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The congregation read in unison
following each word, careful
not to lose their cadence-
dutifully delivering their part
with dignity and grace...

Familiar sights and sounds-
everything and everyone in its place-
just like last Sunday
and all those before...

The loud slam of the ancient, wooden door
changed all that and all I ever knew...
as all turned at once to see who- or what

had interrupted our peaceful equilibrium.

Not a soul spoke or moved an inch
as the stranger came walking.
It appeared as if he was
casually entering his own home.

His hopeful eyes danced left and right
as he strolled shoelessly down the
center aisle, prospecting for a seat-
one with a good view for the show.

We all stood still with time itself and
waited with the others to see
what the preacher- or the ushers-
or anyone would do with the stranger.

Here in the little country church
where everyone knew everyone- and
their blood lines and the convictions
of their great, great grandmothers.

But no one seemed to know the stranger
who now rested among us so comfortably.
And the irony of our own discomfort was
to be the sermon for this day.

"Feed the poor and help those in need"
my pretty teacher's words rang sweet and true.
A lesson I had learned a thousand mornings
if not a hundred times over.

The real lesson I learned was not to be spoken.
I saw the stranger look back at all of us
and I witnessed the two ushers that headed his way
to relieve him of his self-appointment.

He gently rose without a fight and
shook his straggly, matted hair-
his eyes wandered amoung us- searching us all,
but many starred at their shiny, polished shoes.

But I watched every movement- his every step-
for a lesson was being taught- one I had yet to learn.
It came from the stranger in the dingy army surplus jacket-
the man with a smile on his face and the blank stare.

The next thing we all knew- he was gone.
We all heard the familiar, quiet catch of the old front door.
Order had been restored- and the preacher spoke-
and the choir sang joyously to the rafters- but strangely
I couldn't hear them- I couldn't hear them any more.

Learn more about this author, Greg Monroe.
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