Oliver walked into the crowded room and anxiously look
around for a seat. He took in the smell of colognes and perfumes mixed
throughout the room as the music proclaiming individualistic messages of hope
drifted into his ears. He looked towards the outstretched hands and saw the
cries for hope. He felt he should be accepted here and yet, he never could. He
finally drifted into the back row and as he took his seat he was given a glare
as those around him took in his smell. They sang about how they were accepted and now they accept, but he did not feel
accepted. He looked down at his mixed matched, rugged clothing that he found
lying around the street. He realized he looked like what people here would call
a bum from the streets who needs to get a job. Oliver reflected on his week and
the four jobs he had worked and how when pay day came he felt he had been
cheated of his wages. He did not get what he agreed to work for, but they could
do that; because who would believe him?
As the words were sung all around him, Oliver found he could
not sing them. He wanted to believe them. He was told he had to believe them,
but he could not believe it. These people did not accept him. These people sang
these individualistic songs one day a week and then neglected him during the
rest of the week. They would not live out these songs. They were not real, but
were completely fake. They’d shake his hand every week and immediately apply
hand sanitizer as if he did not realize what they were doing. Today he could
not handle it. Today he lost his cool. Oliver sulked back out of the room
filled with inauthentic light and returned to the streets feeling more alone than ever. He left a room with the most people he has ever been with where he felt
more alone than when it was just him.
With a look of dismay Oliver fumbled down the street. He noticed
a deranged looking cat prowling through the streets as if it was hunting for something. He smiled and decided to follow the cat because the cat was like
him. The cat was searching for something, but Oliver did not know what. He
heard a chirp above him and as he looked up and saw the pigeon he knew this is what the cat
was hunting, but then he noticed that the cat knew it was there and ignored
it. This bird was not what the cat was seeking for it was not good enough. Squeak. Squeek. A mouse zoomed between
his feet, but the cat paid no notice. It was still not what the cat was
seeking. As Oliver followed this cat version of himself he realized that these
three creatures seemed to be traveling together. They all seemed to be leading
him somewhere. They seemed like his only friends now and yet they were only
animals and could not speak to him.
How ironic is it that
I would find friends among these creatures that are so unlike me, but I could
not find friends among those who are like me. Those who claim to be friends of
all. Who claim to love and bring hope?
The smell of smoke drifted to his nose and he looked up from
the animals he was following. Up ahead he saw a fire pit surrounded by young
teenagers who looked similar to him. They were all dirty, in ragged clothing,
and laughing. As he walked closer he noticed they were eating
together. They did not have much, but they had a loaf of bread and a small
bottle of grape juice they were sharing. It was evident that they could not
afford anything else and one could even argue that they could not afford these
luxuries they had somehow acquired.
“Hey there friend, would you like to join us?” One of the
boys around the fire inquired.
“Can I? You probably wouldn't like me…” Oliver said as matter
of the fact, reflecting on every group that had ever rejected him.
“Nonsense! We accept everyone here at the fire pit!”
“How do I know that you don’t just want something from me?”
“You don’t but, why don’t you come, taste and see what this
place is like? But first come eat.” The boy held out the loaf of bread to
Oliver. For the first time Oliver was asked to come and join people to eat. He
was asked to come and belong with people.
As Oliver sat down with the group and took a bite out of the
loaf he felt at home for the first time in his life. He knew he would belong
here.
Both of these places are “churches.” How often do our
churches act like the first place and not the second? Who are the Oliver's in
your life?
