He was known as 'Paddy' because he had a thick Irish accent and, for many people, there was an assumption that this was his actual name. But it was a label placed on a homeless man who would drink, berate passers-by, intimidate, sing and commit worse acts in public.But there was sympathy for him too. People would offer him cigarettes, drinks and blankets. We were able to give him a regular meal, a tent and sleeping bags, and we saw him on a regular occasions at the hall including at Sunday worship.
It was during one of our conversations that he told me that his real name wasn't Paddy but that he had the name of a biblical King. After going through the obvious ones of David, Saul, Solomon (he did look like a Solomon) I began to fear that it might be Jehoahaz or similar. It turned out to be that of a gentile king - Hiram, King of Tyre. It was King Hiram who supplied the materials and skilled workers to build Solomon's temple and there was a gentle irony in that our Hiram came to England from Ireland to "dig holes in the road", not quite the construction of a temple but part of the building industry. Everytime I saw him I would say "Hail Hiram - King of Tyre". There were days when he would look at me glumly and days he would laugh his big, toothless laugh. His full name was Hiram Herbert Lendrum. Let's acknowledge his humanity.
Hiram was a big man. Tall, broad, loud with a vice-like handshake. When we would meet he would pull me towards him as a show of strength. He rarely talked about himself, certainly about his past, and we are struggling to contact next of kin. But he has had a profound effect on me. He appreciated much of what we did for him and, despite his demeanour, never gave us an ounce of trouble. He treated us as friends "Captain Ian, Lady Woman, Lady Cooking Woman and Aaaaashhhh" were greeted with respect and courtesy. He was one of very few people in my life who told me "Ian - you are a Good Man. You are my friend." We once talked about faith and he told me that he had been raised a protestant and that he still had a tiny bit of faith left. I told him that was all he needed and he looked at me and said "Yes - you can move mountains with a tiny bit of faith." And then he added "You and me. We are just the same". He was right and we both knew that.
He was as tough as old boots but the years of neglect caught up with him last week and he died quietly in York hospital. We will miss him for reasons which I can't fully understand. God calls us to serve and take care of the poor and we do so because we need to see what they can teach us. I think we learn more about ourselves than we do about them. The motivation of Love is always better than that if blind obedience.
I will leave Hiram to the grayscales of God's grace and not the Black and White of human judgment, glad that he wanted to call me 'friend'. God bless you Hiram, King of Tyre.
