He came down the hallway, scaring a nursery teacher of ours half to death.
He wore tired, faded, dirty clothes. A pair of old jeans that had seen more life than I've lived and a plaid shirt with a pack of cigs in the pocket. Straight out of, I don't know, the 60s maybe.
His hair was disheveled and as dirty as his jeans, sticking out hither and yon and he wore days old whiskers, well, everywhere.
His name was unknown since he never gave it. He was puzzled about many things, thinking he knew one of us when he didn't, thinking he had met me last Thursday when he didn't. But for a few moments, maybe as much as an hour and a half, he was Jesus to my church.
Oh, he never did a thing to project it. And when lunch was over and he had wolfed down a lot of food and carried away some brownies, a half loaf of communion bread, and some other goodies, he lit one of the cigarettes while sitting on a chair we have in the garden outside of the fellowship hall which I strongly think Jesus would not have done.
We left him sitting there, smiling, ready to walk the streets again.
But for the time he was at our church, he might as well as have been Jesus.
We fed him. We allowed him water. We allowed him to use the facilities. We allowed him to sample the cool air of our fellowship hall.
And we did something I might never forget.
We ushered him into the back of our service and he came forward to take communion. He took the bread, he dipped it into the cup of juice quickly and sped away. But for a few moments, Jesus entered our service.
See, it had been a dull day. The congregation of one church has dwindled with death and with some departures because, well, we don't have much, and this particular Sunday had been a dead one. The congregation was dead. The music was dead. Probably I was dead because I like to have some sort of feedback.
And he walked in and sat down.
The Bible tells us to entertain strangers because they might be Jesus. Jesus said of this: "I was a stranger, and you didn’t invite me into your home. I was naked, and you didn’t give me clothing. I was sick and in prison, and you didn’t visit me.’
“Then they will reply, ‘Lord, when did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and not help you?’
“And he will answer, ‘I tell you the truth, when you refused to help the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were refusing to help me.’
See, the little church I help lead could have told him to move along. Could have told him we couldn't accept him. Could have said to him he's too dirty. Could have said he smells of urine and the road. Could have done a million and one things, but it did one thing that Jesus would approve of. It offered him food, and it offered him shelter and it offered him a bit of see-able love.
We don't have a massive choir. We don't have a wonderful sound system or power point slides or even a great preacher.
But we offered the Lord's Supper and it was taken.
I feel like ultimately it was a fine, fine day.
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