The Intruder

"What is HE doing here?"

I looked up from my fried chicken and noticed a man who had stepped just inside the doors of the fellowship hall.  He cautiously moved forward, as if even he was unsure of what he was doing.

"What could that black man possibly want?"

His pants were worn, his boots had some paint on them and he wore a Gators sweatshirt.  He seemed slightly uncomfortable, but almost as if he was looking for someone.

I looked away.  I figured he probably had a meeting with someone, and whoever had said those comments just must not have known he was here for an appointment.  Right?

Until five minutes later, when he was still standing there, and the whispering (in groups at this point) had gotten louder.  Looking back over at him, there was something in his face that struck me deep inside.  As the groups of whispering grew ever louder, something inside me snapped.  And I walked over to him.

"The Gators weren't so hot this year were they?"

A smile spread across his face.  He replied, "I know, they sure were missing Tebow."

"I would too if I were them!" I laughed.  And his smile grew.

But then, one of the whisperers walked up to us.  "What do you want?" she said, a fierce look on her face as she approached him.  Immediately his face changed.

"Is the pastor here?"

"No."


"Well are there some members from the church that I could talk to?"

"I'm a member of the church.  You can come in the kitchen and talk with some of us."





And with a solemn look, he followed the woman into the kitchen.
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I don't actually know what happened to the man.  I don't know if he was looking to talk to someone, or was asking for money or food or a ride somewhere.  But whatever it was, he was bold enough to walk into a church- a church, imagine that!- and look for help.  And I know he was turned away.



When he walked through those doors, he wasn't greeted with the arms of Jesus.  He wasn't even greeted with a smile.  He was greeted as an intruder, an outsider not just of the literal church and its members but an outsider in respects to race and, judging solely on his clothing, probably economic class.  The man's situation- that he would walk into a church he doesn't know and ask for help- hit me deeply. 

But even more heartbreaking was the church's response.  I don't think the church necessarily should have given him money, if that was even what he was asking for (though I do believe that we should most often err on the side of grace).  But the man wasn't even treated as a man, but more like an annoying fly that needed to be swatted away.  He was interrupting our meal, afterall.  His humanity forgotten, there was no reason to talk with him, to welcome him in or to show him even one bit of dignity.

And I wept.   

Forgive us, Lord, we pray.