Next to the ice cream shop is a building with two doors facing the street. The first door was the entrance to a hair salon. The second door concealed a long narrow staircase leading to a flat containing six rooms with windows that brought in lots of light. We rented the space so it might serve both as a small church office as well as a set of Sunday School classrooms.

Because the building sat on a shallow slope, the landlord managed to squeeze in an additional room just below and to the rear of the bottom flat. She put in a small counter with a sink and hot plate and called the space a studio apartment. It was just big enough for a bed, a toilet, and a small table. I doubt it could meet the health codes of even some remote third-world village. The small rear window faced a chain-linked fence and let in scant light and a trickle of air when opened. The trough of a yard just outside the door collected enough moisture to create a healthy habitat for mold to breed year-round. A man named Bill called this space home for the last few decades of his life.

Bill was less than a loner. He was a recluse–almost a hermit. He lived alone in a self-imposed exile in a densely populated urban area. I don’t know at what point in his life he decided to reject the rest of humanity (or exactly when the rest of humanity rejected him), but his relatives and friends were long gone. He worked odd jobs or temporary day laborer positions where he earned enough money to get by without suffering any meaningful human relationships. If one dared to toss a greeting in his direction, his response resembled more of a snarl than a pleasant “How do you do?”. He was dirty, unkept, angry, and had a general disposition that would set off alarms for anyone who might take even a cursory glance in his direction. Most people, however, simply chose not to acknowledge his existence.

Karen was the church's only employee at that time. She was an employee in the sense that we gave her a small stipend to come in a couple of times a week while her two boys were in school. She did the books, answered phone messages, and ensured any mail found its way to the proper recipient. And, solely due to proximity, she would run into Bill from time to time. And Karen decided to love Bill. She truly believed her role in life was to express the love of God to anyone God might place in her life. And, in her mind, God had placed Bill in her life.

It didn't happen quickly or all at once, but eventually, the many kindnesses that Karen showed Bill began to awaken something long-dormant thing inside of him. Karen would bring him a bag of groceries from the food we distributed to the people in the neighborhood. She would bring leftover treats from Sunday worship in the ice cream shop. She would ask him if there was any part of his life for which she might pray. And she never asked for anything in return. She didn't even invite him to come to church. Eventually, cracks began to form in his calloused husk of a heart, and he began to look forward to seeing her. When she asked if she might pray for him, he would occasionally open up about some need or concern.

Bill, however, had a lot of rough edges. Many of the interactions Karen had with him were neither easy nor pleasant. Her husband, Chris, confided in me that there were times Bill hurt Karen to the point of tears. For instance, one time, our group was preparing to distribute food to the neighbors near the shop. We were preparing bags of groceries when a man came up and asked if he could have a food bag. It happened to be Karen who saw than man first and responded with a bag of groceries and a warm smile. Bill saw the exchange (he lived only a few yards away) and became angry. So he threw up a finger and swore some unpleasant words in Karen's direction. Karen was hurt; I was angry. This behavior was unacceptable because Karen was my friend and because I knew she had done nothing but kind things for him. To make matters worse, I later found out that Bill became enraged because the man Karen handed the groceries to had dark skin. Bill was a racist. An unashamed, overt, died-in-the-wool racist. It was bad enough that he was a wretched, filthy, hateful scumbag of a human being. But he was a racist scumbag. And after Karen had offered nothing but a myriad of undeserved kindnesses, how could this crap basket of a human place himself above any other person. I was aghast. I felt like Karen should have nothing more to do with Bill.

Karen had many experiences like this; often leaving her in a state of wanting to end her "friendship" with Bill. And every time she reached that place she took here feelings to God or someone in the community (often Belle) and reconsidered. In the end, Karen took all of the insults in stride and continued showing Bill the same kindness she had shown him for years.

Near the end of Bill’s life, he would come to Sweet Connections, sit and eat ice cream, share conspiracy theories about the government, and ask questions about God. Karen had been trying to get him to visit a doctor for years. A tumor on his neck had been growing for some time, and Karen often urged Bill to have the lump checked. By the time he had it tested, it was too late to perform any kind of surgery. When the lump became the size of a small melon, we pretended not to notice. When he could not get around very well we got him an electric wheelchair. When he couldn't clean himself or his space we hired a caregiver to help him in his last few months on Earth. Most importantly, Bill gave his life to Jesus in those last few days of his life on Earth. We baptized him and prayed with him; he seemed to be born a new person just before he died.

This story is a testimony of failure by any reasonable metric of church growth. Bill never came to church, let alone bring another person to church. He never contributed financially or in any meaningful way to any ministry. According to our goals to grow our community in numbers, we failed. But people grew. Karen was changed. Others, even those who watched from a distance, saw the love of God at work in a person they could not themselves find easy to love.

Bill had an impact on my life. When I was ready to give up on Bill, Jesus continued to love Bill far beyond my capacity. In doing so, Jesus revealed His character to me (perhaps that’s the true meaning of the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax collector). While that realization was in and of itself worth so much to me, we realized the additional bonus of seeing Jesus transform the life of a person. The story I live in tells me I will spend eternity with Bill. Not the mean, filthy, hateful, racist Bill. But the perfect Bill–the person adopted as a son by God, a person in Christ, and a person who will perfectly reflect the love and character of God for the whole of eternity.

“Meanwhile the tax man, slumped in the shadows, his face in his hands, not daring to look up, said, ‘God, give mercy. Forgive me, a sinner.’” Luke 18