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THE RAGMAN
I saw a strange sight.
I stumbled upon a story most strange,
like nothing my life, my street sense,
my sly tongue had ever prepared me for.
Hush, child. Hush, now and I will tell it to you.
Even before the dawn one Friday morning
I noticed a young man, handsome and strong,
walking the alleys of our City.
He was pulling an old cart-filled with clothes
both bright and new, and he was calling in a clear,
tenor voice:
"Rags"
(Ah, the air was foul and the first light filthy
to-be crossed by such sweet music.)
"Rags! New rags for old!
I take your tired rags! Rags!
"Now, this is a wonder, "I thought to myself,
for the man stood six-foot-four,
and his arms were like tree limbs,
hard and muscular, and his eyes flashed intelligence.
Could he find no better job that 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 a handkerchief, sighing,
and shedding a thousand tears.
Her knees and elbows made a sad x.
Her shoulders shook. Her heart was breaking.
The Ragman stopped his cart.
quietly, he walked to the woman,
stepping round tin cans, dead toys, and Pampers.
"Give me your rag."he said so gently,
"and I'll give you another."
He slipped the handkerchief from her eyes.
She looked up, and he laid 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 pull his cart again,
the Ragman did a strange thing, he put her
stained hankerchief to his own face, and then
HE began to weep, to sob as grievously as she
had done, his shoulders shaking.
Yet she was left without a tear.
"This IS a wonder, "I breathed to myself,
and I followed the sobbing Ragman like a
child who cannot turn away from mystery.
"Rags! Rags! New rags for old!"
In a little while, when the sky showed grey
behind the rooftops and I could see the shredded
curtains hanging out black windows. The Ragman came
upon a girl whose whose head was wrapped in a
bandage, whose eyes were empty. Blood soaked her
bandage. A single line of blood ran down her cheek.
Now the tall Ragman looked upon this child with pity,
and he drew a lovely yellow bonnet from his cart.
"Give me your rag," he said, tracing his own line
on her cheek, "and I'll give you mine."
The child could only gaze at him while he loosened
the bandage, removed it, and tied it to his own head.
The bonnet he set on hers.
And I gasped at what I saw:
for with the bandage went the wound!
Against his brow it ran a darker,
more substantial blood - his own!
"Rags! Rags! I take old rags!"
cried the sobbing, bleeding, strong, intelligent
Ragman.
The sun hurt both the sky, now, and my eyes,
the Ragman seemed more and more to hurry.
"Are you going to work?"
he asked a man who leaned against a telephone pole.
The man shook his head, the Ragman pressed him,
"Do you have a job?"
"Are you crazy?" sneered the other.
He pulled away from the pole, revealing the right
sleeve of his jacket - flat, the cuff stuffed
into the pocket. He had no arm.
"So," said the Ragman.
"Give me your jacket, and I'll give you mine."
Such quiet authority in his voice!
The one-armed man took off his jacket.
So did the Ragman
and I trembled at what I saw:
for the Ragman's arm stayed in its sleeve,
and when the other put it on he had two good arms,
thick as tree limbs, but the Ragman had only one.
"Go to work," he said.
After that he found a drunk, lying unconscious
beneath an army blanket, an old man, hunched,
wizened and sick. He took that blanket and
wrapped it round himsef, but for the drunk he
left new clothes.
And now I had to run to keep up with the Ragman.
Though he was weeping uncontrollably, and bleeding
freely at the forehead, pulling his cart with one arm,
stumbling for drunkenness, falling again and again,
exhausted, old, old, and sick, yet he went with terrible
speed. On spider's legs he skittered through the alleys
of the City, this mile and the next, until he came to
its 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 haste, perhaps to know what drove him so.
The little old Ragman - he came to a landfill.
He came to the garbage pits.
And then I wanted to help him in what he did,
but I hung back, hiding. He climbed a hill
with tormented labor he cleared a little
space on that hill. Then he sighed. He lay down.
He pillowed his head on a handkerchief and a jacket.
He covered his bones with an army blanket.
And he died.
Oh, how I cried to witness that death!
I slumped in a junked car 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 man, but he died.
I sobbed myself to sleep.
I did not know - how could I know?
that I slept through Friday night
and Saturday and its night, too.
But then, on Sunday morning,
I was wakened by a violence.
Light - pure, hard, demanding light
-
slammed against my sour face, and I
blinked, and I looked, and I saw the
last and the first wonder of all.
There was the Ragman,
folding the blanket most carefully,
a scar on his forehead, but alive!
And, besides that, healthy!
There was no sign of sorrow nor of age,
and all the rags that he had gathered
shined for cleanliness.
Well, then I lowered my head and trembling
for all that I had seen,
I myself walked up to the Ragman.
I told him my name with shame,
for I was a sorry figure next to him.
Then I took off all my clothes in that place,
and I said to him with dear yearning in my voice:
"Dress me, LORD".
HE dressed me.
My LORD, HE put new rags on me,
and now I to, follow HIM.
The Ragman, the Ragman,
THE CHRIST
AMEN
by Walter Wangerin,Jr.
midi: HE TOUCHED ME
is for entertainment purposes only
copyrights belong to the artist.
This page was inspired
and made with GOD's help.
May 2004
deloris patrick aka granidee
FATHER
I pray that my every word, action, and deed
will be pleasing unto YOU and that I will
glorify YOUR name each day,
in Christ Jesus name, I pray.
AMEN
If you would like to see more of his wonderful
artwork click on the link below.
©Copyright
Greg Olsen 2000. All rights reserved. Used with
permission. To see more of Greg Olsen's work, go to http://gregolsengallery.com/
To see more of Chanel's beautiful sets
please visit her site.
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