Dumpster Diving

You never know what you might find in a dumpster behind a CVS. A couple years ago I had gone to CVS’s dumpster to scrounge some boxes to mail some things I’d sold on Ebay. I flipped the large plastic lid until it fell over backward and banged on the back like a thunderclap.

I was on a quest for a few small boxes, something about the size that a cell phone would come in, so I began to push larger boxes aside. In the process I discover petrified, unopened packages of Easter candy, some feminine care products still in the package, enough Styrofoam packaging peanuts to feed the hungriest elephant and some food items that even a goat would turn its nose up to.

After gathering in one or two boxes I spied a woman’s purse lying on the rusty bottom of the dumpster—now that was worth diving for!

So I scaled the steel behemoth and cautiously lowered myself into what seemed like a metal grave, all the while wondering if I would be able to extricate myself. Surely I didn’t want to die in there, only to be found by some poor sap looking for a couple of boxes or petrified Easter candy or Styrofoam peanuts.

I surprised myself at how nimble I was, after retrieving the purse I placed both hands on the side of the dumpster and hopped out, kind of like I used to do when I was twelve and wanted to leap over a chain link fence in my neighborhood to retrieve my basketball that had bounced over the fence. For some reason the landing didn’t feel the same as forty years ago.

Inside the purse I found the Buck-ID card of a young lady from OSU, along with a gift card to a restaurant and a few other generic items. I was able to contact OSU and get the purse back to the young lady; it had been stolen while she was in CVS.

I was reminded of that event one morning a week or so ago as I was taking an empty McDonald’s bag and cup to the gargantuan 300 gallon trash cans that sit in the alley behind our house. I noticed a man on a bicycle riding through the alley; his clothes were thick with stains and dirt, as was he, he had a ratty backpack thrown over his shoulders and he cruised from trash can to trash can slipping off the lids much like I did a couple years ago at CVS.

Some might have considered the man human refuse; I’ve even heard enlightened college students in restaurants in my neighbor refer to them as animals. Funny how such enlightened people can have such a low value of other human beings.

The man on his bike was headed toward the same trash can I was, when at the last second he veered across the alley as though I was contagious.

I pitched my trash in the can and noticed that he hadn’t discovered anything worth digging for in the trash can he had stopped at directly across from me. As I began to walk back to my car I simply asked him how he was doing. He mumbled something unintelligible, which I guessed was something akin to okay. I kept walking.

In that moment the invisible whisper of God blew on me in gale force and it stopped me in my tracks. God had said something deep and profound in that whisper, something I needed to act upon as though God himself were standing in the alley, pushing me back toward the man on the bike like two bullies would push a seven-year-old between them.

I’ve been feeling the breath of this whisper a lot lately; it’s a whisper that challenges me at my core—the core of what I believe about the man Jesus.

I strode up to the man as he straddled the rupture bar on his bike and asked him if anybody has blessed him today. A quizzical look wrote itself broadly across his face. I asked him if it would be alright if I blessed him today; still the quizzical look. I fished into my pocket and pulled out several bills crinkled and folded haphazardly. I slid a five out from the small grouping and extended it to the man—more quizzical looks.

This is the whisper I’ve been hearing lately.

The man took the five, quickly tucked it into his pocket, as though I might be playing some cruel joke on him, and want it back, sort of April-foolish like.

I moved closer to the man, just a few feet from him, close enough for him to have smelled my bad breath if I had had it; close enough for real, human engagement. It must have all seemed rather surreal to him; nice folks living in nice houses who are a different color than him giving him money without provocation. This stuff only happens in movies, right?

I asked the man his name; “Terry” he responded

“Terry, my name’s Ken, I’m a follower of Jesus. He told us to love our neighbor as ourselves, today, you get to be my neighbor,” I said. The biggest, brightest smile wrapped itself from ear to ear. “I like that a lot,” he sheepishly shot back.

I slid into my car, started the engine and headed down the alley. Terry continued to straddle his bike, walking from enormous trash can to enormous trash can.

The man Jesus; God wrapped in human skin had once responded when asked what the greatest commandment was, with this “love God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

This is the whisper I continue to hear. Either Jesus meant what he said or he didn’t. If he truly meant it, and I’m convinced he did, this singular statement has huge implications for my life, and for anybody who considers themselves a follower of Jesus.

I can’t take that statement and not ask myself what it means to love somebody else as much as I love myself. The implications are far-reaching. If I want to be a real disciple of Jesus I have to obey everything he commanded, including loving my neighbor as myself.

There are implications when I buy lunch at Wendy’s, there are implications when I’m in line at the grocery store, there are implications when I’m mowing my lawn or raking my leaves or shoveling my sidewalk covered with snow.

The implications are that I have to consider doing the same for somebody else—that’s loving your neighbor as yourself.

There are implications when I pay my mortgage each month, there are implications when I buy a can of Pepsi from a vending machine, there are implications when it’s cold outside and I’m inside where it’s warm.

There are implications when I stock my refrigerator and pantry, there are implications when I drive my car, there are implications when I feed my cat, there are implications when I take out my trash and a man in a dirty coat, on a bicycle moves from trash can to trash can looking for aluminum cans.

And, I can’t escape the implications.

Jesus is asking me to place a different value on what it means to live in his kingdom. Those packages of petrified Easter candy, those food items that a goat would pass on, they might mean something to another human being. Somebody named Terry.