There are moments in life that beg to be put onto paper. They are moments saturated in honest realization and moments that eagerly wait to fall upon the ears and eyes of others. These moments are likely to leave such a large imprint on a person that they cannot be denied as being perfectly crafted by the hand of God. While standing on a street corner in the city of Chicago, I encountered such a moment as this in the most unpretentious of ways. It is a moment that will not quickly fade or be forgotten. On a brisk night in the city—I held hands with a killer.


In the years leading to this moment, I had unknowingly been building upon a foundation of pride that came crashing down through my meeting with a homeless man named Barry. Without even realizing it, I had been holding onto the notion that I was better than the homeless people I meet on the street. I would subconsciously elevate myself until I reached a height that would only allow me to look down on the people I would speak with. My mouth would constantly deny that I felt this way, but my heart eventually revealed the dark supposition encased within it. I have seen this to be true in the lives of others as well, which furthers my opinion that pride is a difficult sin to tame. It is a sin pattern that has the sneaky ability to disguise itself in an assortment of ways—leading to a multitude of sins. My interactions with various people living on the windy streets of Chicago have taught me so many important things in my faith journey, but the most important lesson learned came through a man named Barry.

My first introduction to Barry was a rather unfortunate event. I happened to cross paths with him when he was having a bad night and did not see the best side of him. Due to the alarming amount of anger in Barry’s words and demeanor, I made a silent vow to avoid him from that point on. I was given a lot of background information on the history of Barry’s life and his interactions with other students—none of which were very good. These stories only pushed me further away from wanting to build a relationship with him. I learned that he had been responsible for the death of two people within his lifetime and that he had spent over twenty years in the prison system. His story was full of violence. Never in my life have I met someone quite like the angry man that I met in Barry. However, God’s timing is always perfect and this was proven to be true on a particular Thursday night.

As I crossed the street with a group of friends, I noticed a man standing on the corner ahead of me. His head was turned toward his feet and his shoulders were slouched, giving off an appearance of defeat. When my legs had finally led me close enough to recognize the man as Barry, my heart sank. I did not want to see him. I did not want to speak with him. Against my will, I followed the pattern of the group I was with and gathered around Barry. Throughout our conversation, I noticed something different about him. His words were no longer filled with anger and his mannerisms were empty of hatred. Something inside of Barry had definitely shifted and he was no longer impossible or scary to speak with. We stood on the sidewalk and had a long and fearless conversation with him. At the end of our talk about things in Barry’s past and problems in the homeless community—we joined hands and prayed.

I felt the reality of love begin to unfold within my chest as my fingers intertwined with Barry’s. As various people around the circle began speaking to God, I am not afraid to admit that I did not hear a word of what was spoken. I could not audibly hear the prayers being offered before the Lord over the roaring voice of the Holy Spirit that was speaking to my soul. I could feel the effects that the cold weather and fist fights had taken on his hands and it was in that moment that I realized something profound. I realized that the hand that I was holding was the same hand that had taken the lives of two people. On the contrary, my hand had never even killed an animal. The fingers that were laced with mine were the same fingers that had spent over twenty years in prison. My fingers had never even entered a jail cell. However, I then noticed that the pulse that was beating in Barry’s hand was in tune with the pulse that was beating in mine.

A flood of humility filled my body at the impact of my hand with Barry’s. It was through this connection that the understanding of something great was gained. It was in this seemingly insignificant moment that I finally understood that I was no different than the man standing next to me. My initial thought was one of amazement at the fact that I was holding the hand of a murderer, but then God opened my eyes and allowed me to see the killer living inside of me. Although I have never physically destroyed a life, how many murders have I committed in my heart? I walked away from Barry hardly able to speak.

I took the stairs to my floor and fell to my knees in the darkness of my room. With hands opened in prayer, I asked God to do something rather strange. I asked God to be a murderer and kill the pride in me. I asked him to take away the thought that I was better and favored over Barry. I asked God to humble me and tear down my foundation of pride. I turned my face toward heaven and asked Jesus to hold my hand. Again, it was through this type of connection that I grasped a much larger concept. Jesus held hands with a murderer when he held hands with me.

The night that I prayed with Barry was the catalyst to my understanding of humility and pride. I am just as guilty and unworthy of Christ as a person that lived half their life in jail. Barry and I are both sinners. We are both children of a merciful Savior. We both move and breathe in the grace of God. We both stand on level ground at the foot of the cross.