For I was hungry, and you gave me to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me to drink; I was a stranger, and you took me in.
I hear that you lost a few coins yesterday in the maelstrom.
I am sorry for your loss.
Perhaps you follow the financial markets too closely.
Or the latest budget crisis.
Or political football contests.
So wealthy you are to worry
of your barns being less full!
I wonder what it is like
to be so far from actual physical want
that this amounts to your idea of pain.
I pray that heaven is like that.
There is no pain there, only banquets!
My family and I are starving for want of rain.
There is no food,
and so counting calories is not a game
that my family and I play.
I am personally a stranger to you,
but a constant companion
to suffering.
Grace will call you to help me, no?
Like the sons of Korah I lament:
“My tears have been my food day and night,
as they ask daily,'Where is your God?'"
He is here with me
and there with you.
Grace calls to grace,
as deep calls to the deep.
My well is dry
and yours is a little less full.
Can you spare a thimbleful of water
for my family?
The scriptures recount a meeting
between a matronly Gentile woman and Our Lord.
She asked for her daughter
to be rid of a demon.
Christ noted that throwing the children’s bread to dogs
was not fitting.
But I, like she, have this to say:
“Lord, even the dogs under the table eat the children's scraps.”
And for that act of faith,
He made her daughter whole.
The wise shepherd also counseled us to
“ask and ye shall receive.”
And so I swallow my pride and beggar you thus,
Would you deign to honor Him with some scraps
for me and mine today?
It won't solve all the problems.
But it may help me live so that one day
I can help save you.
How to help.
UPDATE: A reflection on this Sunday's readings, which includes the story shared in the post above. Who let all the riff-raff in? That would be His doing.
