Head . . . Desk

Every Sunday morning I stand out front by the main doors to the church and greet people as they come in.

Today, as one of my parishioners was coming into church, she said, "There's a homeless looking guy hanging out in the parish hall.  Do you know about him?"

As a matter of fact, I do know about him.  He sort of planted himself here two or three months ago.  I allowed him to come in out of the cold.  I've given him something to eat out of the FISH box.  I've allowed him to wash his feet in the bathroom.  I've allowed him to sleep in the building during the day.

He can be sneaky quiet, so I need to make sure I go through the building to keep from locking him inside.

Anyway, Lee and I have sort of an understanding.  And, for the most part, he's been living up to my rather low expectations (as in, clean up after yourself, don't hassle people, clean up after yourself and clean up after yourself).  Last Thursday he wandered into the parish hall while we were holding our Lenten soup supper.  I was pleasantly surprised when everyone there pretty much invited him to grab some soup and sit down.  Some of what I'm preaching might be sinking in.

But then again . . .

"Yes, I know about him.  That's Lee."

"Oh . . . he's the 'regular' that you've told us about."

"Yes."

"Well . . . that can't continue."

"Oh?  Why not?"

"Because pretty soon there'll be another, and then another and then the place will be full of them."

"So?"

She just looked at me like I was nuts and went on in.

Maybe today's sermon was just what she needed to hear.