One evening in Colombia I noticed a handful of men dressed up in suits playing Colombian folk music. I jumped in with the Tenor Bamboo Sax and they were quite amused. These men would play all night, while waiting to get hired to play at a party. As we played, a small crowd grew. In the lot was a thirteen year old homeless boy who had his eyes glued on the sax. When I realized his condition, I began to inch my way into his world. We stepped away from the musicians and began to talk. After sharing a bit, I led Carlitos to Christ.

I saw Carlitos the next three nights and gave him soap and food from my hotel room. He seemed to be happier as time went on.

The last night arrived and the outdoor event was in progress. I had just finished ‘Hotel Heaven’, and walked across the plaza to the hotel to shower and pack. I had to rush down to the event to play for the alter call and during the prayer time for the sick. Then, I was to rush back, bring my bags down, check out and say good bye to Erika, as she connected with some of her church folks and jump into the waiting car to go to another city.

As I approached the platform all clean and in my fresh clothes, young Carlitos walked up with a big smile and wrapped me in a hug. I embraced him, too, and was almost knocked over by the stench of his body and soiled clothes. It was so bad I almost gagged. The stink was wretched and putrid; perhaps a marriage between an old dirty diaper and a dead horse. I went up on stage to play during the alter call, and became quite aware that the smell had stuck to my clothes and that I was now reeking, too. At the end of my playing, I rushed across the plaza towards my hotel room to throw those clothes in a plastic bag, re-shower and change again.

As I walked, I began to ponder the stench. It was not just the fragrance of unwashed clothes, soiled with human excrement, but the odor of deprivation, the perfume of loneliness, the incense of homelessness, and the scent of rejection.

It was not only the whiff of the downcast but the invisible spiritual stench of you and me when we sin, when we are selfish, proud, greedy and arrogant. And to the stink of this lost world came the Lord Jesus to embrace it and to change it.

 After my second shower, I gathered my things and came down to the lobby and hugged Erika good bye. I thanked the people from her church, who were taking her back home, and said, “Erika, it was such a privilege to work with you. Your heart is so precious. I wish I could see your heart to serve everywhere I go. What an honor to be…” The van outside was honking, I shook her hand and put my hand over my heart and bowed. I grabbed the ‘Hotel Heaven’ suitcase, my small suitcase, my Guatemalan flute bag and rushed out of the hotel. Skinny Steve had just finished sharing in two cities, his three nights were just over, he had been fasting for sixteen days and he was so ready to leave. 

As I stepped outside, another homeless person bounded toward me with a big smile and extended hand, wanting to shake. My silent thoughts began to scream inside my head. ‘No, No! Don’t touch me. Ay ya yai, dear, dear, I am all clean again, all fresh, all disinfected. I need my hands clean to eat my trail mix.’ I was to travel for hours in this nice van with these world renowned ministers and I wanted to leave the ministry and street and germs behind. I made a move around the oncoming handshake, as if I was too concentrated to see him. He spun around to greet someone else walking by. I got my bags into the back and turned to get into the car… and there he was, blocking my way, hand extended to shake. Was he genuinely being grateful for our ministry? Had he been touched during the three nights? Was he just trying to manipulate a coin out of my pocket? I didn’t know, but there he was…his hand dangling, extended to shake. My universe stopped. I felt it was a test from the one I served. It was as if Jesus, Himself, were whispering into my ear, “Will you love those I love? Will you touch those I want to touch?” I took his hand, smiled, bowed and jumped into the car. The next day I flew home.