can you hear me? please?

I go to Bridgeway and sit down with a man. His eyes have a difficult time focusing and he can't keep his hands from shaking- typical withdrawal symptoms, really. I introduce myself and ask him how things are going so far. He forces a smile and utters a positive response clearly tinged with cynicism. He asks, "Are you the new guy?" "No," I say, "It looks like you are." I can't help but smile at this exchange because of its frequency. I don't mind. I get a kick out of it and it really helps to break tension.

"I'm Gregg and do you mind if I request to be your spiritual advisor while you're at Bridgeway?"

There is a clear hesitation, but he decides to permit my request.
A week goes by without being able to meet with him. Why? He's taken a serious turn in his withdrawal. "He's still in medical detox." This is the answer I receive when I ask to start a session with him. Then, quite suddenly he is back at Bridgeway. Looking better... still not great. The eyes are clearer, but the twitching hands become more noticeable in his attempts to hide them.
He comes to our Celebrate Recovery meeting for inpatient clients and listens patiently.
At the end he politely approaches me to inform me that he intends to cease in his attendance of the group.

"Is there something wrong?"
"Yeah, it's just that I'm Jewish and I know how Christians think of Jews. I just won't be able to come back."
"Would you still be willing to sit down with me and talk? One-on-one. We'll talk about how your faith will direct your recovery process, okay?"
"Mmmm. Okay. Yeah, I'll meet with you."
"Thanks. See you tomorrow."

So I meet with this gentleman. I ask him to tell me his story and to share with me about his faith. I assure him of my respect for the Jewish people and affirm that I appreciate the culture. The rest takes care of itself. The conversation flows and so do the tears. He spills it all. His hurts and his hangups strewn across the lines of communication. His addictions and vices displayed for me to see. I listen. He tells me of his disorders and his relapses and his broken relationships. I listen. He tells me of his faith and life in attendance of temple. He tells me of his respect for his Rabbi. I listen. More tears flow as he recounts the loss of his brother and his mother. He repeats, "I just can't help this. I'm just so raw! I can't keep it in!" His expletives add a painful emphasis on his brokenness. I listen. He asks what I think of this mess. I tell him that I can see and hear the pain that he feels. I reassure him that I will make no judgment upon him. I ask him to tell me more. He does. He again asks my opinion. I share with him from the Psalms and from the prophets. He nods in appreciation. He talks some more. Our hour goes easily past as this frail and emotionally ruined man sits before me and spills the shards of his heart out on the floor.
I ask him if I could give him a hug. He looks up at me for the first time in many minutes. Through tear-filled eyes I can see the smallest measure of confusion as he admits that he really needed one at that moment. We hug and this wisp of a body trembles. Then, something amazing happens. He asks if I would meet with him again.

"Absolutely."

During our second meeting he disclosed more and displayed measure of trust that likely shocked his own being. We talked and shared. We laughed. He cried more, but admitted that a healing was taking place in his heart. He declared that he thinks he may be really coming to believe God again. He confessed sins to me and confessed that he didn't understand why he had such a desire to do so. He told me that he was feeling great in his sobriety, but was feeling frenzied at the same time. He asked if I understood and wondered if I knew what he was looking for. I nodded and God gave me the word. "Shalom." "You desire serenity, peace, justice... Shalom. It only comes from God." He looked at me with a smile and wide eyes in recognition and clarity. "You just told me what I've been looking for. You explained to me my heart!" He shared more of his pain and his struggles, then shared a song with me as he finger-picked the old strings on his far older guitar. He hadn't played in years, but he played me a song.
I listened.

I guess I couldn't really have conceived what would happen next. He looked at me and told me that he thinks he's going to return to his synagogue and that he wants to visit my church too. I smiled and told him that he was more than welcome anytime he wanted.
I don't know what the future holds for this man, but I am certain that God loves him. God loves him and desires to heal him. He wants to show love and mercy and grace to him. So be it.

Listening. That's all it really takes to reach into the heart of the hurting and help address the wound. To listen... and to hear... to understand and acknowledge before trying to solve the "problem." I think healing occurs as we listen to others, but miracles occur as we listen to God.

Shalom.