The Homeless Person
The parking lot filled rapidly on Sunday morning as members of the large church congregation filed into the church. As usually happens in a church that size, each member had developed a certain comfort zone – a block of space within those four church walls that became theirs after the second or third sitting. It was as much a part of their church experience as the recliner was to the television at home. Some of the older members had been sitting in the same row on the same side for several decades. A team of oxen could not have moved them to the opposite side of the church. One morning, a stranger stood at the edge of the parking lot near a dumpster. As families parked cars and piled out, they noticed him rummaging through the trash. “Oh no! I don’t believe it,” whispered a lady to her husband. “That’s all we need — a bunch of homeless people milling around here.” One worried little girl tugged on her dad’s sleeve. “But Daddy…” Daddy was busy sizing up the bearded stranger, whose baggy, outdated trousers and faded flannel shirt had dusted too many park benches. “Don’t stare at him, honey,” he whispered, and hurried her inside. Soft music filled the high-ceiling sanctuary as churchgoers settled into their usual spots. The
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