Judging a fight

This Sunday evening
started out basically the same as our other Live Love events. I usually hang out with the grillers, helping
to organize the students who will be serving, and ready to welcome those who
will arrive first at our cookout. That’s where I was, calmly getting two little
boys – one of them my seven-year-old grandson – prepared to hand drinks out of
the cooler, explaining to them they should say, "Yes, sir" and "Yes, ma’am" and to offer a cold drink
to any who came and the girls who would take care of the dessert table all set
up. We loosened wrapping on cheese slices and opened bags of chips and planned
our “buffet” line.

We were pretty much
prepared, and even had a few more of our guests arrive when I heard a commotion
on the bridge above us. Actually, it wasn’t the on the bridge, but on the sidewalk of
the ramp. At any rate, there was a railing through which I could see the fight
that I was hearing. The sounds of fist against body, bodies falling to the
ground, grappling and grunting was much different that the sanitized though
violent fights one sees on the TV or movie screen. Hearing the blows even from
that distance – about 20 feet or so – made my stomach hurt and my heart ache.

Being one of the leaders
on the site, I swept the students who were there with us up around the truck,
away from where they might witness whatever was going on or whatever horror might happen.

Ronnie, who is an
older gentleman, remarked about this being trouble as our stand-in student
minister received a phone call from one of our girls, telling him there was a
fight going on and one of the men she’d been walking with was involved, trying
to rescue a woman who was being hurt.

Our leader and one of our usual guests, Mark, walked up to the bridge as police were called and arrived. People
scattered. Our students returned to the ministry site. We heard an ambulance
approach, which Ronnie declared “really bad stuff, a real shame.”

More of our guests
began to arrive, burgers were being taken from the grill, and despite the
tension caused by this ruckus, our ministry of hope began in earnest.

As students
prepared burgers for people and served them plates of food, I listened to those
who had seen the fight as my eyes were captured by a trio coming across the
railroad tracks toward us. Ronnie, who is our personal expert, made mention that
they really needed to get off the railroad property because that’s big trouble.
Seems the railroad company doesn’t like people walking on their land.

This trio came
closer and someone mentioned to me that it was some of the ones involved in the
fight. One of them the woman who was being choked. 

I must confess here.
I looked at this little “family” as they came nearer and I judged them. I saw
troublemakers. Violent, uncaring, irredeemable people who didn’t deserve my
attention. 

And wouldn’t you know it? God put me square in front of one of the
men, a young fellow, all of 25, asking him if he wanted a burger and chips which he refused. I had to make a decision at that point: walk away to serve others or stand and talk with this man I'd already judged as unworthy. My faith was challenged. I had to examine all the words I'd spoken to the students and even here. 

My life changed that night.