At a (very crowded) informational lunch about small Bible study groups, a rather scruffy looking man asked if he could join us at a table. From his clothing, and the fact that he was carrying a weather-beaten resuable shopping bag, I gathered that he was probably homeless. He loaded up his plate with food and I, again, guessed that this would probably be the most significant meal of his day.
He asked what the lunch was for and I explained about small groups. He looked at the list and asked if he would be welcome at them. I mumbled something vaguely affirmative. Then he said to me, "They say that I could come, but they don't mean that. I wouldn't belong there. I don't have a place in the world; I wouldn't belong there."
In a perfect world, this is when I would have confidently proclaimed the welcome of all people into God's family; in real time, I was speechless. Would he be welcome? Even if a group welcomed him, would he even able to feel welcomed, this person who has no place? How can we give a place to people who have no place? (These are questions very close to home for someone who, when asked where she's from, has no one place.)
I realized later that I didn't know what to say, because I was so worried about me I was thinking about what *I* could say or do that would be right, trying to figure out how *I* could "fix" the situation. I feel foolish now, because if I learned anything at all last year, it was that service is not about "me". It's about "you" and then "us."
I'm glad I had this conversation, to hammer home that even when I'm not working with people on the margins every day, I'm still responsible for this outward orientation, this attitude of humble service.
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