I was visiting a church on Sunday and, since I wasn’t sure about their particular culture, I chose a seat halfway into the pew, and not too far from the back. That way, I could see how they filed up for communion, for example. (My church lines up back to front, for example, due to the layout of our pews and aisles.)
Shortly after I sat down and joined the rosary in progress, a homeless guy came in and sat down and the end of the pew to my right. His arms were covered in tattoos, he wasn’t dressed well, his long hair was matted, and overall, the guy needed a bath. My first reaction was to draw back, but I fought that instinct. I gradually began to feel glad that he came. Jesus welcomed everyone, didn’t he? And I am to follow his example, aren’t I? I tried not to notice that faint aroma that wafted my way and began to focus on the mass to come and not the dirty guy next to me. He joined the rosary, and stayed on his knees in prayer after. Mass began and I shook his hand in greeting, with a smile, and everyone around him did the same. By being welcoming, I felt welcomed as well. We were all one in the Lord.
Shortly after mass began, he suddenly jumped up and left. A few people took his place. I looked around a couple of times to see if he had simply given up his seat to the young mother and her son and the elderly lady at the end, but I could not see him.
His leaving saddened me somehow. Why did he leave? Did he feel out of place? Did he not feel welcomed, despite the smiles and ready handshakes? Was his self esteem so low that he felt unworthy? I was actually thinking about treating him to lunch after, and I was disappointed that I would not get to hear his story.
I have heard it said that it’s possible the poor are in our midst to test the rest of us. I hope I passed the test. I pray that he finds acceptance in whatever form he needs. And I remember that, there but for the grace of God, go I.