Getting alone time at Zion was not the easiest of tasks. It required persistence and waking up before everybody arises for breakfast. The day after Thanksgiving I managed to wake myself up early enough to try and get some alone time down in the cafe. As I sit down and crack my bible open, I feel Emmi tap me on the shoulder. She points to a man who is currently passed out in the fetal position on the sidewalk, and asks if I can maybe go wake him up. She hands me a bottled water to help me in my task and I venture across the street.
Luckily I have vast experience with either being blacked out drunk passed out on the side of the road, or taking care of men who were blacked out drunk and making sure they don’t end up dead or passed out on the side of the road. Thank you College. If there was a man for this job it was me.
I nudge the man with my foot and start to pour some of the water on his face. Nothing. This guy is stone cold passed out. I start to aggressively shake him, while talking in a firm tone, “Time to get up”. He arises and I him get to sit down on the curb. He passes out again, this time sitting up. I am half impressed and half annoyed. I shake him again, trying to talk to him. As if still enchanted he gets up like a zombie and starts walking the opposite direction, away from Zion. He takes one step into the intersection of the street before I grab him by the shoulders and guide him back to the sidewalk. He continues walking, with some delusional sense of direction. I try to start a conversation.
“What’s your name?”
“Where are you staying?”
“How can I help you?”
“Where are you from?”
The only thing intelligible I can understand is that his name is Moran (pronounced moron) and he is from Israel. After peeing on a wall he continues to stumble forward with urgency. I start to think he knows where he is going. I stop walking, thinking maybe that is all I can do and Moran slowing wanders out of sight.
I remember what it was like to be so intoxicated you do not know where you are. I also remember how much help I needed during those moments to ensure I was alive and taken care of. Moran, was still blacked out at this time. I know that glazed look in the eyes.
As I continue walking along the sidewalk I find him passed out again, sleeping on the curb. A dog is checking him out, very confused why this man is asleep. As the dog sees me, with my pale skin and my bright orange hair it instantly starts barking. Moran’s eyes open and I reach out my hand to pull him up.
“Can I call you a taxi?”
Moran starts digging through his pockets, condoms fall out of his pockets. He looks at me embarrassed. He hands me a $50 bill, and some Israeli currency.
“I don’t want your money”
“I have a bed for you, do you want to sleep this off?”
He nods and follows me back to Zion where I put him to sleep on the second story couch.
I can only imagine how embarrassing this must have been, being guided forcefully up the stairs, while 40+ Christians stare at you. I tried to make it as inconspicuous as possible, but people notice. I wrote him a note informing him where he was, and left him some water.
Moran slept till 4 pm, when he awoke his eyes were still blood shot and the only real words he could muster up were expletives. I don’t blame him, he really did F*** up, but at least someone took care of him.
I left for ministry and I didn’t hear about Moran again.
The next day 6 of us took an adventure day to Pai, the hippy capital of Thailand. This was our last week in Thailand and I wanted to do something cool. After checking into our hostel we hit the walking street to try and find some food.
As we were walking past the shops I thought I saw Moran out the corner of my eye. Walker and I go in for a closer look. Yep, it is totally him, here in Pai looking at Thai Pants. Walker starts the conversation with a big “HEY!”. He looks at us bewildered, and starts to put the pieces together.
Evidently Moran was one of 19 other Israeli Army dudes who had just finished their tour and decided to celebrate in Thailand. He was so drunk that night, that all his friends left him and they went to Pai. Moran caught the last bus out of Chiang Mai and met up with his pals.
His friends insisted I tell the story of how I found their friend. They were laughing at Moran moronic behavior, and recording me telling the story. As more and more of Moran’s army buddies came strolling in they insisted on hugging me, kissing me on the head, and calling me the “Messiah”. I had saved their friend from his own stupid actions.
We saw Moran 4 more times during our 2 day trip in Pai. He was forever grateful. Trying to buy me beers and inviting me to party with him. I gracious declined. He swore to me that we would NEVER get that drunk again. I replied with “never say never”.
….
It was odd to be called the Messiah by 19 Israeli men. I was shocked, flabbergasted, taken aback. Me, the messiah, no way. But in a way I was the Messiah in that moment. Saving a complete stranger, who I didn’t want anything from, who didn’t owe me anything. I had complete and utter grace for Moran. I had been in those shoes before.
I guess being the Messiah is easy, and can happen anywhere. Could you imagine what the world would look like if we started being the Messiah in the little things.
