the Ragman

It was before dawn early one Friday morning. I noticed a young man, handsome and strong, walking the alleys of the city. He was carrying a bag filled with clothes, both bright and new, and he was calling in a clear and tenor voice, "Rags! Rags! Rags!"

Ah, the air was foul and the first light of dawn filthy to be crossed by such a sweet music. "Now this is a wonder." I breathed to myself, for the man stood tall, and his arms were like tree limbs, both hard and muscular. And his eyes, ah, his eyes, they flashed bright with intelligence, and understanding. Could he find no better job than this, to be a ragman in the inner city? I followed him, my curiosity drove me, and I wasn't disappointed.

Soon, the Ragman saw a woman sitting on her back porch. She was sobbing into her handkerchief, sighing, and shedding a thousand tears. Her shoulders shook, her heart was breaking. The Ragman stopped. Quietly he walked to the woman, stepping around tin cans, broken toys and garbage. I listened to hear what he had to say; " Let me have your rag," he said so gently, "and I will give you another." He slipped the handkerchief from her eyes. She looked up, and he lay across her palm a linen cloth so clean and new that it shined. She blinked, from the gift, to the giver.

Then, as he began to walk away, the Ragman did a strange thing. He put her stained handkerchief to his own face, and then he began to sob, as grievously as she had done, his shoulders shaking, yet the woman was left behind without one tear! "This is a wonder!" I thought to myself, and I followed the sobbing Ragman like a child that cannot turn away from a mystery. "Rags! Rags! New rags for old!"

In a little while, when the sky began to show gray behind the rooftops, the Ragman came upon a little boy whose head was wrapped in a bandage. A single line of blood ran down his cheek. Now the tall Ragman looked upon this child with pity, and drew a baseball cap from his bag. I heard him as he said, "Give me your rag, child, and I will give you mine." The child could only gaze at him as the Ragman loosened the bandage, removed it, and tied it to his own head. He set the cap on the boy's head. And I gasped at what I saw, for with the bandage went the wound! Against his brow ran a darker, more substantial blood-- his own!

"Rags! Rags! I take old rags!", cried the sobbing, bleeding, yet still strong and intelligent Ragman. The sun hurt the sky now, and my eyes were burning from it's light. The Ragman seemed to be more and more in a hurry. "Are you going to work?" he asked a man leaning against a telephone pole. The man shook his head. The Ragman inquired, "Do you have a job?" "Are you crazy!" sneered the other. He pulled away from the pole, revealing the right sleeve of his jacket. It was flat, with the cuff stuffed into the pocket. The man had only one arm. "So," said the Ragman, "give me your jacket, and I will give you mine." Such quiet authority in his voice; the one-armed man took off his jacket, and so did the Ragman. And I trembled at what I saw; the Ragman's arm stayed in his jacket, and when the other put the jacket on, he had two good arms, but the Ragman now only had one! "Go to work." he told the man.

After that, he saw a drunk lying unconscious beneath an old army blanket; an old man, hunched, wizened, and sick. He took the old man's blanket and wrapped it around himself, but for the drunk he left a new suit of clothes.

And now I had to run to keep up with the Ragman, though he was weeping uncontrollably, bleeding from his forehead, carrying his bag, stumbling from drunkenness, falling again and again, exhausted, old and sick. Yet he went very fast! He skittered through the alleys of the city until he had come to it's limits, and then he rushed beyond. I wept to see the change in this man. I hurt to see his sorrow, and yet I needed to see where he was going in such a haste, perhaps to know what drove him so.

The little old Ragman, he came to a landfill. He came to a garbage dump. And then I wanted to help him in what he did, but I hung back, hiding. With tormented labor, he cleared a little space. Then he sighed, he lay down, he pillowed his head on a handkerchief, he covered his old bones with an old army jacket, and... he died.

Oh, how I cried to witness that death! I slumped in a heap and wailed and mourned, as one who has no hope, because I had come to love the Ragman. Every other face had faded in the wonder of this, and I had cherished him, but he died.

I cried myself to sleep. I did not know, how could I know? That I had slept through Friday night, and into Saturday night. But then on Sunday, I was awakened by a violent light, pure hard demanding light, shining against my face! And I blinked, and I looked and I saw the first and last wonder of all! There was the Ragman! Folding the blanket most carefully, a scar on his forehead, but alive and healthy! There was no sign of age, and all the rags that he gathered shined with cleanliness!

Then I lowered my head, and, trembling for all that I had seen, I walked up to the Ragman. I told him my name, with shame, for I was a sorry figure next to him. Then, I looked into his eyes, and said with dear yearning in my voice, "Change me!"

And He changed me, my Lord! He put new rags on me, and I became a wonder beside him...

The Ragman... The Ragman... The Christ.