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Homeless Jesus sculpture by Timothy Schmalz
Homeless Jesus sculpture by Timothy Schmalz

Somebody's Child

Tuesday June 26 2018

Stewart Lowe, a volunteer with Bethany Christian Trust's Care Van, reflects on his encounters with a rough sleeper on the streets of Edinburgh.


I first met this man so many years ago, and I can’t remember a time when he was not a part of my life.

From the very first, I was struck by his bizarre resemblance to the image of Jesus Christ we have been fed over 2000 years of iconography. He is tall with long, fair hair and a beard. He has eyes that have suffered and a quiet voice which has always made me think more deeply about things. One stubborn tooth clings to the front of his mouth.

I have no memory of the names of the people I have met over the years. Jason is the exception that proves the rule.

I am reminded of the story told of a woman who worked in a soup kitchen in New York. One day a co-worker commented on the fact that this woman greeted every stranger who came into the soup kitchen with such clear, open joy. The woman replied that she firmly believed Jesus would return to earth and having no precise information about the where and when of his reappearance, she was taking no chances. I have always tried to remember her words when I meet a client.

Over the years he has remained at the same pitch in the Grassmarket, his back to a door, sneakily close to an ATM.

I can still recall our first meeting. I have no idea why I took hold of one of his hands but I did and the degree of coldness is hard to describe. I wondered if a trickle of heat would ever run through his veins to reach the tips of his fingers.

Across his legs lay a rag of a blanket. He wore a thin, dirty jacket which was worse than useless.

“Wait a minute,” I said.

I ran back to the van, having remembered that a friend’s son, who worked in student accommodation, had had a clear-out of the cupboards which were bulging with the clothes the students had left behind. One item in particular sprung to mind: a long winter coat with a hood and zip that ran from the knees to the neck and lined with that wonderful, fluffy sheep-wool-like material.

It was one of those precious moments when client need and donated item come together in a glorious union.

I stood ‘Jesus’ up and slipped his arms into the coat. I am a little squirt and it must have looked especially odd my fitting the coat on to that beanpole of a man. His face beamed.


For years he and I have met on the streets of Edinburgh in exactly the same spot. It is very rare for me not to come across him and on those occasions I have to work hard to be positive about his absence.

I know so little about this man. He must be somebody’s child. He must have known a birthday party, the excitement of Santa Claus.

He must be made of a rare material, this man who has passed a lifetime on the streets. Does he look older? Of course, but haven’t we all changed?

Unfortunately, the weaknesses in his old bones, the bronchitis stirring in his lungs, the dissolving of his organs are obvious to the trained eye and, in the end, cannot be hidden.

And I am kidding nobody.

I know it will only take a particularly bad night for Jason to be consigned to the status of another statistic. The loss of life amongst the homeless is horrendous. In spite of the hard work of many engaged charities and paid workers, 18 people died on the streets of Edinburgh during 2017.

Will anybody shed a tear at this loss of life?

A Wilfred Owen poem describes how life is wasted in wars and how the sun cannot, even with all its powers, bring back life to the young men killed on the battlefield.

I think of the wasted lives on the streets of our city in a similar way.

The poem is called Futility.


Bethany Christian Trust

The full version of this article appears in June’s Life and Work. Download or subscribe here.