Ash Wednesday can be a really sad occasion, even when it is the same day as Valentine’s Day. It is a low-key start to the season of Lent, a time when we are reminded that we came from the dust and to dust we will return. Some denominations demand restrictions like fasting and giving up something you like for 40 days, and that’s fine for those who need that kind of thing. I have always tried to convince people to give something up for the sake of some other thing or person in need. Sacrifice without benefit to others is, to me, self-congratulatory. It is the exact opposite of the Scriptures we use in the service.
As I left the Sanctuary after our 7pm service, I saw someone sitting in our entryway who had not attended church. He was hunched over and not well dressed; at least, for the cold of the night. I said hello and asked him if I could help him, and he said yes. He had attended the monthly Warm Wednesday dinner sponsored by the LGBT Center of Reading (they share our building) and had missed the bus. “I need a ride home”, he told me. There were no more buses, and it was cold and windy. I hesitated – it had been a really long day, one of those 13-hour days that we clergy get used to during this time of year. I was ready to go home and have a late dinner. I asked him where he lived – he told me where (it was 3.3 miles in the opposite direction) and I almost made an excuse for why I couldn’t help him. I sighed and told him to meet me outside. Dinner would have to wait 15 minutes.
Frankie had lived his entire life with his parents until they died some years ago. He had never married and worked odd jobs to pay his bills. He grew up in Reading but had moved to a town just north of the city; his parents bought a home where he could feel safer once they were no longer around. He had never married, but he did have a lady friend he used to spend time with (he said this with a wink). He didn’t work anymore and had never learned how to drive, so he took the bus – mostly to places he could eat for free. He told me he liked the bus; it was warm and safe and usually on time. This time, he was the one who was late.
Frankie is one of those people most of us wouldn’t notice on the street. He looks harmless and keeps to himself, although if you took the time, you would find that his conversation is lively and interesting. He is probably in his 70s and doesn’t walk too well; he scrapes by on free food and social security. He doesn’t go to church, and he would never show up at a fund-raising gala. He left school in the 8th grade because he was being bullied; he has a speech impediment that makes him difficult to understand. Kids can be mean. So can adults. But Frankie is a child of God, just like you and me. We might overlook him, but God doesn’t. He has wants and needs and good memories of the past. I could have let him walk home, but I didn’t. What added 10 minutes to my evening would have been a long, dangerous walk for him. And while I may never see him again, I know him now. His life is precious. He is a child of God. He is somebody.
Prayer – Holy God, remind us to be careful how we treat others because we might be entertaining angels. And remind us that we are called to treat others as if they are you. Amen.
Today’s art is “Hand of Compassion” by K. Thompson Paul.