Ministry Moments:
Meet Joe & Jim
Ex-Con & Pusher
by Lynn Ridenhour
I want you to meet Joe & Jim. Joe Jupina and Jim
Reed—actual names.
Meet Joe.
I never will forget—I was pulling in to our parking lot one afternoon
when I glanced over to my right and saw a man with a head full of hair sitting
on the porch steps, his head between his legs, his hands disappearing in his
bushy Afro. I got out of the car, walked over and sat down. "Hi, my name
is Lynn. What’s yours?"
He didn’t even look up. "Joe."
"What’s yours?" he asked.
Joe had forgotten that I had just told him my name. And for the next ten
minutes we carried on a very fragmented conversation. For you see, Joe’s
mind was "fried" for doing STP, a very dangerous psychedelic drug.
Within ten minutes, Joe had not only forgotten my name, he had forgotten he’d
asked for my name! About every three or four minutes he’d say, "…what’s
your name?"
I told him, "Lynn."
Joe stayed with us at the Upper Room for six months.
I prayed daily for Joe that God would restore his mind. He had lost most
all of his cognitive reasoning and really sounded much like a five-year old.
Joe was 33 years old, just out of the penitentiary in Jefferson City, and didn’t
know how to dial a telephone.
Joe had been staying with us for about three weeks now when something
miraculous began to occur. I noticed—Joe’s mind was coming back. Slowly,
but surely. Almost weekly you could tell a difference. Joe was making
progress. One evening, about the third week, we were all over at Jim &
Betty Coons’ house for barbecue and fun. I’ll never forget that evening as
long as I live. It’s been twenty-six years. I remember it as though it were
last night. It was on a Wednesday evening. There were about 25 of us over at
the Coons’ house for some fun and fellowship.
About dark, after a good game of volleyball, conversation had turned to
religion, and matters had turned real serious. For three weeks Joe had
witnessed firsthand the joy, the liberty, and serenity that comes from living
the Christian life. That evening in the Coons’ living room three brothers
were gently nudging Joe in the direction of the gospel. We were all listening.
I was standing over in the corner as an observer, watching this sensitive
moment. I could see the struggle on Joe’s face. Finally, he broke loose.
With slow gut-wrenching sounds, he began...
"But I can’t become a Christian. I’ve killed for a cigarette.
There’s no way God could love me. I’ve always taken." Tears were now
dropping on to Joe’s coat sleeve.
Everyone in the room knew this was serious stuff. Here was a man serious
with heaven.
He began to pound his fist on the coffee table.
"I’m not worthy! I’m not worthy! I’ve always taken! I’ve
always taken!"
The brothers now each had their arms around Joe as he sobbed, circling him
in a circle of love. You could sense the love flowing from that circle. Every
person in that room was deeply touched, moved, some were sniffling. Here was a
grown man--pounding his way into heaven. Finally, having been convinced that
none of us were worthy, that all of us had lived self-centered lives—that he
was really not unlike the rest of us, Joe gave his heart to God that night.
And never looked back!
I’m telling you—after that night I never saw such child-like faith!
Such gratitude! Joe was continually grateful for the smallest of things. He
thanked God for his mind. For learning how to dial a telephone. For shoes. For
laughter. For shaving cream. For "…being able to remember again."
Joe was a man but like a child with a child’s heart in a man’s body.
Joe lived with us for six months and acquired a steadfast testimony of the
gospel. Always unhindered by the temptations of the "night life," he
wasn’t in the least afraid to go with us into the taverns. Joe was
"bubbly" with the gospel. He really didn’t have to say much.
Sinners and friends alike took to Joe like jam on bread. He hadn’t an enemy
in this world. It really was a joy to be Joe’s friend.
I’ll never forget the two Joe Jupinos I had come to know. The one who
kept asking that afternoon my name about every two or three minutes and the
other one who later joyfully shared how the Lord had restored his mind--and
gave him a new heart. Joe was something else.
Joe always had that same joyful countenance—whether sharing the gospel in
a beer joint or a church house. And I loved his laugh.
Meet Jim—Jim Reed.
Jim was the local drug dealer. He kept the whole area supplied, getting his
drugs out of St. Louis. Of course, we didn’t know this at the time.
For about six weeks, a longhaired, skinny-looking guy would show up every
Sunday afternoon at two o’clock for worship. (We had our worship services at
two o’clock on Sundays.) Actually, our worship services were more like
informal get-togethers. Young people would come dressed in their cut-offs.
Girls would show up in bikinis. Some sat on the floor; others sat on chairs.
We usually sat in a circle, singing psalms while someone strummed the guitar.
As I said, Jim would show up—always stoned. He would "shoot up"
heroin right before the service, leave his needle in the car, and come
worship. I could tell he was "high." His eyes were glazed, he
staggered a lot, and slurred his words. During our sharing time, Jim would
stand (barely able) and tell how much he loved God.
I think the Lord has a sense of humor. One Sunday the Lord had had enough.
Sure enough, in comes Jim high as a kite. He shares with the rest of the
group, slurring his words, weaving back and forth a bit, and telling how much
he loves God. No one ever said anything. We all knew. Well…that particular
Sunday afternoon the Lord truly intervened. I felt impressed to pray for Jim,
so after worship I asked him to come with me. We went into a back room with
three other brothers. I laid my hands on Jim’s head and began to pray. Jim
fell to the floor and came up praising the Lord in another language—as sober
as a judge! The Lord had instantly converted him—and brought him down from
the influence of heroin. It was truly one of the most miraculous conversions I
had ever witnessed.
Jim became steady as a rock. He fell in love with the Lord and His
scriptures. I asked him to move in with us and help us out on the streets. He
did. Jim became my "right hand man," with a tremendous influence on
the youth in the area. Most knew him. He supplied them. Now he stands tall and
straight for the gospel, and never wavering in his testimony.
I came home one evening, and noticed—Jim was sullen, sitting in a chair
in deep thought. I could tell something was bothering him.
"What’s the matter, brother?"
"I’m supposed to meet my connection tonight."
I didn’t understand. Then he told me. Jim had been getting his drugs from
a supplier out of St. Louis. It was that time of the month again. Then he
dropped a bombshell…
"I’m a member of the Mafia. And every month one of the members meets
me."
I was floored.
"You don’t cross the Mafia. Or want out," he said. "They’ll
bump you off. I’m really scared not to go."
Now I’m really listening. And have a huge pit in my stomach. I can’t
believe this is happening. Sure makes church attendance a piece of cake. This
is the real thing. I didn’t know what to tell him.
"What if you don’t show up?"
"O, they know where I am."
I suggested we pray. We got on our knees, begging the Lord to show us what
to do. Does Jim go out of fear of the Mafia and pick up the drugs, or does he
stay, knowing they might come after him? We hadn’t a clue.
After earnest prayer, seeking His direction, both of us got up off our
knees, believing the Lord wanted Jim to go meet his connection that night. So…with
Godspeed, asking the Lord to send His angels before him, I watched Jim get in
his car and drive off. I really prayed. I mean—really prayed.
Two hours later Jim came home. I could tell he was relieved the moment I
saw him.
"They never showed up. I waited at our usual spot, but they never
showed up."
And that was the last we ever heard from the mob. Jim served the Lord
relentlessly.
Jim & Joe—two of God’s creations. Changed into His glory.
