church. sort of.

I just got home from church.
Well, not really church exactly.
But it felt like it in the best kinds of ways.

No one was wearing there Sunday bests.
Actually most people were wearing everything they owned.
They smelled bad.
There was coffee and cigarettes.
No one was pretending.
And everyone was hungry.

As I walked into Unity Park,
A park that serves as a refuge to the homeless residents of downtown Fort Worth,
A homeless man named Tim walked up to me and asked me to read what he had written the night before.

The opening prayer.
It was scribbled on the back of his doctor’s appt to the free clinic.
A modern day psalm that was truly better than anything I have ever posted on here.
There were warm greetings and smiles and shy glances.

The sacrament was watermelon and ice water.
And everyone was welcome to the table.

The worship was being played next to me by a man in uncomfortable looking robes.
A modern day monk.
With a guitar.
Singing his praises, and I couldn’t help but join in.

The message was hope and grace.
And it was being lived instead of spoken.

And I left full.
Literally with my arms full of zucchini that had been grown in the community garden.
And my heart overflowing with love.

(photo credit)