Somewhere in a corner in Kowloon, there's a flyover that marks the boundary between Sham Shui Po and Tai Kok Tsui. In this dark lane, sandwiched between a park and funeral parlour three of our friends live. Sadly recently, three became two. On Monday, a funeral was held for Ah Sing, the oldest of the trio.
For Michelle and I, Ah Sing's funeral was one of the most inspiring and moving memorials we've ever attended. On a hot and muggy evening, twenty-five odd Christians gathered by the overpass to pay respects to the homeless man who passed. Some knew him only briefly. Others hadn't even met him at all. But all were there to honour the life of a man who had endured life so valiantly.
Not much was known about Ah Sing. For most of us, he was a man who sat in a wheelchair by the park who wore a gracious smile but lived a guarded life. For a few years now his health had been failing, his knee and hip shrivelling until he painfully lost the ability to walk. Having been confined to his wheelchair, he spent most of his time drunk in efforts to numb the pain.
Yet for his troubles and humble life, this was a dignified funeral. It was the gospel come to life. There by the overpass the Spirit was palpable and thick as if Jesus was present in that very place declaring to this broken city that his very heart was there, with the poor and needy. We sang, we cried, we laughed, we listened, and remembered the life lost. We celebrated because any life lived is a valuable one nonetheless. And here in a society that pushes the invisible to its corners, we the church gathered to declare that these lives were seen and their stories would be heard.
The most powerful testimony would come from a 16 year old girl who had befriended the trio. She talked about Ah Sing's hardiness and his stubborn drive to live. Then she paused and, with wisdom far beyond her years, talked about Ah Sing's drinking problem. "I've been thinking about whether I should mention his drinking problem tonight," she started, "but I realize that to not talk about it would not honour who he was. Yes, Ah Sing drank a lot, but he drank because the pain of his separated hip was overwhelming. In the end, I asked myself 'how would Jesus have seen Ah Sing?'" she continued. "Jesus would have accepted Ah Sing for who he was with his strengths and flaws. If we are called to truly love our neighbours, we should as well. Because after all, don't we all have our flaws?"
When the service came to an end, one of Ah Sing's buddies shared that Ah Sing must have been so proud to look down from heaven and see so many people gathered to celebrate his life. I quietly pondered this thought in the afterglow of the funeral. Indeed, THIS is what the Kingdom of God is all about: the injustices of life being levelled and the poor, hungry and meek being exalted. The Kingdom is about the church rising up to be the hands and feet of Christ to truly love and accept those around. For Christ says, "whatever you do to the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you did for me. (Matt 25:40)" Most of us are content sitting in our comfortable sterile sanctuaries, singing instead of serving, and yet our Lord calls us to go and love the lowly as we would love Him. What good is a church that doesn't even love her own Lord?
The sad thing isn't that homeless people die in our city - for all most die sooner or later- it's that most die without ever being dignified and loved as people whom God created. Even more tragic is that the church, the very Body of Christ in this age, lets that happen. Let us go, love others and do unto them as we would for the Lord.
