His visit was prefaced by a typically brusque and blunt phone call. "Hey, I'm just gonna come in, meet you, and just check out the joint, see if it's safe."
As he entered the church, I considered the oddness of his expressed concern for safety. He looked more like the type of guy who would elevate the concern of others for their own safety. Long hair, wild beard, battle worn leather jacket, and extensive tattoos accompanied a look and manner which indicated a hair-trigger temper and a history of anti-social behaviour.
As I shook his hand and our eyes met, I knew he wasn't concerned about his physical safety.
So I figured if we're both thinking something, we should probably talk about it -- even if it's awkward.
His comments clarified that he knew better how to deal with a physical threat than a look of condescension or judgment.
Chris, like so many others, understood that physical wounds heal, but dirty looks and mistrust cut in a way that can't be sutured.
I told him I couldn't guarantee that everyone would immediately trust him. Some in the church had been hurt by people who looked like him. They might understandably be a bit nervous. I reminded him that he had gone to great lengths to develop a look that worked to protect him on the street precisely by making other people nervous.
It's like others I know who don't take a bath for weeks and then get all indignant about the snobbery of people whose gag reflex hasn't yet adjusted to the stench.
But I assured him that most of the folk in our church aren't ruled by first impressions or old prejudices. They would give him the same chance they got -- a chance to be who they wanted to be. To be treated like they were prepared to treat others.
He made sure I understood that he had done "hard time." That he wasn't impressed with religion. That he was about "as interested in the Bible as in Playboy magazine."
And I could tell he was surprised when I responded with a smile and commented that I was fine starting there.
Chris was a survivor. He survived the death of his wife and kids via a drunk driver. He survived an internment of over half his life in penitentiaries across Canada. He had survived the enmity of determined foes and the friendship of similarly challenged buddies.
I found it intriguing how Chris and I lived in the same neighbourhood, yet our view of the community -- let alone the world -- could be so totally different.
It hit me when Chris and I spent a day together. I visited the school, several businesses and some church and community acquaintances. Since Chris was with me, I simply introduced him as my friend.
Had he come alone, folks may not even have answered the door.
Part way through the afternoon, Chris announced, "Harry -- this is blowing my mind. I always laughed when people talked about community. Before today that was just a place where I had a room, ate my meals and watched my back. Now I can understand what people mean when they use the word 'community.' "
And the concept revolutionized his behaviour in the neighbourhood.
There was the time Virginia was at the checkout line in Safeway when she spied Chris glaring in her direction. Unsure of what was going on she approached him to ask what was happening. He clarified that he wasn't looking at her but some guy who was getting too close -- probably trying to look into her purse. The guy caught Chris's glare and took off quickly.
Chris was a guy who was labelled a perpetual perpetrator. He was a guy with serious authority issues, a history of criminal behaviour, a trail of violence and incarceration that made him a suspect even when he wasn't committing crimes.
Now, instead of a perpetrator, Chris began to see himself more in the role of protector of community. He didn't trust "the system" and he despised "programs," but he was determined to find ways to help.
A night owl, he put together a medical kit in a small tool box and always kept it ready to help people he found injured in dangerous places. He found ways -- some very unorthodox -- to try to get people off the streets. He broadened my understanding of community -- the people, the behaviours and the concept of friendship.
We became friends -- talking together, working together, jogging around the neighbourhood.
He started working on some of our housing renovations. Kids, including my own, were drawn to this wild, intense ex-con always willing to talk about appreciation for life and parents and getting real with doing good. And I was happy for their time with Chris. I had no worries about him corrupting the kids. If anything, he was inspiring them in new ways to carve out a good path. To pursue with vigour the chances he felt he never got.
Chris continually marvelled at the new world opening up in front of him.
And I marveled at what can happen when you start treating someone like they want to be treated instead of how they've felt they deserve to be treated.
Rev. Harry Lehotsky
514 Maryland Street
Winnipeg, Mb R3G 1M5
(204) 775-4929
lehotsky@escape.ca