Sorrow: A Brief Story.
–> This post is rated PG-13 <–
This is a fictional story, with Jesus’ Scriptural perspective at the end.
Coffee doesn’t ask silly questions. Coffee understands me. I take it black and bitter, like my mornings. I live in a walk-up, one-room apartment with a shared bathroom at the end of a dingy hall that hasn’t felt a wet mop since the Mets won the World Series.
The bathroom is at the north end of the hall. Any daylight that creeps in comes through a small, cracked window at the other end. The window has the kind of glass that looks like it has chicken wire inside. I think it gives us tenants a feeling of living in prison, something many of us have experienced. I hate walking that hall.
I hate walking the hall and finding the door locked, which it almost always is. As I shuffle to the door, I rattle the handle and slide down the wall to wait. I can tell a junkie is in there. For junkies, I let nature overcome nurture and piss under the door. The other tenants will think the junkie pissed himself. Sure, it stinks, but the hall already does; I don’t care.
After relieving myself, I walk past my apartment. There’s no reason to go in. I slept in the clothes I have on, and the junkie at the end of the hall made sure I’m indistinguishable from every unhoused person I’ll pass as I make my way along the sidewalk that leads to the homeless shelter where I’ll squeeze in and get my bitter coffee and a hard breadroll.
I like the roll’s toughness. It makes me feel like I have more to eat. I hope some do-gooder didn’t decide to donate donuts “for the poor.” Donuts are two bites worth of puff-and-air. We all leave hungry when a do-gooder wants to feel good about themselves. I’m hungry. I want a hard breadroll.
A kind, grey-haired woman at the shelter gives me two donuts, a small paper cup of coffee, and a smile. There’s sadness in her eyes. She knows. Reaching for them, I look at my hands and try to remember when I last washed them. Yesterday? No. Longer. If it’s not too late, I can make it to the Salvation Army’s Corps Community Center before they stop serving breakfast. It’s a long walk. They serve “healthy” meals. I’d rather have a hard breadroll.
As I begin to walk, I pass an alley and see a young woman flirting with an older man in his business suit and polished wing-tips. Nothing to worry about. Just a transaction; a brief moment, then both will feel sorrow, included for free.
Devotional
What I wrote is a snapshot of too many people’s lives. For most of us, their lives are hard to imagine and possibly a bit scary. Through myriad difficulties, they are hardened, but they are not soulless. They are in survival mode. They are loved by God, so we must love them, too, and be ready to talk with them and share the Gospel. How can we be followers of Jesus if we do not follow what Jesus taught?
[Speaking to the leading priests and elders] Then Jesus explained his meaning: “I tell you the truth, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do. For John the Baptist came and showed you the right way to live, but you didn’t believe him, while tax collectors and prostitutes did. And even when you saw this happening, you refused to believe him and repent of your sins. - Matthew 21:31-32
Live for Jesus. That’s what matters.
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