After meeting the risen Jesus on the road to Emmaus, the early Christians became strong proponents of the idea that you just never knew where Jesus might turn up, so it was important to be kind to strangers. I've always enjoyed imagining Jesus as the stranger among us in different situations, and what he might say or do.
I wrote this story in 2005, before I ever set foot in the Clothing Room or kibbitzed with a homeless person. A lot of the homeless remind me of Jesus because they call things as they see them, and don't spend money on haircuts. And when I really get to talk with them, I often get the sense that they'd be the kinds of guys with whom Jesus would like to hang out.
Jesus?
It was the strangest thing. Three babies and a toddler were crying for various pain-conscious reasons, and when he came through the sliding doors, silence arrived with him. I looked up, and saw the faces of the four little ones turned toward the scruffy character, and caught looks of surprise on the faces of one grandma, one dad, and two moms as they looked at each other and toward the doors.
He was bearded, with shaggy dark hair that almost hid his eyes. His dirty jeans were patched multiple times, their hems ragged, and beneath them, once-white moon boots made their appearance like the over-sized feet of a cartoon character. His coat was a dirty parka of a colour that couldn’t be guessed under the grime. But the thing that caught my attention almost immediately was the fact that he was wearing large orange and blue rubber gloves.
The babies and toddler looked at him a moment, tears still on their cheeks. The staring caregivers must have made him self-conscious for a moment because he stopped in his tracks, and nodded to them each in turn, which probably made them self-conscious. They looked to their young ones, who resumed their crying, and the moment passed. I found myself wondering if I had imagined it.
The man stood looking around the room at all the signs, momentarily confused. I was about to tell him to come over to the triage desk when Dr. Davis appeared at my elbow, asking about the woman I had just admitted with the nail piercing her forearm. Handing the clipboard to Elise, I pointed her towards the shaggy character before following Dr. Davis to the case room.
I was perhaps three minutes with Dr. Davis before returning to the triage desk. The shaggy man was sitting next to one of the young moms with a baby. The baby was completely calm, staring at the man, who was having a quiet conversation with her mother. Two other babies were still crying.
Elise elbowed me. “Jesus has returned,” she said, and I looked at her, expecting her usual joking smile. Elise was the character nurse in emerge, a slim, energetic thirty-something with an elfin haircut that changed colours as regularly as British royalty changed residences. If practical jokes happened, she was usually behind them, though she was hard to catch in the act. But this time she was in dead earnest, or she was trying to fool me into thinking she was.
“Not another one,” I sighed, taking the clipboard from her, remembering the Jesus who had been brought in at the last full moon by two police officers. That one had gone off his medication, and had to be readmitted to the psych ward for a time.
“No, not another one. This is the real deal.” She pointed to the clipboard where she had entered his info.
Name: Jesus H. Christ.
DOB: March 25, 4 AD, Bethlehem.
Health Care Card: Visitor
Reason for visit: Superficial Bleeding.
“Jesus H.?” I asked.
“That’s what he says. Of course, he has no I. D., no health care card, nothing. He says H. stands for Horatio, a name he always liked, even before Shakespeare wrote Hamlet.”
“And March 25 as birth date?”
“He says he was born during lambing season, but that fact was ignored for reasons that suited early Christian politicians, who didn’t even bother to get the year right.”
I rolled my eyes. “And he wouldn’t give you any straight answers? What about the bleeding?”
Elise took my elbow and turned me to look into her green eyes. “I’m telling you, Tracey, this is the real deal.”
I waited a few moments for her straight face to dissolve into laughter. It didn’t. She surveyed the waiting room for a second and pulled me into the inner, windowed office behind the triage desk, where she began to whisper rapidly.
“I tell you, it’s him, with a capital H. I know he doesn’t look like much, but when you talk to him, you’ll see. He’s got this presence thing. It’s like, when you look him in the eye, nothing else even exists.”
“He’s a hypnotist.”
“I don’t think so. See for yourself. He’s not like the others that have come in. No raving, no scripture quotes. He’s very soft spoken, and there’s no madness in his eyes, no drugs. And the bleeding…”
“What about it?”
Elise didn’t answer. She was looking past me now, watching the man and the young mother he was talking to, who was putting her sleeping infant into a car seat. The two adults stood, watching the baby sleep a moment, then the man reached down and touched the baby’s cheek with an orange, rubber-gloved finger. The woman smiled and gave the grubby one a hug before picking up the car seat and heading for the exit.
Elise took off after the woman, and caught her at the sliding doors. They had a two minute conversation over the infant in the car seat, Elise took the baby's temperature, and she and the woman were all smiles as mother and baby departed. The Jesus character had picked a seat next to the young father with the feverish toddler. Elise stopped and spoke with Jesus for a moment, and then came back to me. The man with the toddler had followed the discussion between Elise and Jesus, and when she went away, he promptly picked up his child and moved to an empty seat on the other side of the room.
“What was that all about?” I asked when Elise returned.
“Ear infection, Mom thought. But it’s gone, and she took baby home.”
“Elise, have you lost it completely? Ear infections don’t just disappear.”
“With Jesus, they do,” she grinned at me. “But we’d better do something about his bleeding. He says the gloves are getting a bit full. Stigmata.”
She left me standing with no response on my lips, and went over to the man, inviting him to follow her to the case room. As they went past the desk, he winked at me.
Lorraine, the other woman on shift, came out of the case room. “Mr. heart attack is stable for the moment. I told him to get some rest. What have I missed?” she asked.
“Elise is looking after Jesus.”
“That scruffy one? It’s not even full moon.” I waited for Lorraine’s usual “I’ve- been-working-in-Emerge-for-28-of-my-33-years-as-a-nurse-and-nothing-that-walks- through-those-doors-can-surprise-me” speech, but it never came, because at that moment, the heart attack patient’s heart monitor started to scream. Lorraine took off to the case room, and a couple of seconds later, I heard her call, “Code blue here, Elise. Can you help? Where’s Ted?”
Someone had to cover the triage desk, so I did, listening to feet racing to help Lorraine with the drama that was taking place in the room around the corner. An older couple came through the sliding doors, he limping badly, she trying unsuccessfully to hold his weight off his hurt leg, and when I went around the corner to get a wheelchair, I peeked into Mr. heart attack's room and was surprised to see Elise and Lorraine standing, unmoving, at the bedside, whispering with Ted, the resident. Mr. heart attack was sitting propped up on the cot, with a huge bloodstain in the middle of his hospital garb. He was wearing a huge, rather dazed smile.
I caught Elise’s eye, and she waved me on with a “tell you later” sort of look. Lorraine was white as a sheet, unusual for her.
I took the wheelchair back to the older couple and helped the man into it.
“I told him not to go up on the roof, but would he listen?” the woman was muttering.
“He fell off a roof and only hurt his ankle?” I said, looking at the purple swelling where the old man was removing his sock for me to see.
He gave a wry grimace and said, “No, I just fell off the bottom rung of the ladder. But I heard something snap. I think it might be broken.”
I took the particulars from Mr. Dietz, with a fair bit of commentary from Mrs. Dietz, and told them they would have to wait in the sitting area. At least the sick babies had settled down for the most part.
I was waiting for Elise’s report on what had just happened with Mr. heart attack, but Lorraine returned to the triage desk first.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” She sat down on the desk chair and rolled it from side to side in an agitated way. Lorraine was the no-nonsense matron of emerge, in her late fifties, with hair the golden colour it was when she was seventeen, always perfectly coiffed. It was rumoured that she could have retired comfortably in her forties as she had no family to support, and her sarcastic and cynical nature made a lot of us who worked with her wish she had.
She stared at the desk without seeing anything on it, not a sign of her usual sarcasm or cynicism in sight. “I called the Code blue on Mr. Santarosa, and Elise rushed to help me, and that Jesus fellow came right behind her. His one hand was all bloody, just dripping, but he laid it on Mr. Santarosa’s heart before I could get a word out, and he said, “How blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” And Mr. Santarosa opened his eyes and smiled, and the heart monitor went right back to what it was supposed to be doing. And Mr. Santarosa said, “Thank you,” and Jesus said, “You’re most welcome.” And Jesus gave Mr. Santarosa a hug, and a high five with his rubber glove hand, and went back to the partition where he had been waiting before. Ted missed everything. Did it really happen?”
Lorraine’s eyes never left the desk. She seemed to be in shock.
“Maybe you should go for your break,” I suggested.
“Good idea,” she said, and got up. But instead of heading through the waiting room toward the cafeteria, she went back around the corner.
I was feeling impatient to be spelled off the triage desk so I could go around the corner myself and see what was going on, but there was no one else to cover for me. A woman came in with a gangly teenager who was holding an ice compress on his forehead, wearing a bit of a glazed look. Possible concussion from a fall off a skateboard without a helmet, it looked like. I calmed a somewhat hysterical mom and took young Jason’s information before I told them to sit and make sure he didn’t fall asleep until he had been seen.
Elise returned to the triage room to get more gauze. “It’s a little more than superficial bleeding, if you ask me,” she said, “but he says it comes and goes, and it won’t last the rest of the day.”
“Stigmata, you said? What the hell is that?” I asked.
“The wounds Christ suffered on the cross, you know? His hands, his feet, his side?”
“I’ve heard the story, of course, but you can't believe that it's true here. Like stigmata has anything to do with this guy!” I sputtered.
Elise smiled, and I realized that she must be somewhat religious, to know a word like stigmata.
“You’re religious!” I said. It came out like an accusation.
“No, just Catholic. You’re the only one who hasn’t talked with him yet, aren’t you, Trace? Maybe you should take this back to Lorraine, and get a little religion yourself.” She handed me the box of gauze and said, “Ted said to wrap his wounds tight. Jesus can’t wrap it tight enough to stop the bleeding himself. Otherwise he wouldn’t be bothering us, he said.”
This is really ridiculous, I thought, as I walked around the corner. If this guy is supposed to be the Son of God, why is Elise acting like his appearance here is perfectly normal?
Something made me pause before I slipped behind the partition curtain where Lorraine was working on the Jesus character. He was saying, “Well, you’re doing your best, aren’t you? That’s all God the Father and Mother ask. These kinds of situations require that we trust heavenly timing, but of course you know that. Just keep asking for wisdom, and keep praying about the whole situation, Lorraine. God listens to every prayer, and answers them all, not always as quickly as we like, or exactly as we expect. But you know that, too.”
Why was I eavesdropping? I shook myself, poked my head around the curtain and handed the gauze to Lorraine, saying the first thing that came into my head, “I thought you were going for your break.”
“I am,” she said. “I just did his side. You can take care of his feet, okay, Trace? Is that okay with you, Jesus?”
He nodded and reached out with his wrapped hand to gently squeeze Lorraine’s shoulder. “Go, have a good break. And thanks,” he said. She smiled, said, “No. Thank You,” and left me to deal with his feet.
“You’re not squeamish, are you?” he asked, as I reached toward his moon boot.
“Can’t afford to be squeamish in Emerge,” I said, without looking at him. But when I pulled the boot off, my stomach did a small flip. The man had a clear plastic bag over his bare foot, wrapped around the ankle with a rubber band. I felt like I’d pulled a thick, bloody sausage out of the boot. The bag dripped slightly, so I moved the pan that had caught the blood from earlier ministrations. When I pulled the bag off, a cascade of droplets landed in the pan.
No matter what, I thought to myself as I washed his foot and prepared the gauze, no matter what, don’t look him in the eye. He’s got to be a hypnotist. There’s no other explanation. He can’t be who he says he is. It’s just not possible.
I worked quietly and efficiently, cleansing the wound, which seemed to go right through his foot, but was bleeding much less than the arm of the nail punctured woman, much less than I would have expected. I packed it with gauze and wrapped it tightly. Only when I finished did I forget my vow and look up at him for a sign that it was feeling okay, only to find him sitting with his eyes closed.
“Does it hurt?” I found myself asking.
“Not as much as yesterday,” he replied, his eyes still closed. “I can tell that you’re a good and dedicated nurse,” he said, “just by the feel of your hands. Do you like your work?”
I thanked him for the compliment, and took off the second boot to find the other foot in the same state as the first. As for answering his question, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My curiosity about this man was great, but my fear was greater. If I started to tell him about feeling burnt out, if I was honest with him at all, if I asked the question that was on my heart, everything might lead to more questions with answers that might mean that I would have to make changes, or start believing in something. So I worked away in silence, as he sat with his eyes closed, offering no further comment.
When I finished, I cleaned up the area as he pulled the moon boots back on.
“Aren’t those all bloody inside?” I asked, looking down at them.
His shoulders shrugged as if to say beggars can’t be choosers. He stood up, and I unexpectedly found myself looking him in the eye, unable to make myself look away. They were ordinary, dark eyes. If there was any hypnotic power in them, it didn’t grab me.
“Thanks,” he said, and reached out to shake my hand, his warm, strong fingers sticking out of all that gauze. He smiled, and I smiled back. Then I remembered the rubber gloves in the basin on the cart beside me.
“Did you want me to wash these out?” I asked.
“I’m sure I won’t be needing them anymore,” he said. “It usually settles down on the second day. Thanks again,” he said, and pushed the curtain back on his way out.
Something in me didn’t want him to go. I put down the basin and followed at a distance. He stuck his head into Mr. Santarosa’s room and said, “Take it easy, friend.” Then he walked out past the triage desk, waving a gauzy hand at Elise, who was with a new arrival. It looked like she blew him a kiss.
I walked over to the triage desk, watching the man leave, but he didn’t, not right away. He stopped beside Mr. Broken Ankle Dietz’s wheelchair a moment, grinned at the old man, and when the old man grinned back, he turned to Mrs. Dietz and said, “I hear he’s falling off ladders just so he doesn’t have to help you with household chores.”
Mrs. Dietz looked a little nervous, but she chuckled all the same. “Something like that,” she said.
“You should tell him those kinds of tactics don’t work for long.” He put his hand on Mr. Dietz’s shoulder before moving over to Concussion Jason.
Elise was standing in front of me. “So?” she said. “Tell me he’s not the real thing.”
“He’s not the real thing,” I mumbled, my eyes not leaving him as he touched Jason’s head and continued moving around the room from patient to patient like a doctor doing rounds. Elise turned and watched, too. We couldn’t hear everything he said, but he spoke to or touched every person in the room, with the exception of the man with the feverish toddler. The child, his face still flushed, had wandered over to the corner where a few beat up toys were kept to entertain kids well enough to play. As the Jesus character was straightening up from talking to a woman with a croupy baby that hadn’t yet been called to the case room, he took a step backward, not realizing that the toddler, who was bringing a three-wheeled truck back to his dad, was right behind him. The collision made the little guy fall on his bottom. I held my breath, but he didn’t cry, and his dad didn’t have time to react as Jesus picked the boy up and set him back on his feet. He looked up at the stranger, held out his truck for him to see, and toddled back to his dad. The Jesus character smiled at the dad, turned, and walked out the sliding doors.
“He’s not the real thing -- how could he be the real thing?” I turned to Elise. “It’s a crazy idea.”
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “He’s the one who said he’s Jesus.” But she smiled to herself as she took the clipboard and called the woman with the croupy baby to the case room.
When Lorraine came back from her break, I took the man with the toddler to the back. The symptoms seemed to have vanished, he said, and it was true. There was nothing wrong with the child. Normal colour, normal temperature, and he was hungry for the first time in three days, said the father, who was handing him digestive cookie after digestive cookie. Ted came in to check on the boy, and we sent him home a few moments later.
“Are you sure it’s not a full moon?” Ted asked, as he was filling out the paperwork.
“That was Monday,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s been a strange evening,” he said. “Did you know that our heart attack patient was discharged ten minutes ago? No sign of a heart attack, arteries as clear as can be. A strange evening.”
And it got stranger. When Lorraine came back from her break, she took Mr. and Mrs. Dietz back to the case room. There was nothing wrong with Mr. Dietz’s ankle, not even any bruising, she said. Mr. Dietz said it started feeling better about the time the homeless guy came and teased his wife.
I tried to argue with Lorraine. I had seen the bruising.
“I’m sure you did,” she replied, not willing to argue for once. “Its disappearance was Jesus’ doing,” she shrugged, without a trace of sarcasm or cynicism.
The lump on Jason’s head had miraculously disappeared, too. His mother was practically speechless. “I saw his head hit the sidewalk with my own eyes,” she kept saying. I had seen the swelling purple contusion, and was sure there would be concussion. But Ted couldn’t find it, and Jason said that when the homeless guy touched him, the pain went away immediately. Ted just shook his head in an amazement that grew with every non-case we saw over the next hour. In all, about ten people came and left without treatment, having lost their symptoms before arriving in the case room. But then everyone who arrived after the Jesus character was gone needed treatment, so things returned to normal for the rest of the shift, if you can call a room of sick and injured people normal.
I tried not to think about it, but my thoughts kept returning to the question I never had the nerve to speak out loud earlier in the day. What if it really was Jesus whose feet I had bandaged?
“You’re preoccupied, Trace,” Elise said, as we finished end of shift paperwork.
I sighed. “It’s that Jesus character.”
“What about him?”
“You really think it was Jesus.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Why not? The son of God probably does as he pleases.” She looked at me steadily, as if to dare me to argue with her. I still had the feeling that she would burst out laughing at any moment as if the whole shift had been her best practical joke yet.
“But if it really was Jesus, how could you act like it was no big deal that the so-called Son of God came to Emerge?” I asked.
“Well, it was no big deal at first when he came to the land of Israel, either, was it?”
“Elise!” I wanted a straight answer. “Be honest. What makes you think it really was him?”
She was quiet a moment. Finally she said, “Lots of things. All the people who were healed tonight. His unassuming personality. His kindness. The way he listened to people. The way he talked with them. Didn’t you see it? Who would hug a grubby, homeless dude, or even talk to him? But they all talked to him, and some of them hugged him. And have you noticed the change in Lorraine? Then there was the way he didn’t force himself on anybody. Especially you, who weren’t ready for him. And he was very affirming.”
I thought about how he had complimented me. I thought about how I had decided not to make eye contact, only to look up and find him sitting quietly, with his eyes closed. Had he known what I was thinking? He certainly hadn’t forced anything.
“And, of course, there was the full moon,” Elise said, as if that was the final, and strongest argument.
“The full moon? That was on Monday.”
“Yes, the Paschal moon,” she murmured. “First full moon after the spring equinox. Yesterday was Good Friday, which would explain all that blood. But you won’t find that on this report.” She put her papers into a file folder, tossed it into the outbox, picked up her coat, and said, “I think it was him with a capital H. Why couldn’t it be? I mean, I never exactly pictured him as a homeless guy, but he was pretty much homeless in the Bible, too, wandering from place to place. I did imagine him to be kind and unassuming and warm and caring to everyone.” She started walking away, but turned back to say, “And if it wasn’t him with a capital H, does that really make any difference to all the little miracles that happened here today? To all the little miracles here everyday?”
I flipped my pen over my fingers, trying to think of an argument, but nothing came to my overloaded brain.
“Have a Happy Easter,” she said, as she pulled on her coat. “He IS risen, you know, every time we act with kindness, which is every day in Emerge. It’s why I love my job.” She grinned, and headed down the hallway.
I sat there, watching her moving away from me. As she reached the double doors, I called after her, “Elise?”
“What?”
“Are you going to Easter Services tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Could I come with you?”
