It was a cold winter’s day that Sunday.
The parking lot to the church was filling up quickly.
I noticed as I got out of my car
that fellow church members were
whispering among themselves as
they walked to the church.
As I got closer,
I saw a man leaned up against
the wall outside the church.
He was almost lying down as if he was asleep.
He had on a long trench coat
that was almost in shreds,
and a hat topped his head,
pulled down so you could not see his face.
He wore shoes that looked 30 years old,
too small for his feet,
with holes all over them.
His toes stuck out.
I assumed this man was
homeless and asleep,
so I walked on by through
the doors of the church.
We all gathered for fellowship
for a few minutes,
and someone brought up
the man lying outside.
People snickered and gossiped,
but no one bothered to ask him to come in,
including me.
A few moments later, church began.
We all waited for the preacher to take
his place and to give us the Word,
when the doors to the church opened.
In came the homeless man walking down
the aisle with his head down.
People gasped and whispered and made faces.
He made his way down the aisle and up onto the pulpit.
He took off his hat and coat.
My heart sank.
There stood our preacher
he was the “homeless man.”
No one said a word.
The preacher took his Bible
and laid it on the stand.
“Folks, I don’t think I have to tell
you what I am preaching about today.”
--Author Unknown