One evening as I was getting out of my car to go into the office of the church I was serving in Memphis, I saw a young man approaching me, cutting across the church yard from Highland Street. The young man had a backpack on his back, and he was wearing faded blue jeans, a dirty tee shirt, and tennis shoes that had seen their better days several months ago. In other words, he looked like any one of the many college students who lived in that neighborhood, since the University of Memphis was not far from the church. At first I thought he was just taking the well-worn shortcut across the church property as so many neighborhood folks did. Or maybe I HOPED that’s what he was doing. But when he smiled and began waving enthusiastically when he saw me, I knew he was looking for someone connected t…