Apparently I can also pass for homeless. On Palm Sunday—which is the day that Jesus entered Jerusalem and was welcomed by the people who laid down palms before the feet of the donkey he was riding—I gathered with a mixed group of “homed” and homeless individuals outside for a Palm Sunday service. The church hosting the service is called the Welcome Church. The Welcome Church hosts a drop in center, holds weekly indoor services that include the homeless, and on the last Sunday of every month organizes an outdoor service in central Philadelphia in front of one of Philadelphia’s largest and most beautiful cathedrals.
I was dressed in a rather mismatched way that day; I was wearing two different colored jackets, my jeans were loose fitting and hadn’t been washed in a few days, and my hair was messy from the wind blowing it around. When the priests and volunteers organizing the service brought out the coffee, I intentionally chose to line up for a cup with the other homeless men and women. As I sat enjoying my coffee, one of the homeless men came up to me and introduced himself as "Lester." (Name changed) We chatted for a little well, and then Lester asked, “Are you out here….with us?” Without asking, I knew what he meant. Was I homeless?
I was immediately put in a dilemma. I wanted to say yes, because I didn’t want to draw any line of difference between him and myself, but at the same time I couldn’t lie. So I shook my head “no,” and watched as something changed in his eyes. A few minutes later, he drifted away. I spent the rest of the time before the service talking with a few of the other homeless men and women as much as I could. They never asked me if I was homeless, and from their conversations with me they seemed to assume that I was.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t help being bothered by what had happened between Lester and I. Earlier I had listened in on a conversation between a priest and one of the homeless men. The homeless man (I never learned his name) was loudly proclaiming that he had never done drugs, never been in jail, and never committed a violent crime, “Like all these others”—pointing his finger around the gathering. I felt immediately that he was trying to put himself above them, and say, “I’m not like you—I’m better than you are.” I also felt that this was what I had done to Lester by saying, “I’m not homeless.” Shortly after observing this conversation, the service began.
At the close of the service we all sang Amazing Grace. As we did so, tears came to my eyes. I was standing next to a homeless woman, "Mary," who had shared some stories of her life on the streets with me beforehand. I couldn’t help thinking, “Despite what anyone may or may not have done, I am no better than Mary or anyone else standing here. We are all wretches, saved by Grace, and welcomed to the table of Christ in forgiveness and love.” I realized that while there was a difference between Mary, Lester and myself in that I had a home and they did not, in God’s eyes we are the same, and He welcomes us in the same way.
Jesus stepped down from His throne in heaven, beckoning to all “come.” Suddenly the words, “Come to me, all you who are weary, all you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,” had new life for me. In our little circle stood tired men and women: men and women with houses or apartments, shuttling endlessly between work and home, burdened with the cares of life, and men and women living on the streets, carrying bags on their backs and in their arms, cold and hungry, and without rest. To them, and to us, Jesus says, “come…for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
What is that yoke? What is that burden? Micah 6:8 tells us, “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly before your God.” Jesus was a living example of this justice, mercy, and humbleness. He threw the money changers out of temple, healed the crippled, and welcomed a prostitute in love. Then, after living a perfect life, He chose to die a sinner’s death. That the Lord, the God of heaven and earth, in His holiness would sacrifice Himself, choose by His grace and mercy to call us also holy, and welcome us all as equals to His table, is truly Amazing Grace. --- Anna Hunt
