Lost Sheep

On Monday a guest asked me, “Do you know where Donald [not his real name] is?”

            “Isn’t he still at the Med?”

            “Nope. Not there. I don’t know where he’s gone.”

            I had to confess that I had not been up to see Donald in several weeks. I knew Donald was in no condition to walk away from the hospital. When he would leave he would need months, if not years, of nursing care. Life gets busy, too busy. I had assumed Donald was still in the hospital.

            The friend shared a rumor. “Some people told me Donald is dead. I know that’s not true. I would’ve heard from his relatives if he was dead.”

            “Why don’t you call those relatives? Maybe you can find out where he is.” The friend made a few phone calls. One of the relatives said they did not know where Donald was. Another said he had been moved to a nursing home and gave the name of the home. I called the nursing home, no Donald there. I promised to let the guest know if I heard anything.

            Today we heard another rumor. Donald was in a nursing home nearby. Right after Manna House closed, Kathleen and I went there to see Donald. Donald was not there.

            I wish I could say this is the first time we have searched for a guest after a guest was hospitalized or imprisoned or went off to who knows where. But the truth is that this happens all too often. Life for people on the streets is often chaotic, relationships are tenuous, the ties that bind have been broken or horribly loosened. 

            On the refrigerator at Manna House is a picture of a guest who disappeared about three years ago. He came to Manna House faithfully for several years. Then we never saw him again. We heard he had been killed. But the city morgue could not match his name to any corpse. Then we heard he was in jail. But no one of that name was there. We checked area hospitals. Nothing. He had vanished into thin air.

            Another guest disappeared in the same way. Rumors of death, jail, and hospitalization were unsubstantiated. Then one day, after nearly nine months had passed, we got a phone call from a minister in South Carolina asking if we knew so-and-so. Indeed we knew him. How he ended up in South Carolina from Memphis was a mystery. How he had my cell phone number was a further mystery. He needed some verification about his identification which we were able to provide.

            Lost guests make me think of the shepherds of Israel and the lost sheep of Israel of whom the prophet Ezekiel spoke. The sheep are lost because the shepherds are unjust; they have oppressed the sheep. Homelessness is created by poverty, neglect, the willingness to regard some people as disposable.

            Ezekiel says, “The word of the Lord came to me: Mortal, prophesy against the shepherds of Israel: prophesy, and say to them—to the shepherds: Thus says the Lord God: Ah, you shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep? … You have not strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the injured, you have not brought back the strayed, you have not sought the lost, but with force and harshness you have ruled them. So they were scattered, because there was no shepherd; and scattered, they became food for all the wild animals. My sheep were scattered, they wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill; my sheep were scattered over all the face of the earth, with no one to search or seek for them” (Ezekiel 34:1-6).

            The work of God, Ezekiel says is to search for the lost sheep. “I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak… I will feed them with justice” (Ezekiel 34:16).

            In the parking lot, as I was trying to leave Manna House today, another lost sheep approached me. She was in tears. Her family has completely abandoned her. Her children won’t have anything to do with her. She is isolated. Cut off from human companionship.

            “Pray for me” she said. “And when I’m gone please don’t take my picture down from the wall in the living room. That means a lot to me.”

            I assured her of my prayers, and that her picture hanging in Manna House with so many other guests was not going anywhere.

            “Pray Psalm 23 for me. That’s my favorite” she said. Then she recited through her tears. “The Lord is my shepherd….”