Five Lost Souls

Three Hispanic teens are out late searching for someone to be the target of their pain. Two homeless Navajo men are sitting in an abandoned field strewn with rocks and glass, drinking away their pain, dulling whatever path that has led them to this place. Two broken roads meet last Saturday night, and we are left wondering if can ever call ourselves a civilized or caring community. For no other reason than rage and hate, the three teens spend the next hour bashing the men in the field with hands, feet, cinder blocks and poles. Through splattered blood and cries of pain, the teens shout " eat mud bitch. "

The next morning the homeless Navajo men are found under a mattress. The faces of these beautiful children of God are mutilated beyond recognition. They are caked in blood, brain matter and mud. Unrecognizable in death as they were invisible in life. No one seemed to know who they were, only that they were the nameless homeless. The three teens walk home with blood on their hands and clothes. Who is at home to notice their appearance? One of the teens looks into the mirror and tells the arresting police that he saw the “devil” in his reflection.

This story transcends heartbreak. It prompts outrage, questioning, disbelief. Nevertheless, it goes far deeper. One cannot begin to describe the depth of incomprehension. Three teens are shackled for their appearance in court. We learn they dropped out of school.  One cannot find a parent. Another was at one time homeless. What were the origins of this torment and hatred that were unleashed upon the world in that abandoned field? I suspect we will find a myriad of abuse, poverty, isolation and neglect. During those hours, they walked the streets of our city - did we see them? When they were booked into jail - did we intervene? When they were ignored by society did we bring them in? I am at a loss for these children of God.

Two lost Navajo men far away from their sacred home. They are sitting in the dark, in an empty field next to a busy street. Their last hours are simply horrific. Forsaken by society, they are not identified for three days. No one knows who they were, or that they were in a morgue. Who cared for them? We become immune to the pain felt by the Navajo homeless. We simply forget the homeless - ethnicity is of no factor. I suspect we will find a myriad of poverty, neglect, cultural oppression and abuse of some kind. All those hours walking the streets of our city - did we see them? When they were booked into jail - did we intervene? When they were ignored by society - did we bring them in? I cry for these children of God.

Five lost people on the streets of Albuquerque. Many are calling for justice and vengeance while politicians now talk of protecting the homeless. There will be media headlines and sad vigils; what has changed? The reality is that we did not care about them before this horrific night, and I suspect that over time, this story will become a dusty old story. Will we even remember their names in six months? Who will be the next lost soul? Thousands of dropouts will continue to walk the streets; gangs will grow. Homelessness will continue, and lonely souls will drink in abandoned corners.   Children of God will continue to die violent or lonely deaths on our streets.

It is difficult to find the Kingdom of a God in this story. However, maybe there is hope. I pray that abandoned field will be a step toward creating that Kingdom. Maybe our community will understand that one lost soul, five lost souls, or 1000 lost souls are unacceptable. Through the pain, bewilderment, and sadness, we may have the courage and compassion to care. Someone has to care; something has to change. Please don’t let this be the end of the story. " The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine you did for me.”

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