"Holy Saturday. Death’s reality rests upon this day, before
Easter resurrection. This day is like all our days. This day is lived between
death and life. We are after the thud of stone rolled to shut the grave and
before the hope of life. An uneasy day, anxious, undecided."
When I wrote these words this Saturday morning, I did not know
that they would be confirmed in a heartbreaking manner later in the day. Tony Bone, a regular Manna House guest
was killed last night on Good Friday. He was hit by a car while crossing Jefferson at Claybrook,,
one block from Manna House.
Tony was a regular in the
neighborhood. He could often be
found either in the park at the intersection of Claybrook and Jefferson, or
across the street in the small parking lot of the “yellow store.” When I would walk to Manna House to
change over laundry or set up the coffee for the next day, he would greet me as
I entered the neighborhood, and he would wish me well as I would leave.
Tony was a tall African American
man, with a heavy build, and he walked slowly, with a limp. He was a looming presence at Manna
House. He had a small circle of
close friends, but everyone knew him.
He looked out for those guests that were most vulnerable, making sure no
one made fun of them. He had an
easy smile, and I appreciated that he would laugh at my jokes even as he
insisted I should “keep my day job.”
Tony himself rarely got on the
“socks and hygiene” list or shower list at Manna House. He just seemed to enjoy the company and
the coffee. And, too, he was
likely supporting himself through some less than good forms of business, so he
didn’t need much help. A few weeks
ago he had disappeared for a time.
He was in jail. When he
returned to Manna House, Kathleen welcomed him back at the prodigal son. He wasn’t happy with that designation,
and he and Kathleen reconciled when she explained that what she meant was that
she had missed him and was simply happy to have him back.
As
one of our guests said today when she shared the news of Tony’s death, “It is
going to be a sad week.” Indeed it
is, Tony’s absence will be felt deeply by volunteers and guests alike.
Easter holds to an unlikely truth,
that death is not the final word, that life is more powerful, and so, too, is
love more powerful than hate. Tony
was among those many people would look down upon, even fear and hate. We got to know him, however, as a
loving person, and for that we are thankful. And in prayer we commend him to God’s love, holding in hope
and faith that he is now with God, hanging out on a corner in heaven.
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