Redemption has stories to tell…

I spent a week recently clearing out a store full of books withdrawn from the library in which I work.  Some of the things I found were amazing, particularly the few books I found on local history.  I found one which vividly recounted a few tales from the poverty stricken in Belfast at the beginning of the twentieth century. 

When I found this book, I snapped a picture of what was displayed on one of the pages and posted it to twitter asking:

http://twitpic.com/1byfxn – A homeless man in Belfast, 1909. I wonder if he thought things might be better a hundred years on…

I’m not the best authority on matters of the homeless in Belfast.  For some genuinely moving tales about how the people there have inspired and have been inspired alike, read my good friend’s blog where he discusses (often at length) how he befriended a vagabond on the streets of that city and how he learned so much from him.  There are other Belfast based blogs which tell similar tales of friendship, of hope and, sadly, of loss.  Local artists have also covered the subject with much greater creative depth and with more passion than I could probably ever offer.

Still, sometimes even I can’t help but think back to rows of soiled sleeping bags which often lined the alleyways behind Primark in Belfast as wonder, have any of them found their hope yet?

Allow me to digress momentarily in order to make sense of where this post is ultimately going.

A couple of years back a friend and I decided that at some point in life we wanted to from a Journey cover band.  Ours, however, would be different to any other Journey tribute band in that we would sing all of our songs whilst affecting a Belfast accent.  For some reason, it seems to endear people to local musicians so naturally, it would spell success for us.

For months now, I have been practicing my version of Don’t Stop Believing with a Belfast twang…

Someone who heard it recently commented that it sounded like I was a busker or a homeless guy trying to gather some spare change down Royal Avenue. This comment made me impulsively include a homebrew bridge into my Don’t Stop Believing cover which began

…Spare some change?

I was playing this tonight when I suddenly realised Gee, what if this was some homeless guy’s plea for a few quid for a cuppa?  What if his story was a part of this song?  What if his story was this song?

While I was playing, I started to ad lib in some sections between verses as if the homeless guy singing this song was telling his story to someone.

When I reached the end, I realised how the story, how his story had to end: Don’t Stop Believing… It’s like a gospel plea isn’t it? Don’t stop believing, don’t stop perusing that hope and hold onto the faith that there is goodness around the corner.

I wrote his story down because I wanted to remember that this might be someone’s story.  Can you picture him, sitting on a piece of newspaper outside Subway on Great Victoria street… A nescafe paper cup in front of his crossed legs and a poorly strung guitar on his lap, reciting his story, his song to you as the masses walk by in ignorance of him? What if someone did stop and share his story.  What if they shared a story with him.  What if they shared their hope with him?

I can’t not picture it…

She’s just a small town girl,

Living in this lonely world.

She took the midnight train going anywhere.

I’m just a city boy,

But I used to come from near Dunloy.

Fell on rough times so now I’ll sleep almost anywhere.

She came out from a smoky room,

There I was bathed in stale car fumes.

But she patiently listened to my tale, it went on and on and on and on…

…

Sitting here on the streets of Belfast,

All alone no one noticed me.

Don’t want drink or drugs, just want some

Spare change for a cup of tea.

Haven’t eaten for three day straight,

And that was what was left on a paper plate

By some business man at the Europa hotel

Who threw it at me ‘cause he knew I smell.

…

Strangers, waiting, up and down Royal Avenue,

Their shadows, searching in the night.

Finding rest now, in an alley behind Primark,

Hiding somewhere in the night.

Can’t get a job to get my fill,

But everybody wants a thrill,

I’d pay anything to roll that dice, just one more time.

Some will win and some will lose,

Guess I was born to sing the blues but

This movie never seems to end it goes on and on and on and on…

…

She told me about her church that evening

But her story seemed to take all night.

I listened to her talk about this Jesus,

Who she said to this world is a light.

I wanted to believe her ‘cause her story talked of ‘Hope’

And some nights when I’m lying here I feel like I can’t cope.

But I’m nothing more than a bumb, can’t you see?

It’s hard to believe anyone cares about me.

…

Strangers, waiting, up and down the Sandy Row

Their shadows, searching in the night.

The warm glow from a Church window, seemed to draw me nearer and nearer and

The Son of God met me there that night.

So don’t stop believing, hold on to that feeling.

Redemption has stories to tell.

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