It seemed a very out of place thing to hear in church, yet there it was. A mother guided her son to a seat in the pew past the rough and gruff gentleman from the shelter who not-so whispered it not-so quietly while the congregation sang.
It wasn’t loud, exactly, but it was clear. A few heads turned broadcasting disappointment or surprise, or in the case of the teenage boy, perhaps a bit of glee. Some jaws dropped, as if to say, “Shame or you” or “That doesn’t belong here.” Eyebrows flew up and there were a few stares, “This is no place for that.”
Yet the offender was unaffected by all this and within moments all eyes turned back to the front of the chapel, joining in with the second, or third verse maybe, while the mother and son found an empty place in the pew and got comfortable.
That moment replayed in my mind over and over throughout the day. The rawness of it, the surprise of it, the shock of it, the out-of-placeness of it kept coming back to me. Maybe it wasn’t so out of place after all.
Like the words “John 3:16” scratched into the wall of a bathroom stall in an I-80 truck stop, amidst vulgar insults and the “For a good time call” messages. A lone scripture message sits between graphic sharpie drawings and middle school jokes, inches above a foul limerick. “That doesn’t belong here.” “This is no place for that.”
Except it is. If there’s any place in this world where the gospel belongs it’s there. It belongs scratched into the seafoam green and rust of a bathroom stall door just off the interstate in central Pennsylvania. It’s amidst the lowest messages and thoughts we can muster. It’s in the rawest, most exposed, most vulnerable places of human existence. It’s in the smell and the filth, it’s where the lights are dim and they flicker, it’s in the darkened corners of rooms long left uncleaned. That’s exactly where those words belong.
As strange as it may sound, it makes me wonder if perhaps the pew is exactly the place for the unexpected and raw utterances of a homeless man. If there’s any place in this world that can hold a bit of vulgarity, it’s among rows of sinners striving to be saints just off Main Street in New Jersey. It’s amidst the highest language and praise we can muster. It’s in the rawest, most exposed, most vulnerable hearts of human existence. It’s in the grace and the mercy, where pasts can be passed and forgiveness is found. It’s amidst the prayers and handshakes and hugs and smiles of those who know the hard edges of life. It’s at the altar and on our knees.
That’s exactly where it belongs. It’s exactly where he belongs because it’s where we all belong.
1 Comment
Beautifully said. Couldn’t agree more.