My son Josh and I were riding home from the Clippers game at 10:13 p.m. Tuesday on the Red Line subway. A white, homeless man five rows in front of us was rambling to himself, disturbing the other riders. He appeared to be in his sixties, and had an unkempt salt-and-pepper beard. The train made a stop at Hollywood and Highland, and a young black man boarded with his girlfriend. They sat in the empty seat in front of the homeless vagabond, who started yelling the N word at them. "F*%king n@%ger, F*%king n@%ger, F*%king n@%ger," he yelled, chanting the racial slur over and over. The black man stood up quickly, looking down at him. My first thought was. "There is going to be a confrontation." The black man reached into his pocket and gave the man a box of raisins, then opened his wallet, removing a wad of cash. He lovingly spoke to the homeless man, giving him the money. His generosity and deep Lou Rawls voice calmed the man who was spewing hate at him seconds before. The angry man sat in silence, blanketed by a Spirit of Peace. The black man sat back down beside his date and they had a thoughtful conversation about the play they had attended that evening. My son and I discussed how we had just witnessed one of the most tangible demonstrations of the Spirit of Christlike compassion and grace we'd ever seen.
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