Sidewalk Liturgy

Charles T, as everyone at the shelter called him, sat on the small patch of grass across the street from the First Congregational church.  Behind him loomed an attorney’s office, closed as it was on every Sunday.  From his pocket he removed a tiny book, a small green covered Gideons Bible containing the New Testament, Psalms and Proverbs.  The handout had been given by a local church at a soup kitchen where he spent the previous Easter.

 

A bell in the church tower rang out, telling the world that prayer was to begin.  Ten o’clock, Charles T thumbed through his favored possession and stopped at John’s gospel, chapter 1, verse 35.

 

Inside the church the congregation would be singing.  He wondered which hymn they would start with this morning.  He thought it interesting how different denominations might sing the same songs with slightly different lyrics.  He hummed ‘Amazing Grace’ to himself, since it was his favorite.

 

“Charles T,” a familiar voice said.  Harold Harper blocked the sun with his shadow.  The older man wore a worn out light brown coat and wrinkled gray pants. “Whatcha doin’ j’st sittin’ here?”

 

“Church,” Charles T replied.  He hoped Harold would take the single word response as it was meant.  Charles T didn’t want to be bothered.  He wanted to pray and hum ‘Amazing Grace’ again.

 

Harold turned and faced the white church across the street.

 

Charles T caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.  He shaded his eyes to see the old man clearer.

 

“Maybe ya should j’st go inside.  Ain’t church… you sittin’ out here in th’ cold.”

 

“I’m not cold,” Charles T answered.

 

“The temp at th’ bank says 34.  T’ me that’s pretty darn cold fer parkin’ yer butt on the ground.  I heared that church has got some pretty nice pews t’ sit in, padded… that’s what I heared.”

 

“I like it out here.  I read what I want.  I sing what I want.”

 

“But it ain’t church,” Harold stated.

 

Charles T didn’t respond.  He turned his attention to the book in his hands and began reading silently.  Two disciples of the Baptist followed Jesus and asked him where he lived.  Charles T figured Jesus was pretty much homeless, much like he and Harold Harper.

 

“So why don’t ya j’st walk in?” Harold asked.

 

Charles T surveyed his dress, faded jean jacket with torn cuffs, a stained tee-shirt and black pants, thin at both knees.

 

“Don’t know anyone in there… and my clothing is a bit ragged.”

 

“I heared them say it’s about community.  Don’t matter about much else.  Suppose t’ be a bunch of folks prayin’ and listenin’ t’ God’s word.”

 

“I’m prayin’ and listenin’ just fine,” Charles T replied.

 

Harold Harper lowered his lanky frame to a spot beside Charles T.  He moaned slightly as his ancient bones creaked.  Charles T inhaled a breath of frustration.

 

“You park yer bottom here every Sundee?”

 

“No.”

 

Harold turned his face toward the younger man.  Charles T could smell Harold’s last round of whiskey on his breath.

 

“I go to different churches every week, Catholic, Baptists… even a Kingdom Hall once,” Charles T added.

 

“And ya sit outside each of ‘em?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Odd sort of way of prayin’ if ya ask me.”

 

“I don’t recall asking.”

 

“Yer right,” Harold conceded. “So whatcha choosin’ t’ read?”

 

“Gospel of John… I’m at the end of chapter 1.” Charles T wasn’t sure if John’s Gospel meant anything to Harold Harper.  He wasn’t certain if God, Bible or church meant anything to the old man either.

 

“You was hummin’ Amazin’ Grace b’fore, wasn’t ya?  Do ya mind if I’s sings it wit ya… soft like?”

 

Charles T was done humming the song.  He was reading from the Bible now.  He nodded to Harold, permitting the older man a chance to sing his praises.

 

Harold didn’t simply hum the song.  He softly sang the words with intimate compassion.  He had a beautiful voice.  The two men had shared a little dialog over the last few months.  Charles T never considered that Harold Harper might possess such a gift.

 

A couple of folks, passing by, stopped as if looking to drop coins in a hat or a tin can, like crumbs for a dog beneath the table.  Charles T glared into their eyes, another interruption.  They walked away without flipping their quarters on the grass or sidewalk.

 

Charles T looked to his left to see Harold staring at him. “What?” He asked with a tone of annoyance.

 

“They mean ya no harm,” Harold replied.

 

The younger man gazed back at the doors of the church. “This isn’t about my homelessness being on display.  I’m not sitting here to be noticed.  I am only here to worship.”

 

“And if it’s the Lord Almighty who’s sendin’ folks to our gatherin’, what’s th’ harm?”

 

“None… I guess,” Charles T said, “He sent you.”

 

“I believe He did at that.  They says that where two or more pray, He is.  He made that promise, I believe.  We are community, a community acceptin’ each other as we is, whether we are two or three on this here sidewalk… sharin’ a sidewalk liturgy, or a hundred, dressed all fine, inside that big ole white building.”

 

Charles T smiled and began reading, out loud, his selected passage for the day.

© 2018 - Donald P James Jr