Sweat is already beginning to form on the back of my neck as the women insist the thermostat be pushed to the equator zone. The language around me would do justice to any NFL locker room. One quite disturbed mother has smacked her child twice and I as rise to intervene, placing myself in harm's way, she thankfully changes mode and is now simply strutting and swearing at the top of her lungs: child properly cowering on the bed.

It seems like every child's face I see is dirty and most of them have colds with the evidence running from their noses. Yet, in the pickiness of my soul what really aggravates me is that the children have absolutely no concept of personal space. They crawl all over me. Their sticky hands going through my pockets and purse and could someone please explain to me the fascination with my hair. "Please put that down" "No, no that's not yours." "Here, why don't I get a brush and you can comb my hair."

In two days I have a college paper due on the book of Matthew. Feeling the pressure of the upcoming deadline I pick up my Bible. I hold it out of reach, dodging the children’s outstretched hands and begin to work my way through the first gospel.

I make my way right through the beatitudes, no problem. Cruising through the rest of the Sermon on the Mount, I only have a slight twinge at the part about praying. Not that I'm tempted to pray on street corners. But do I pray in my "closet" enough? What does this say about me?

Keep going. Extract a grubby hand that has managed to crumble one of the pages. "No, this is my book. I need to read it. Why don't you look at this?" Keep going. Here's the parables. Love the parables. So it goes chapter after frustrating chapter. It's not until I'm almost done with the book that Matthew jumps off the page and says “Gotcha!”

"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire, prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in. I needed clothes and you did not clothe me. I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.' "They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?' "He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.' (25:41-45)

Suddenly, I not only know that I am guilty but that Matthew has pegged a weakness and rebellion at the base of my character. I'm at a shelter. I am in essence clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, but I can't even pretend that I am welcoming the stranger. I don't want to be here. I am fulfilling a religious assignment. God save us from people like me, fulfilling their religious duty. I am not loving these children. I begrudge my time here. I don't want them wiping their snot on me anymore. I resent their parent's lack of parenting in this crowded noisy room and I'm feeling particularly smug about how I raise my own children. I've lost the point of Matthew 25: 31-46.

Worse yet, I've joined the ranks of the Pharisees, those same ones that Jesus would not tolerate. I'd much rather be at home so I could write my paper in peace and quiet without all this humanity bothering me. It's hard to be loving when people keep getting in the way. Sarcasm aside, this is where the battle line is drawn between Matthew and me. It all comes down to the heart with him. And until I came here tonight I was able to tell myself that I did care about these people. Now everywhere I turn in Matthew I find myself being weighed and wanting. 'You are the salt of the earth.' (5:13) 'You are the light of the world.' (5:14) 'Unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees ...' (5:28) 'If you love those who love you, what reward will you get?' (5:46) 'You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye.' (7:5)

And now the Holy Spirit whose job it is to convince us of sin of righteousness and of judgment takes me back to a movie my daughter and I saw this afternoon. The story was about two estranged sisters. One had spent the last twenty years caring for her invalid father and aunt. The other was determined not to get trapped at home: distant, divorced with two sons.

The stay-at-home sister was dying of leukemia and about three-fourths through the movie she nailed me. She said to her sister, “I have been so lucky. I’ve had so much love in my life.” The furiously independent sister replied, “Yes, you have been loved.” Realizing she was misunderstood, the first sister quickly answered, “No, I mean I had so much to love.”

The majority of Americans would consider the stay-at-home sister’s life a waste. She never married; she was tied to a father that couldn’t even speak much less move and an aunt that was silly to the point of tiresome. Twenty years of giving cups of cold water, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and imprisoned. Yet in facing death she considered herself lucky and her life full to overflowing because she had such opportunity to love.

I am a Christian, yet a Hollywood screenwriter understood what Jesus was saying in Matthew better than I do. The sister wasn’t looking to be loved, she was looking to love. Service is a burden to me because I do it without love. Yes, I know that love is somthing you do, not something you feel. But shouldn’t you also do it with feeling?

I go back to a passage I glibly passed over an hour ago. Matthew 11:28:'Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest in your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.' I am carrying the burden of the Pharisees, trying to do good things for God for all the wrong reasons. And from this position I cannot bring the kingdom of God to these people.

“Take my yoke and learn from me.” This is hopeful. If Jesus believes that I am teachable, therefore changeable, then it’s true. But what is he teaching me? Maybe that it's his yoke and not mine. I don't have to save the world. Taking his yoke and resting it on my shoulders doesn't mean I am supposed to fix everything.

What about the gentle and humble part? I haven't had a gentle or a humble spirit here. But as I step back and see it from His eyes I marvel at what a soothing balm this would be. Instead of being aggravated at these grubby groping hands, what if I gently touched their foreheads. What if I walked around and humbly said an encouraging word to each mother. Could a little of the peace of God settle here?

'My yoke is easy and my burden is light'. The burden of my hardness of heart is heavier than anything he's asking me to carry. And besides I really don't have any choice. He has made it very clear. If I cannot love these moms and children at least as much as I love myself then I cannot say that I love Him. If I cannot soothe and comfort this homeless child on my lap then I have refused to comfort Jesus.

If to visit Jesus means to visit those in prison: those that are hungry, naked and sick, then this shelter is sacred ground. Instead of being a place to run from, this is a place to meet God . And to think I almost missed Him. 

First published in Cornerstone (ISSN 0275-2743), Vol. 26, Issue 112 (1997), p. 5-6
© 1997 Cornerstone Communications, Inc.
Electronic version may contain minor changes and corrections from printed version.