As we prepared to move, our future neighbors warned us about Cliff and his family. They never came out of their house. They dressed in black. Cliff drove a loud truck. No one knew where they came from. It was the typical stuff that people say about others who are different.

We love to figure out people without taking the time to actually figure them out. 

Stereotypes save time, because once we have labeled people we can get back to the business at hand while keeping an eye on them in case we need to call the police. 

We moved, and many of the observations we had heard turned out to be true. But the innuendos and privileged narrative that lay beneath turned out to be false, as is usually the case. 

Stereotypes are only partial truths and usually the part that is least relevant to the whole.

Jesus took time for the whole and refused to accept the half-truths about Mary Magdalene, the woman at the well with multiple husbands, Zacchaeus the little bandit and just about everyone else he met — except for the Pharisees, who wore their half-truths on their sleeves and for whom the half-truths usually turned out to be the whole truth.

Those who are full of themselves usually don’t have a very complex narrative. It is all right there for everyone to see. What bothered the Pharisees was that Jesus wasn’t impressed with them or their accomplishments. He was much more interested in what was inside. And these religious leaders didn’t have much going on inside.

One day I came home from a stressful day at church and just wanted to escape. But what I heard was Cliff and his family having another hard day. It sounded like a painful conversation for everyone. 

Without thinking too much, I stepped over the fence that divided our homes, walked across the lawn and knocked on the door. 

What I heard next was “Get the hell out of here!” I didn’t hesitate.

A week or so later I was outside working, and so was Cliff. I yelled out to him. He looked up and said, “Was that you who came by our house last week?” I nodded. 

He went on: “I’m sorry for what I said. We were having a hard day.” 

“That’s OK,” I said. “I was just thinking maybe I could help sort things out for you. You know, as a pastor . . .”

“Oh my God, you are a pastor?” 

“I am.” 

“I am so sorry. My wife and I’ve been really struggling, and I started reading my Bible just a few weeks ago. And I’d like to come to church.”

Cliff didn’t necessarily look like church material — stained white T-shirt and always a black top hat with a little ponytail. 

But Cliff was waiting to be led to -Jesus, as much as the Ethiopian -eunuch was. And Cliff, like the Ethiopian, was reading his Bible, too.

I’m pretty sure the Spirit plopped me into Cliff’s life just as Philip was dropped into the eunuch’s, even if there isn’t biblical evidence to suggest the eunuch used the h-word to welcome Philip up to his chariot. 

But the results were the same. Both eunuch and Cliff found Jesus. Both the eunuch and Cliff were baptized. 

Cliff became an active member of our congregation. Every Sunday, until he and his family moved out of town two or three years later, he sat beside me and Heidi in the second row from the front of the church.

I miss Cliff. He became one of my best friends. He grew in his understanding of what it meant to follow Jesus. He reconciled with family. He made peace where there had been division. 

He reminded me that we only hurt ourselves when we write people off because they are different and don’t look like church material. These saints don’t wear their accomplishments on the outside. But wow, are they ever beautiful on the inside. Believing the stereotypes never lets you in on that little secret.