The whole incident was over in about 45 seconds.

I smoke. I shouldn't.

My wife and I just walked out of Taken, a movie about the hope of redemptive violence. I felt dirty, not least because I'd concluded that if my daughter had been kidnapped and trafficked for sex, I'd probably go the same route.

He was a disheveled homeless man, bearded, probably in his early 40's, though life might have aged his appearance beyond his years.

He asked me for a cigarette. I didn't hear him, immersed as I was in simultaneously processing and resisting the film.

I was a few steps past him when I finally heard. I turned back.

"Smoke, brother?"

Yes, along with words that communicated, beyond the barely-meaning of the words themselves, this child of God's two main issues at this moment in his life: hunger and dementia.

The kids were with the sitter. No time for anything more than "Here's a few bucks. God bless you, brother."

I turned to cross the street. He followed me. I turned back. His face was solemn, piercing. His right hand was in his right coat pocket. He was 6 inches from me, eyes glued to mine.

Did I mention his right hand?

I heard screams from the sidewalk. Later, I understood they were to draw attention to the situation.

I had just emerged from a movie that tried to convince me that it was OK to use violence against people who were about to hurt you, or those you loved. I thought it had.

All the evidence suggested that this person was about to either fire a bullet or plunge a sharp object into my body. I assure you that the writer of this piece, born of a woman some 38 years ago, would have reacted with violence, in heavy doses, and with little if any conscious aforethought.

But someone I scarcely recognized did not. Someone I scarcely recognized looked into that man's face, not to intimidate, but to love. Someone I scarcely recognized was, well, I wouldn't say "unafraid"...more like "aware of the cosmic consequences of the moment, consequences far more immense than anyone's physical well-being."

Someone I scarcely recognized didn't flinch, but smiled...genuinely.

Something happened. Something snapped. Something changed. I could never prove it. I could never explain it. The only evidence was in the man's countenance. Somewhat baffled, he said, far more coherently than moments earlier:

"Hey, j-just wanted to say thanks, man. G-God bless you, t-too."

At that moment, for the first time, I reached for his right arm...

...gave it two gentle taps...

...and went home to my kids.

Grace and Peace,
Raffi