocal ones. When

his eyes turned in my direction, I was captured by their intensity. They were deep--and alive! I was riveted.

He seemed to know something no one else did.

By this time the debate had turned hostile. Those who had attacked the church had turned their anger

toward Jesus himself, mocking him as an impostor. As intended, that only made the church goers in the

group even more livid. “Wait until you have to look in his face as you sink into hell!” one said. I thought the

combatants were going to start swinging at each other when the stranger floated his question into the

crowd.

“You really have no idea what Jesus was like, do you?”

The words slipped off the man’s lips as gently as the breeze wafted through the trees overhead and were in

stark contrast to the heated argument that swirled around him. They were so softly spoken that I read them

on his lips more than heard them. But their impact was not lost on the crowd. The noisy clamor subsided

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quickly as tension-filled faces gave way to puzzled expressions. “Who said that?” was the unspoken question

that filled the eyes of their surprised faces as they scanned the others around them.

I chuckled under my breath because no one was looking at the man who had just spoken. For one thing, he

was so short that it was easy to pass over him. But I had been watching him and the crowd for the last few

moments intrigued by his demeanor.

As people were glancing around he spoke again into the stunned silence. “Do you have any idea what he

was like?”

This time all eyes turned downward toward the voice and were surprised to see the man who’d spoken.

“What do you know about it, old man?” One of them finally spoke up, his mockery dripping off of each

word until the disapproving gaze of the crowd silenced him. He laughed it off and looked away

embarrassed, grateful that their eyes had swung back to the stranger. But he was in no hurry to speak. The

resulting silence hung in the air, far beyond the point of awkwardness. A few nervous glances and shrugs

shot throughout the crowd, but no one spoke and no one left. During this time the man scanned the crowd

pausing to hold each person’s gaze for a brief second. When he caught my eye, everything inside seemed to

melt. I looked away instantly. After a few moments I glanced back, hoping he was no longer looking in my

direction.

After what seemed an insufferably long time he spoke again. His first words were whispered directly at the

man who had threatened the others with hell. “You really have no idea what motivates you, do you?” His

tone was one of sorrow, and his words sounded like an invitation. There was not a trace of anger in it.

Embarrassed, the man threw his hands up and twisted his lips as if he didn’t understand the question.

The stranger let him twist in the gaze of the crowd briefly, then looking around the circle he began to speak

again, his words flowing softly. “He was nothing special to look at. He could walk down this street today

and not one of you would even notice him. In fact he had the kind of face you would shy away from, certain

he wouldn’t fit in with your crowd.

“But he was as gentle a man as one would ever know. He could silence detractors without ever raising his

voice. He never bullied his way; never drew attention to himself nor did he ever pretend to like what vexed

his soul. He was real, to the very core.

“And at the core of that being was love.” The stranger paused and shook his head. “Wow! Did he love!” His

eyes looked far past the crowd now, seeming to peer across the depths of time and space. “We didn’t even

know what love was, until we saw it in him. It was everyone, too, even those who hated him. He still cared

for them, hoping somehow they would find a way out of their self-inflicted souls to recognize who stood

among them.

“And with all that love, he was completely honest. Yet even when his actions or words exposed people’s

darkest motives, they didn’t feel shamed. They felt safe, really safe with him. His words conveyed not even a

hint of judgment, simply an entreaty to come to God. There was no one you would trust more quickly with

your deepest secrets. If someone were going to catch you at your worst moment you’d want it to be him.

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“He wasted no time mocking others, nor their religious trappings.” He glanced at those who had just done

so. “If he had something to say to them, he’d say it and move on and you would know you’d been loved

more than anyone had ever loved you before.” Here the man stopped, his eyes closed and mouth clenched

as if choking back tears that would melt him in an instant if he gave in to them.

“I’m not talking about mamby-pamby sentimentalism either. He loved, really loved. It didn’t matter if you

were Pharisee or prostitute, disciple or blind beggar, Jew, Samaritan or Gentile. His love held itself out for

any to embrace. Most did, too, when they saw him. Though so few ended up following him, for the few

moments his presence passed by them, they tasted a freshness and power they could never deny even years

later. Somehow he seemed to know everything about them, but loved them deeply all the same. ”

He paused and scanned the crowd. In the last couple of moments perhaps as many as 30 people had

stopped to listen, their gaze firmly on the man and their mouths agape in bewilderment. I can record his

words here, but am bereft of an adequate description of their impact. No one within earshot could deny

their power or their authenticity. They rang from the very depths of his soul.

“And when he hung there from that filthy cross,” the man’s eyes looked up into the trees that towered over

us, “that love still poured down--on mocker and disillusioned friend alike. As he approached the dark

chamber of death, wearied of the torture and feeling separated from his Father, he continued to drink from

the cup that would finally consume our self-will and shame. There was no finer moment in all of human

history. His anguish became the conduit for his life to be shared with us. This was no madman. This was

God’s Son, poured out to the last breath, to open full and free access for you to his Father.”

As he spoke further, I was struck by the intimacy of his words. He talked like someone who had been with

him. In fact, I remember thinking, “This man is exactly how I would picture John the Disciple to be.”

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than he stopped in mid-sentence. Turning toward his right,

his eyes seemed to seek something in the crowd. Suddenly his eyes locked on mine. The hair on the back of

my neck stood at attention and my body quivered with a wave of chills. He held my gaze for a moment, then

a brief but certain smile spread over his lips as he winked and nodded at me.

At least that’s the way I remember it now. I was shocked at the time. Was he acknowledging my thought?

That would be silly. Even if he were John, he wouldn’t be a mind reader. What am I thinking? How could

he be a 2000-year-old disciple? It’s just not possible.

As he turned away, I glanced behind me to see if anyone else could have been the target of his gaze. It didn’t

look that way, and no one around me seemed to take notice of his wink and smile. I was stunned, like I’d

just been hit in the head with an errant football. Electricity raked over my body as questions raced through

my mind. I had to find out more about this stranger.

The crowd was swelling in size as more and more people poked their heads in trying to figure out what was

going on. Even the stranger seemed to grow increasingly uncomfortable with the spectacle the scene was

quickly becoming.

“If I were you,” he said with a wink and a smile as his eyes swept over those who’d started the discussion, “I

would waste far less time ragging on religion and find out just how much Jesus wants to be your friend

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without any strings attached. He will care for you and if given a chance will become more real to you than

your best friend and you will cherish him more than anything else you desire. He will give you a purpose and

a fullness of life that will carry you through every stress and pain and will change you from the inside to show

you what true freedom and joy really are.” With that he turned and made his way through the crowd in the

opposite direction from where I was standing. No one moved or said anything for a moment, unsure just

how to end the confrontation and break up.

I tried to move through the crowd so that I could talk to this man personally. Could he really have been

John? If not, who was he? How did he know the things he seemed to speak so confidently about Jesus?

It was difficult to navigate through the pack of people and keep my eye on John. I pushed my way through

just in time to see him turn down a gap between two buildings. He was headed up Bubble Gum Alley, a

forty-yard stretch of brick wall that joined the shopping district with a parking lot behind. It had gotten its

name from the thousands of chewed up wads of gum that had been affixed to the wall over the years. The

array of colors made for an impressive if somewhat grotesque sight.

He was only 15 feet in front of me when he went out of sight and I was relieved to know I’d at least get a

chance to talk with him for no one else had pursued him. I rounded the corner prepared to call out for him

to stop, but instead stopped instantly upon looking down the alley.

It was empty. I turned back to the street confused. Had he really turned in here? I looked both directions

up the sidewalk but didn’t see any green sweatshirts like the one he was wearing. No, he did go in there. I

was certain of it. But he could not have covered the forty yards in the three seconds it had taken me to get to

the alley.

My heart began to race, fearful I would miss him. In a panic I finally ran down the alley past the brightly

colored wads of gum. There was no doorway or nook where he could have gone. At the end I burst into the

parking lot scanning every direction at once. Nothing. A few people were getting out of their cars, but no

sign of the stranger.

Confused, I ran back up the alley and into the street, surveying quickly for any green sweatshirts, all the time

praying that I could find him again. I looked in nearby store windows and at passing cars, but to no avail.

He was gone. I could have kicked myself for not having followed him more closely.

I finally sat down on a bench a bit disoriented by the whole experience. I massaged my bowed forehead

trying to pull together a cohesive thought. I could hardly finish a sentence in my mind before another

thought would intrude. Who was he, and what happened to him? His words had touched the deepest

hungers of my heart and the thought of his wink at me still gave me the shivers.

I knew I’d never see him again and wrote off the whole morning as one of those inexplicable events in life

that would never make any sense.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

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- 2 -

A Walk in the Park

A thousand times in the weeks that followed I replayed the events of that morning in my mind—

reconstructing the man’s words and my thoughts. The thought that he reminded me of John the Apostle

had been a passing fancy, except that he seemed to acknowledge it with his penetrating wink.

But how could John still be alive after 2000 years? Could it have been a miraculous appearance as when

Moses and Elijah were transfigured in Jesus’ presence? Even if he were, could he have read my mind or

disappeared so easily from view?

I even went back and re-read Jesus’ puzzling words to Peter about John’s future. He had just warned Peter

that the day would come when men would lead Peter to his death because of his friendship with Christ.

Disturbed by the thought, and perhaps desiring not to go that way alone, he pointed to John and asked

about his future. Jesus’ answer shocked everyone. “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to

you? You must follow me.”

John wrote that Jesus’ words had started a rumor among the other disciples that John would not die. But he

went on to say that was not exactly what Jesus had said. He had only said “what if...?” Obviously the larger

lesson of Jesus’ words was for Peter to follow the path the Lord laid out for him and without comparing

himself to others. A worthy lesson, no doubt, but did Jesus mean anything more by that illustration?

I second-guessed everything about that morning. It didn’t help that when I told the story to my wife and one

other close friend they hummed the theme music from the Twilight Zone and laughed it off. Their refusal

to take me seriously made me far less certain of what had actually happened that day. What I could not

deny, however, was that whoever that man was, his words had shaken me to the core of my Christianity.

I had never heard anyone talk about Jesus the way he did and he had provoked an insatiable hunger within