Meeting people where they are at does not always mean sharing the gospel. Scripture speaks of providing for the basic needs of people as part of sharing the grace and forgiveness of Christ.
On one particular night it was 3:30 in the morning, the middle of a graveyard shift. The weather was freezing cold and it was raining non-stop. The storm was rolling in from the north Pacific and it didn’t help that I had the police car heater running on high with the dashboard lever pushed to where the red bar was the thickest. Not even drinking hot coffee helped. Instead of warming me up, I was wired on caffeine and had to find a bathroom every half hour. My boots were damp and were like ice cubes after every traffic stop or call for service that required me to get out to the car.
I was driving on what was a normally busy Santa Barbara street that parallels the beach. At one particular intersection is Sterns Wharf. This is a popular tourist destination with a trademark, three dolphin fountain at the base of the wharf. Just to the east of the fountain is a public bathroom that is locked at night. Only a partially covered entrance provides any sort of shelter in the middle of a rain storm.
As I drove past the bathroom, I saw a figure standing at the entrance to the bathroom. I could see through the rain that the figure was a homeless man. City buildings were closed from 10:00PM to 6:00AM and that gave me “probable cause” to stop and contact the man. I pulled up in front of the bathroom leaving enough room to ensure a safe distance between my police car and the “suspect”. I used my radio to give my location and watched to be sure he made no quick movements to hide an open bottle of alcohol or run away to avoid arrest for a possible outstanding warrant. I turned on my police car spot light and shined it in his direction.
I made my approach and recognized the guy as someone I had written many citations to for possessing open containers alcohol or small amounts of marijuana. I had also arrested him for being drunk in public a number of times. This would have been a good night to find a reason to arrest him. The county jail facility would at least give him a dry place to stay and something to eat until the weather passed.
He had no warrants for his arrest and he was not drunk so I told him that he could not stand at the bathroom and that he had to move on. It was pouring at that point and he was soaked through. I felt bad that I was going to make him walk off the beach without any way of keeping the rain off.
“I got rolled tonight and they took my shoes.”
I looked at his feet and sure enough he was in socks. I could see his wet sock prints in the dry entryway that he left when he arrived at his current place of refuge. He had nothing. He was shivering and wet. He had no blanket. He had no home. It was 3:35am, freezing, raining and nothing to do but stand in the entry of a men’s bathroom to keep from getting wetter.
“Ok, you can stay here until the rain slows down but then you have to move off.” I told him and walked back to my police car. He said thank you. I cleared my call on the police radio with a warning.
I drove off and felt like I had to do something for the guy. I was really troubled that the guy had his shoes stolen. In a community where the price of a condominium was $500,000, how could a homeless guy get jumped for his shoes? I can’t remember if I prayed but I thought I would take a shot and drive to the Salvation Army shelter five blocks away. The shelter was not open at night but there was a night watchman. Maybe I could get the guy a blanket, a bed or even a pair of shoes. I knocked on front door and woke up a man sleeping on a cot in an office near the front door. I asked the watchman if I could get a pair of shoes. The watchman said, “I don’t have access to anything but let me look around the office.” Two minutes later he came back to the door and said, “I can’t find anything, but someone dropped off a pair of shoes when I came on duty and you can have them if you want.”
I took the shoes and climbed back in my police car and drove back to the bathroom. I was wondering if the guy would still be there when I got back and how I would find him if he was gone. I was not very confident that a pair of shoes dropped off at a Salvation Army would even help the guy.
The guy was still standing in the entryway when I pulled up. I did not call in my location on the radio, I did not park a safe distance away and I did not turn on my spotlight. I got out of the car with the shoes in my hand. Judging by the look on his face, he probably figured at first that a different cop was going to run him off. His expression changed to confusion and surprise when he saw I had returned a second time. He was even more surprised when I handed him a pair of shoes. “Will these fit?” I could see his mind worked to understand why a cop that wrote him tickets and put him in jail would take the time at 3:40AM to bring him shoes.
The shoes fit.
I think we were both a little surprised at this and all he could say was, “Thanks man.” The rain was slowing down and I told him he should leave. He walked off down the beach and I drove away. I said a prayer of thanks as God once again proved He was bigger than me.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Reflection of a Sacrifice
The following is the reflection I shared at Monterey County Peace Officers Fallen Officer Memorial Service on Wednesday, May 7, 2008.
__________________________________________
I begin by reading from The Gospel of Matthew Chapter 4, Verses 18-22
The Calling of the First Disciples
“As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. ‘Come, follow me,’ Jesus said, ‘and I will make you fishers of men.’ At once they left their nets and followed him.
Going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John. They were in a boat with their father Zebedee, preparing their nets. Jesus called them, and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him."
As I thought about the call if these men, it occurred to me that although Peter, Andrew, James and John immediately left to go with Jesus, they did not do so simply because a man they had never met walked up to them and said “Follow me.” These were men of faith who had read scripture and were watching for the opportunity to serve.
The call to become a peace officer is not made in a moment, in response to a job flyer or commercial on television. It is a process that begins with a heart to serve others. The call means making a commitment of time, effort and sacrifice. We endure the testing process and background examinations, police academies and Field Training Officers.
We commit to work weekends, holidays and shifts. We stand at an intersection in the freezing rain with a flare pattern and our patrol car blocking a roadway with all the lights on and still have the patience to answer the question, “Is this road closed?”
We commit to stand firm in the face of every profanity and stop fighting when the other guy quits even if he got in more shots in than you. We commit to put our own life at risk to save another human being no matter who they are.
We also accept that what we do means that we may be called to lose our lives so that others will be safe. And it is not a decision we make for our selves but a sacrifice that our families live with as well.
For the ten men we remember this evening it means their wives, children, parents, brothers and sisters a will not see them again in this world. The men and women that served with them will carry the pain of the loss of a friend and a partner. Those that follow behind now live to honor a fellow peace officer who died in the line of duty.
The Book of Romans, Chapter 13, Verse 4 says of those that are called to keep the peace:
“For he is God's servant to do you good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword for nothing. He is God's servant, an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer.”
Our call to police service means that we commit to protect the weak and hold evil at bay. We do this with the sword.
This is why our call is for very few. We must decide and act in a moment. We must understand the seriousness of our mission and what lies in the balance. We are fair yet firm, strong yet compassionate, we are brave in the face of danger when others will freeze or run away. We do this knowing that the cost might be our own lives for the benefit of our fellow man.
Please follow along as I read from the Gospel of John Chapter 15:9-19
"As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other.
If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you.”
On September 26, 1929, two men entered a Rodeo bank near the Town of Pinole, armed with guns. They intended to rob the $27,000 payroll delivered that morning. Constable Arthur Mac Donald was also in the bank and confronted the robbers. A gun battle erupted. Although he managed to shoot one of the suspects, a third man driving a get away car fired into the bank from outside. Constable MacDonald was shot and mortally wounded. He was taken to the hospital in an attempt to save his life.
Although his wife managed to get to the hospital before he died, she was not allowed to be with her husband even though he called to her from the treatment room.
Constable Arthur Mac Donald was my great-grandfather. My grandmother received a telegram in New York at 5:40PM that evening that read,
“YOUR FATHER KILLED THIS MORNING HOLD UP RODEO BANK”
Although I never met my great grandfather, my grandmother told me about him and how he was a committed father and husband. A great aunt told me that she was proud that a member of the family was following in his footsteps. He served as a constable for 11 years. A man later told reporters that, “Jerry was a great man and popular, but if you got out of line he’d kick you in the butt and tell you to get off the street and go home. And you would do it too.”
If it was only still that easy.
When a member of our profession is killed in the line of duty, it has a profound impact on us as we live our lives by honoring their memory through our service in law enforcement. The impact becomes even more significant when we knew that the person behind the badge and realize they were committed to family, to the community and to their faith.
__________________________________________
I begin by reading from The Gospel of Matthew Chapter 4, Verses 18-22
The Calling of the First Disciples
“As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. ‘Come, follow me,’ Jesus said, ‘and I will make you fishers of men.’ At once they left their nets and followed him.
Going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John. They were in a boat with their father Zebedee, preparing their nets. Jesus called them, and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him."
As I thought about the call if these men, it occurred to me that although Peter, Andrew, James and John immediately left to go with Jesus, they did not do so simply because a man they had never met walked up to them and said “Follow me.” These were men of faith who had read scripture and were watching for the opportunity to serve.
The call to become a peace officer is not made in a moment, in response to a job flyer or commercial on television. It is a process that begins with a heart to serve others. The call means making a commitment of time, effort and sacrifice. We endure the testing process and background examinations, police academies and Field Training Officers.
We commit to work weekends, holidays and shifts. We stand at an intersection in the freezing rain with a flare pattern and our patrol car blocking a roadway with all the lights on and still have the patience to answer the question, “Is this road closed?”
We commit to stand firm in the face of every profanity and stop fighting when the other guy quits even if he got in more shots in than you. We commit to put our own life at risk to save another human being no matter who they are.
We also accept that what we do means that we may be called to lose our lives so that others will be safe. And it is not a decision we make for our selves but a sacrifice that our families live with as well.
For the ten men we remember this evening it means their wives, children, parents, brothers and sisters a will not see them again in this world. The men and women that served with them will carry the pain of the loss of a friend and a partner. Those that follow behind now live to honor a fellow peace officer who died in the line of duty.
The Book of Romans, Chapter 13, Verse 4 says of those that are called to keep the peace:
“For he is God's servant to do you good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword for nothing. He is God's servant, an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer.”
Our call to police service means that we commit to protect the weak and hold evil at bay. We do this with the sword.
This is why our call is for very few. We must decide and act in a moment. We must understand the seriousness of our mission and what lies in the balance. We are fair yet firm, strong yet compassionate, we are brave in the face of danger when others will freeze or run away. We do this knowing that the cost might be our own lives for the benefit of our fellow man.
Please follow along as I read from the Gospel of John Chapter 15:9-19
"As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other.
If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you.”
On September 26, 1929, two men entered a Rodeo bank near the Town of Pinole, armed with guns. They intended to rob the $27,000 payroll delivered that morning. Constable Arthur Mac Donald was also in the bank and confronted the robbers. A gun battle erupted. Although he managed to shoot one of the suspects, a third man driving a get away car fired into the bank from outside. Constable MacDonald was shot and mortally wounded. He was taken to the hospital in an attempt to save his life.
Although his wife managed to get to the hospital before he died, she was not allowed to be with her husband even though he called to her from the treatment room.
Constable Arthur Mac Donald was my great-grandfather. My grandmother received a telegram in New York at 5:40PM that evening that read,
“YOUR FATHER KILLED THIS MORNING HOLD UP RODEO BANK”
Although I never met my great grandfather, my grandmother told me about him and how he was a committed father and husband. A great aunt told me that she was proud that a member of the family was following in his footsteps. He served as a constable for 11 years. A man later told reporters that, “Jerry was a great man and popular, but if you got out of line he’d kick you in the butt and tell you to get off the street and go home. And you would do it too.”
If it was only still that easy.
When a member of our profession is killed in the line of duty, it has a profound impact on us as we live our lives by honoring their memory through our service in law enforcement. The impact becomes even more significant when we knew that the person behind the badge and realize they were committed to family, to the community and to their faith.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Common Ground
It is possible to make friends with anyone. The key is to find common ground. As a police officer, that common ground might be the fact that I catch someone breaking the law and arrest them. After 21 years in law enforcement I know that connecting with another person at any level can have a significant impact on their life.
Things don’t get much worse when the police show up. We are the last hope for some. We are available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Call 911 and we will show up. Yet it is in these moments of pain and fear where forgiveness, redemption and new beginnings can happen. A common phrase in our culture today is that everyone gets their five minutes of fame. As a police officer, I believe that I have five minutes of opportunity in the lives of everyone I encounter.
I was promoted to police sergeant in 1996. Promotion in my profession means shift work, nights and weekends. One of my early assignments was to work 6:30AM to 4:30PM with Wednesday, Thursday and Friday off. I was the only sergeant assigned the day watch shift and I was expected to be at work, especially during my probationary year.
There was a Promise Keepers conference that year at the Los Angeles Coliseum and it was free to everyone. My work schedule allowed me to attend only the Friday night part of the event. This was my third Promise Keepers conference and I looked forward to going alone. My plan was to sit in the front row, be surrounded by music and singing and let God meet me that evening. God had other plans.
I got to the stadium when the gates opened hours before the event began. I walked out onto the field and felt very small looking up at the stadium seats where I sat for sports events in the past. I had the pick of places to sit and settled into the third row from the front on the aisle. God was good!
The stadium filled over the next few hours and taped music played over the loud speakers. It sounded great. I was excited to hear the worship band live from the front. People were moving about getting things ready for the event. Ushers gave directions, prayer partners took seats designated for them in anticipation of an alter call, lights, microphones and sound equipment were checked and readied. I even had the seat next to me open with 10 minutes to the start of the evening service. God was great!
And then it happened.
Out of the corner of my right eye, I caught a glimpse of orange and black. Years of being a cop meant that I was always aware of out of the ordinary movement and my attention went toward a guy walking along the front row of chairs in a bouncy, trouncy, pouncy sort of way.
Curious.
He made the turn down the aisle I was sitting on and I remembered the empty seat next to me.
Concern.
This brother in Christ is wearing a Tigger t-shirt of the Disney variety. He has a day pack slung over his shoulder with 25 Tigger key rings hanging off of it and he was moving steadily toward the empty seat next to me.
Panic.
He moves in and proclaimed with energy and enthusiasm, “Is anyone sitting there?”
My brain was screaming, “Yes, this seat it taken.” My mouth said, “No one is sitting there.”
He moved past me, plopped into the seat, turned, extended his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Tigger!”
I expected him to break out in a theme song.
Tigger then starts jumping up and down, high fiving and hugging everyone within reach and yells continually how excited he is about the Lord.
I scream inside to God, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!”
The worship band begins as a guy walks up to Tigger and I and says he is a pastor and is supposed to sit on the end of the row for prayer requests. I am a nice guy and give up my seat.
Now what do I do?
All the field seats are gone.
Any hope of a “good” seat has evaporated.
Worship is in progress.
I am alone.
I climb the stadium stairs leaving behind my plan of communing with God in the front row at Promise Keepers resigned to sitting on the stands looking sideways at the stage for the evening. I actually find a seat ten rows off the field and try to refocus on worship and the message offered by the first speaker. Toward the end of worship, I look down on the field to see how Tigger is doing. I can see that he still has bounce and it looks like the guy I gave my seat up to is standing in the aisle to put some distance between himself and the visitor from the Hundred Acre Woods.
Then God met me.
I happen to glance five rows behind the seat I fled from and I see a guy that looks familiar to me. This man stands at six foot, nine inches tall, he is African American and has jeri curls past his shoulders. He is in desperate need of dental work as his teeth stick out in ten different directions. You can’t possibly miss this guy in a crowd. The man’s nickname is Foots. I know Foots because I have arrested him in Santa Barbara for a variety of drug and alcohol crimes over the nine years I was a police officer before my promotion to sergeant.
Foots hung with a crowd of transient men that did nothing more than panhandle, drink and smoke marijuana whenever they could get it. I ran across them almost every day I worked and kept them in line by telling them to move on, writing them tickets or putting them in jail. There was really no other way to manage them and the problems they caused for business owners, residents and visitors to the beach areas of Santa Barbara. I did get to know these guys pretty well over the years. They were generally harmless and I tried to treat them with dignity no matter how drunk or belligerent they were.
I was surprised to see Foots in the crowd. As soon as the alter call ended, I made the decision to go down to where Foots sat and say hello. How he got there, I had no idea but I was encouraged to see a guy I had arrested hanging out at a PK conference. Expecting to say hi and return to the stands, I left my bible and jacket at my seat and made my way back onto the field. As I walked along the front row of the section Foots was in I saw that he was also in the company of another man that I had arrested many times. Johnny was a handsome man that choose drinking and pot smoking as his life’s ambition. He was also street wise and like a cop, was aware of his surroundings.
Johnny saw me before Foots. He clearly does not immediately recognized me because the last thing he expected was to see Sergeant Mike Aspland walking towards him out of uniform. His expressions reveal a thought process that followed the pattern of: “That guy is looking at me.” “Why is that guy staring at me?!” “That guy better stop mad dogging me!” “That guy look’s familiar.” “Hey! That’s Sergeant Aspland!”
A moment later, Johnny elbows Foots and they both watch me turn the corner and approach. It was like I was a long, lost cousin. Handshakes and greetings were exchanged and I asked how they got here from Santa Barbara.
“We came down with the guys from the recovery house we live at in Santa Barbara.” Foots says proudly with a very toothy grin.
I look down the row of ten seats and every one of the chairs is occupied by a man that I know. The common ground was that I had arrested all of them at one time another. Some of the guys I had to wrestle or pepper spray in the course of doing my job. This was becoming a very dysfunctional family reunion. I explain that I am there by myself for the evening event because I have to go to work the next day.
“Mike, would you sit with us?” Foots asked.
What do I do? I begin to piece together the events of the last few hours and can’t help but conclude that this is where God wants to meet me.
“Ok,” I agree, “Let me go get my stuff and I will be right back.”
As I made my way back to my stadium seat to collect my things, I figured that I would still get an aisle seat on the field. Ok, I would have to sit next to guys I work with in one respect or another but hey, it will only be for an hour and a half.
I arrive to take my third seat of the night expecting an aisle seat only to find that Foots and Johnny made a guy move out from the center of the row and expect me to sit in the middle! So there I am. I have Foots to my right, Johnny to my left and the rest of the seats are filled with law breakers!
I tell Johnny and Foots, “Look here, if you start beating me with fists and tell everyone you are laying hands on me, I will be very upset!”
Laughter.
“Where are you staying?” I ask Foots.
“Oh Mike, we are staying at the Radisson. I aint never stayed at a place like that before.”
“Well if we get home and I find you brought any towels back with you,” I responded with my best authoritarian tone, “I will arrest you for possession of stolen property!”
More laughter.
Consider for a moment the experience of those sitting around us. The men in Johnny and Foots’ row were clearly from the wrong side of the tracks. They were substance abusers, gang members, probationers, parolees and homeless. If you ran into any of these guys outside of the Coliseum that night, you would avoid them at all costs. Imagine watching a young, clean cut guy of the wonder bread mentality settle in with these guys and survive the experience!
The evening turned out well. We worshipped the Lord, listened to a message and then held hands and prayed together. In the end, Foots turned to me and said, “No wonder you were always so nice to us.”
I left for the night and considered what Foots told me. I was not vocal with these guys about my faith but I did try to meet them where they were at with every encounter. It was in those moments a foundation was put in place for us to find common ground and worship the Lord together.
Things don’t get much worse when the police show up. We are the last hope for some. We are available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Call 911 and we will show up. Yet it is in these moments of pain and fear where forgiveness, redemption and new beginnings can happen. A common phrase in our culture today is that everyone gets their five minutes of fame. As a police officer, I believe that I have five minutes of opportunity in the lives of everyone I encounter.
I was promoted to police sergeant in 1996. Promotion in my profession means shift work, nights and weekends. One of my early assignments was to work 6:30AM to 4:30PM with Wednesday, Thursday and Friday off. I was the only sergeant assigned the day watch shift and I was expected to be at work, especially during my probationary year.
There was a Promise Keepers conference that year at the Los Angeles Coliseum and it was free to everyone. My work schedule allowed me to attend only the Friday night part of the event. This was my third Promise Keepers conference and I looked forward to going alone. My plan was to sit in the front row, be surrounded by music and singing and let God meet me that evening. God had other plans.
I got to the stadium when the gates opened hours before the event began. I walked out onto the field and felt very small looking up at the stadium seats where I sat for sports events in the past. I had the pick of places to sit and settled into the third row from the front on the aisle. God was good!
The stadium filled over the next few hours and taped music played over the loud speakers. It sounded great. I was excited to hear the worship band live from the front. People were moving about getting things ready for the event. Ushers gave directions, prayer partners took seats designated for them in anticipation of an alter call, lights, microphones and sound equipment were checked and readied. I even had the seat next to me open with 10 minutes to the start of the evening service. God was great!
And then it happened.
Out of the corner of my right eye, I caught a glimpse of orange and black. Years of being a cop meant that I was always aware of out of the ordinary movement and my attention went toward a guy walking along the front row of chairs in a bouncy, trouncy, pouncy sort of way.
Curious.
He made the turn down the aisle I was sitting on and I remembered the empty seat next to me.
Concern.
This brother in Christ is wearing a Tigger t-shirt of the Disney variety. He has a day pack slung over his shoulder with 25 Tigger key rings hanging off of it and he was moving steadily toward the empty seat next to me.
Panic.
He moves in and proclaimed with energy and enthusiasm, “Is anyone sitting there?”
My brain was screaming, “Yes, this seat it taken.” My mouth said, “No one is sitting there.”
He moved past me, plopped into the seat, turned, extended his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Tigger!”
I expected him to break out in a theme song.
Tigger then starts jumping up and down, high fiving and hugging everyone within reach and yells continually how excited he is about the Lord.
I scream inside to God, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!”
The worship band begins as a guy walks up to Tigger and I and says he is a pastor and is supposed to sit on the end of the row for prayer requests. I am a nice guy and give up my seat.
Now what do I do?
All the field seats are gone.
Any hope of a “good” seat has evaporated.
Worship is in progress.
I am alone.
I climb the stadium stairs leaving behind my plan of communing with God in the front row at Promise Keepers resigned to sitting on the stands looking sideways at the stage for the evening. I actually find a seat ten rows off the field and try to refocus on worship and the message offered by the first speaker. Toward the end of worship, I look down on the field to see how Tigger is doing. I can see that he still has bounce and it looks like the guy I gave my seat up to is standing in the aisle to put some distance between himself and the visitor from the Hundred Acre Woods.
Then God met me.
I happen to glance five rows behind the seat I fled from and I see a guy that looks familiar to me. This man stands at six foot, nine inches tall, he is African American and has jeri curls past his shoulders. He is in desperate need of dental work as his teeth stick out in ten different directions. You can’t possibly miss this guy in a crowd. The man’s nickname is Foots. I know Foots because I have arrested him in Santa Barbara for a variety of drug and alcohol crimes over the nine years I was a police officer before my promotion to sergeant.
Foots hung with a crowd of transient men that did nothing more than panhandle, drink and smoke marijuana whenever they could get it. I ran across them almost every day I worked and kept them in line by telling them to move on, writing them tickets or putting them in jail. There was really no other way to manage them and the problems they caused for business owners, residents and visitors to the beach areas of Santa Barbara. I did get to know these guys pretty well over the years. They were generally harmless and I tried to treat them with dignity no matter how drunk or belligerent they were.
I was surprised to see Foots in the crowd. As soon as the alter call ended, I made the decision to go down to where Foots sat and say hello. How he got there, I had no idea but I was encouraged to see a guy I had arrested hanging out at a PK conference. Expecting to say hi and return to the stands, I left my bible and jacket at my seat and made my way back onto the field. As I walked along the front row of the section Foots was in I saw that he was also in the company of another man that I had arrested many times. Johnny was a handsome man that choose drinking and pot smoking as his life’s ambition. He was also street wise and like a cop, was aware of his surroundings.
Johnny saw me before Foots. He clearly does not immediately recognized me because the last thing he expected was to see Sergeant Mike Aspland walking towards him out of uniform. His expressions reveal a thought process that followed the pattern of: “That guy is looking at me.” “Why is that guy staring at me?!” “That guy better stop mad dogging me!” “That guy look’s familiar.” “Hey! That’s Sergeant Aspland!”
A moment later, Johnny elbows Foots and they both watch me turn the corner and approach. It was like I was a long, lost cousin. Handshakes and greetings were exchanged and I asked how they got here from Santa Barbara.
“We came down with the guys from the recovery house we live at in Santa Barbara.” Foots says proudly with a very toothy grin.
I look down the row of ten seats and every one of the chairs is occupied by a man that I know. The common ground was that I had arrested all of them at one time another. Some of the guys I had to wrestle or pepper spray in the course of doing my job. This was becoming a very dysfunctional family reunion. I explain that I am there by myself for the evening event because I have to go to work the next day.
“Mike, would you sit with us?” Foots asked.
What do I do? I begin to piece together the events of the last few hours and can’t help but conclude that this is where God wants to meet me.
“Ok,” I agree, “Let me go get my stuff and I will be right back.”
As I made my way back to my stadium seat to collect my things, I figured that I would still get an aisle seat on the field. Ok, I would have to sit next to guys I work with in one respect or another but hey, it will only be for an hour and a half.
I arrive to take my third seat of the night expecting an aisle seat only to find that Foots and Johnny made a guy move out from the center of the row and expect me to sit in the middle! So there I am. I have Foots to my right, Johnny to my left and the rest of the seats are filled with law breakers!
I tell Johnny and Foots, “Look here, if you start beating me with fists and tell everyone you are laying hands on me, I will be very upset!”
Laughter.
“Where are you staying?” I ask Foots.
“Oh Mike, we are staying at the Radisson. I aint never stayed at a place like that before.”
“Well if we get home and I find you brought any towels back with you,” I responded with my best authoritarian tone, “I will arrest you for possession of stolen property!”
More laughter.
Consider for a moment the experience of those sitting around us. The men in Johnny and Foots’ row were clearly from the wrong side of the tracks. They were substance abusers, gang members, probationers, parolees and homeless. If you ran into any of these guys outside of the Coliseum that night, you would avoid them at all costs. Imagine watching a young, clean cut guy of the wonder bread mentality settle in with these guys and survive the experience!
The evening turned out well. We worshipped the Lord, listened to a message and then held hands and prayed together. In the end, Foots turned to me and said, “No wonder you were always so nice to us.”
I left for the night and considered what Foots told me. I was not vocal with these guys about my faith but I did try to meet them where they were at with every encounter. It was in those moments a foundation was put in place for us to find common ground and worship the Lord together.
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