God started sending homeless travelers and misfits of all kinds to the small church we had started. One of those people was Dwayne.

Dwayne was tall, with swept-back silver hair, a black-leather vest, and cowboy boots. He was a soft-spoken, gentle, and wise believer. Sometimes, however, his alcoholism would attack like a shark and take him in its jaws to the depths. Nonetheless, my friend Ron welcomed Dwayne into his home with us.

One night Dwayne's shark came, with the result that he got beat up in a bar. I found him passed out in a cheap hotel, with his face bludgeoned and vomit all over his shirt. I called church member Dick, and Dick called Ron, and they called Andy, and then they called me back, with instructions: "After you're done, come to Ron's." So I let the air out of all the tires on Dwayne's car so he couldn't go anywhere, and I left.

It was late at night when I drove into Ron's driveway. But I could see, through the front window, that all the guys were there, huddled under a light at Ron's table. They were making phone calls, trying a find a treatment facility. Ron said he'd pay, and the other guys said they'd help.

I remember them sitting in that glowing circle of light. Sanctification means that you do Jesus-like things in the world.