Ernest came into our lives when he panhandled outside the
Georgia Pacific building downtown. Herb would try to help him out when he saw
him. At first food only, never money. Because in our white, suburban eyes, people who said they were hungry
but would only accept money were suspect. But whether it was a hamburger or a pair of socks Ernest was
always pleased, always happy.
After Wayne Gordon preached a message at Perimeter Church
entitled, “Who Is My Neighbor?” Herb and I looked at each other and felt a tug
from God. A call to minister to people in a depth of poverty we could not
understand. Not knowing what to do and not ready to move the ghetto as Gordon
had done, we felt stuck.
Then Ernest was laid heavily on our hearts. We may not be
ready to help change a city, but there is a person we know of who could use
help. We drove downtown and sought him out, unsuccessfully at first. Then he
reappeared outside Turner Field after a Braves game. He lived in a
dirt-floor room with no running water just a block away from that temple to
baseball, at which I have been known to worship.
