The parking lot filled rapidly on Sunday morning as members of the large church congregation filed into church. As usually happens in a church that size, each member had developed a certain comfort zone – a block of space within those four church walls that became theirs after the second or third sitting.

It was as much a part of their church experience as the recliner was to the television at home. Some of the older members had been sitting in the same row on the same side for several decades. A team of oxen could not have moved them to the opposite side of the church.

One morning a stranger stood at the edge of the parking lot near a dumpster. As families parked cars and piled out, they noticed him rummaging through the trash. “Oh no! I don’t believe it,” whispered a lady to her husband. “That’s all we need — a bunch of homeless people milling around here.”

One worried little girl tugged on her dad’s sleeve. “But Daddy…”

Daddy was busy sizing up the bearded stranger, whose baggy, outdated trousers and faded flannel shirt had dusted too many park benches.

“Don’t stare at him, honey,” he whispered, and hurried her inside.

Soft music filled the high-ceiling sanctuary as churchgoers settled into their usual spots. The choir sang an opening chorus, “In His presence there is comfort … in His presence there is peace…”.

Sunlight suddenly flooded the center aisle. The double doors swung open and the homeless man, sloppy and stooped, headed toward the front.

“Oh no, it’s him!” somebody muttered.

“What does he think he’s doing, anyway?” snapped an incredulous usher.

The stranger set his bagful of dumpster treasures on the very first pew which had been upholstered in an expensive soft teal fabric just three months ago. The music stopped. And before anyone had a chance to react, he ambled up the stairs and stood behind the fine, handcrafted oak podium, where he faced a wide-eyed congregation.

The disheveled stranger spoke haltingly at first, in a low, clear voice. Unbuttoning and removing his top layer of clothing, he described Jesus, and the love He has for all people.

“Jesus possesses a sensitivity and love that far surpasses what any of us deserves.”

Stepping out of the baggy old trousers, the stranger went on to describe a forgiveness that is available to each and every one of us…without strings attached.

“Unconditionally He loves us. Unconditionally He gave His very life for us. Unconditionally and forever, we can have the peace and assurance that no matter who we are, where we’ve come from, or how badly we may have mistreated others or ourselves, there is hope.”

“In Jesus, there is always hope.”

“You see, my friends, it is never too late to change,” the man continued.

“He is the Author of change, and the Provider of forgiveness. He came to bring new meaning to ‘life’.”

Men and women squirmed as reality hit them like an electrical current. The stranger tugged at his knotted gray beard, and removed it.

“I’m here to tell you that we are loved with a love far beyond human understanding, a love that enables us to accept and love others in return.” Then tenderly he added, “Let’s pray together.”

That wise pastor – under the guise of a homeless “nobody” – did not preach a sermon that day, but every person left with plenty to think about.

After years of experience, Brenda was faced with a challenge in Sunday School that she just didn’t know how to handle. She had never been asked to teach a child quite like Cindy!

Cindy, you see, was different. She came from a broken home. She was poor. And although she was really fairly bright, she had such a low opinion of herself that she was also an under achiever. Cindy needed love, but most of all, Cindy needed Jesus! There just had to be a way of getting through to her.

Day after day, Brenda would pray for Cindy, yet Sunday would come and go and she saw little, if any, change.

Then one day Brenda asked Cindy if she thought she could play a specific role in a Christmas Program the children were planning to do. Cindy’s response was, “Don’t you think you can find someone better than me?”

“Better than you,” came Brenda’s reply. “What makes you think there is anyone better than you?”

“Well, I’ve never been asked to do anything before because I’m no good. I mess everything up. I won’t get the part right and then everyone will be mad at me for messing up their program,” came Cindy’s answer.

“Oh, Cindy,” said Brenda in gentle voice. “I am so sorry that you think that, but you are so wrong. Don’t you realize how valuable you are to God?”

“No,” came a muffled reply for Cindy was now in tears.

“Well, Cindy,” continued Brenda. “Tell me, what was the price that God paid for you… what was He willing to give for your soul.”

“He gave His son, Jesus,” replied Cindy.

“And what was the price that God paid for me?” questioned Brenda, again.

“He gave His son, Jesus,” replied Cindy again.

“And what was the price that God paid for Bro. Bob, the pastor of this church?” questioned Brenda, again.

“He gave His son, Jesus,” replied Cindy again with a slight smile on her face.

“Don’t you see, Cindy,” said Brenda. “Would a God that is fair and just cheat Himself?”

“I guess not,” said Cindy.

“Then your soul must be just as important to God as mine is… or Brother Bob’s…. or Paul the apostles…. or anyone else’s for that matter, and I don’t ever want to hear you say different. Okay?” questioned Brenda.

“Okay,” said Cindy as she accepted a hug from her teacher for the first time!

Cindy went on to take the part in the Christmas Program, and did an excellent job. She also has participated in many Christmas Programs since then. Eventually, she accepted God’s gift of salvation and was baptized in a farm pond not far from the church.

And for years, even after Cindy was promoted to the next class, anytime Brenda sensed that Cindy was having a tough go of it, she could always get a smile out of her by asking one simple question. “Cindy, What was the price that God paid for you!”

It seemed to serve as a reminder to Cindy that regardless of what others thought, there was someone who cared! And He cared so very much…. He even sent His Son to suffer and die on her behalf!

—–  Patty Patterson

Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone. The flashing red in his rear view mirror insisted he pull over quickly, but Jack let the car coast.

Fourth time in as many months. How could a guy get caught so often? When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour, Jack pulled over, but only partially. Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard. Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror.

He slumped into his seat, the collar of his trench coat covering his ears. He tapped the steering wheel, doing his best to look bored, his eyes on the mirror. The cop was stepping out of his car, the big pad in hand.

Bob? Bob from church? Jack sunk farther into his trench coat. This was worse than the coming ticket. A Christian cop catching a guy from his own church. A guy who happened to be a little eager to get home after a long day at the office. A guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow.

Jack was tempted to leave the window shut long enough to gain the psychological edge but decided on a different tack. Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw every Sunday, a man he’d never seen in uniform.

“Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this.”

“Hello, Jack.” No smile.

“Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife and kids.”

‘Yeah, I guess.” Bob seemed uncertain. Good.

“I’ve seen some long days at the office lately. I’m afraid I bent the rules a bit-just this once.” Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement. “Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight. Know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean. I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct.”

Ouch. This was not going in the right direction. Time to change tactics.

“What’d you clock me at?”

“Seventy-one. Would you sit back in your car, please?”

“Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as I saw you. I was barely nudging 65.”

The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.

“Please, Jack, in the car.”

Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard. He was in no rush to open the window. The minutes ticked by. Bob scribbled away on the pad. Why hadn’t he asked for a driver’s license?

Whatever the reason, it would be a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this cop again. A tap on the door jerked his head to the left. There was Bob, a folded paper in hand. Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches, just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip.

“Thanks.” Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice. Bob returned to his car without a word.

Jack watched his retreat in the mirror, bottom teeth scratching his upper lip. When Bob vanished inside his car, Jack unfolded the sheet of paper. How much was this one going to cost?

Wait a minute. What was this? Some kind of joke? Certainly not a ticket. Jack began to read:

Dear Jack,

Once upon a time I had a daughter. She was six when killed by a car. You guessed it – a speeding driver. A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free. Free to hug his daughters. All three of them.

I only had one, and I’m going to have to wait until heaven before I can ever hug her again.

A thousand times I’ve tried to forgive that man. A thousand times I thought I had, Maybe I did, but I need to do it again. Even now. Pray for me. And be careful. My son is all I have left.

Bob

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his trench coat. Then he twisted around in time to see Bob’s car pull away and head down the road. Jack watched until it disappeared. A full 15 minutes later, he, too, pulled away and drove slowly home, praying for forgiveness and hugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived.