Tommy Parker lived on the streets of Charlottesville for 18 years. You could always count on seeing him on the corner by the university, asking for change from students walking briskly by. He was in his early sixties, but hard drinking and homelessness seemed to have worn another ten years into his face. Married in his twenties, he was long since estranged from his wife and daughter. About five years ago, a car hit Tommy at night and broke both his legs. Last spring he was hit again, and walked with a painful limp after. For a man as beaten and broken as Tommy, he had a surprising joy, always thanking “Jesus and God” he was alive.

Tommy died of a heart attack early morning October 27. He lived in a fallen world, a world that God is at work restoring and making new. While God's redemptive work in this world is visible, it is not complete, and not all the broken pieces get fixed, as evidenced by Tommy’s body and mind.

And yet, Tommy’s passing was not purely tragic. The Sunday before his death, he attended the morning service at St. Thomas’ church, received Communion and prayed with the pastor. The same brother who took Tommy to church gave him money for a hotel room. After nearly two decades of sleeping in doorways and on benches, Tommy died under a roof in a king-sized bed.

Two days later, a memorial service was held in the chapel at St. Paul’s. Dozens and dozens of people showed up to honor Tommy’s life. They packed the chapel full, leaving latecomers to standing room in the back. Ryland Coles, a long-time Charlottesville local and friend of Tommy, opened the service with a soaring rendition of “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” He sang with his bluesy gospel voice, soft at first and swelling to a grand crescendo that filled the church. “I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free, for His eyes are on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

After a brief prayer, many of us who knew Tommy stood to share stories. Many of those in attendance were homeless themselves, and knew how it feels to be largely treated as fixtures against a wall. I sat in the back and listened to story after story about Tommy- each one honoring this man who was known for his kindness and his smile, a man with his own story.

I read a passage from C.S. Lewis’ “The Weight of Glory” a few days later, and it reminded me of Tommy:

"It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption...All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal."

The service and the meal afterward painted a remarkable portrait of the Kingdom- the most diverse gathering I have ever experienced. The poor, the lame, the crippled, the professor, the artist, and the clergyman gathered under one roof, at a common banquet table, in a sacred place. We prayed and worshiped and broke bread- uncommon people drawn into communion because of Tommy’s life and death.