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The Least Among You
by Lee Sager I met Jesus Christ today. He was sitting along the side of the road, looking quite downtrodden, actually. He asked me if I had anything to eat, something small that I might spare. I told Him to get a job. He assured me that He already had one, but that it just didn't pay very well. "I haven't anything to eat," I informed Him, and relayed my concerns that if I were to give Him any money, He would simply spend it on beer and wine. "John came in sackcloth eating locust, and you said that he had a demon. I have come in merriment, and you have called Me a winebibber and friend of publicans. Will you not then be satisfied?" I had no answer for this, knowing that He sought to use scripture to gain an advantage over the situation as-well-as my pocketbook, and in disgust I began to move away, but out of love He would not let me go. "I will pray for you," I said over my shoulder, attempting to assuage Him as I departed. "If a man comes to you in hunger, and you tell him that you will pray for him," He interjected, interrupting my retreat, "but supply him not with food, I tell you that you have done nothing for that man. Do not expect to go before My Father and use that empty prayer as evidence of your righteousness during these times, for your prayer has failed to accomplish even the most basic of things, and My Father did not hear you, but rather the cries of he whom you denied. First, feed that man. Supply his body with those things that are common to us all, and that in the commonness of this knowledge do we all know we require. Feed the man, then pray for the man, and then shall all your prayers be heard and attended to." At this point, I confess, I was beginning to get quite upset. This vile man was using words against me that were not meant for his kind, but rather were reserved for better, more upstanding folk. Still, I found pause in the momentary challenge of His supposition of intellect, and decided to engage Him a moment longer, if only to prove my righteousness in the face of His filth. "You speak of your father as if you were the one Christ, but I know your mind to be one of madness, for the resurrection has already occurred." "If it is so, then what hope is there for you, for then have I come and gone, and we are all left behind." I paused. His words spun me around. "Is it not written that God was crucified and died, and was risen again on the third day?" "Is it not also written that to the Lord our God, a thousand years is as a day, and a day as one thousand years? Tell me then the day by the year." I was growing tired of this, these silly games of biblical math and tricks taught to this man inside of mental institutions and jails and shelters. The only thing that I hate more than a snob is a pretentious bum. I was determined to put an end to this. I had important things to do, after all. "Tell me, my friend," I mocked, "how long have you been homeless? You do not know the man that you have stopped on the street today, for I have my master's degree in philosophy and my doctorate in theology from Harvard." A cool smile crept over my face, as the glow of self-satisfaction gained by the confidence of accomplishment would finally quiet the smugness that I perceived here. "Remember, child," he warned, "for it is as Paul told you, if you wish to know the liar in the room, seek only as far as the braggart man. But, that if one must boast before another, let him boast only of those hardships endured for the works of God, those things that try and strengthen our faith. These should include homelessness, rejection, imprisonment, cold, hunger, thirst. You would make shame of those things which have glorified God in my service to Him, and laud the accomplishments made of paper which hang upon your wall." I could see now, this man was a thief, come to steal from me all that I had. "And so you know all things?" I challenged Him with a laugh. "Everything is given for you to know, and still you sit here upon the walk?" I chuckled with a triumphant disgust. "The fox has his hole, and the bird his nest, but the Son of Man has no where to lay His head." "And what of your Father then, Son of Man?" I jested with a growing disquiet, "Why then does He not provide for you?" "I met a blind man once, along the way. Those that were with me inquired of me, asking, 'Master, why is this man blind, is it for his sin or for the sin of his parents that he was afflicted so?' I told them that is was for neither reason, but only so that they might know that the Son of Man had been among them that this one had been created so." "Ha!" I blurted. The arrogance of this tramp. "So God made a man blind, a man who endured blindness his entire life, just so that you might come along and cure him before witnesses!? I do not believe in a God who would do such a thing, to make a man endure whilst waiting for you!" "All things were made by me and for me." He answered with a cool and measured comfort that came without the pregnancy of pause. "So you then made a man endure blindness his entire life just so that he might wait for your coming?! Such cruelty I could never imagine! Is this the nature of God?" He answered immediately, though without the fracture in His voice that had now begun to permeate mine. "The nature of God is unchanging, and has remained so even since your fathers fell asleep. If a man asks God for courage, does God grant that man courage, or does He give him an opportunity to be courageous? If a man asks God for patience, does He make that man patient, or does He afford him the chance to be patient? You presume to know the prayers of the blind man, whom God did answer twice; once in the strength gained through a lifetime in darkness, and once again in the renewal of him to the light. Do not presume to know the mind of God." And yet this bum, this homeless bum did sit here upon hot concrete and presume to know this mind. My own patience began to wear increasingly thin, and though I did not understand why, I began to become afraid of something, something indescribable, like a shadow lurking around a corner in the dark. "And so I suppose that God also made evil men, men that perform wickedness upon the innocent? Do you then take responsibility for this, as you do for the blind man?" His face suddenly looked sullen, and I thought for once that I had stumped Him, though in retrospect I believe I saw in Him only the sadness of His endurance at the hands of the wicked. "In My Father's house there are many vessels. There are vessels made of gold and silver and adorned with jewels and many fine things. Also there are earthen vessels, vile and base things which my Father has designed to be smashed and broken. Though they have abundance in My Father's house, they do not know that they are but dust to be swept from My Father's floor. Still, they shall have their time so that the Son of Man may overcome." Incredible! This man presumed to explain the existence of evil as something merely made to be defeated. Is this the God that I have been raised to know? I could barely stand this anymore. Why did I linger? He was the derelict and I the person. Why did I not just walk away? "So," I stumbled, "the blind man and the evil man have all been made for you?! All for your glory?" "Not my glory," He answered, "but for the glory of He who sent Me." "Your words," I countered, "they are blasphemy!" "I speak as I was sent to speak, and say those things that My Father has sent me to say. It is not Me who you now hate, but He who sent Me. Reserve not your wrath for the One who loves and created you, but for the enemy who seeks to ensnare you, for I tell you in truth, his trap is all around you, and already are you in grave danger." "You say that I am in danger, yet tonight I shall sleep in the warmth of my bed, and eat fine food, and drink aged wine. And what for you?" "Fool!" He stated suddenly, and with a harshness that startled me. "You have boasted before the Son of Man of those things which do rust and moths do eat, and I tell you that even on this very night shall your life be demanded of you." I stumbled backwards as if from a blow. This game had gone on too long, and I no longer desired to speak with this madman. The solution lay simply on the sidewalk before me. Walk away. As if sensing my retreat, He implored me once more. "Do you think that you may depart from Me with a step and forego your judgment before God? Where then shall you go to escape from the eye of He who authors you? May the character wriggle from beneath the hand which holds the pen? It is as you have been told, none may claim neutrality in this great controversy, and those who are not with Me are surely set against Me." "Sir," I pleaded, "you have blocked my escape. Where then should I go from here, for I if I depart, surely you will haunt my dreams, but if I stay, surely I will go mad. Claim me or release me, for I cannot do both." He smiled with a subtlety that belied understanding of my conundrum, and comforted me, if only a little. "Wherever you go, I will go with you, if only you will walk with Me all the days of your life." "Please then, perform for me some miracle, that I might know that you are the Promised One." "No." He answered with the sternness of a father denying the persistent and whining requests of a spoiled child. "For this wicked generation, no miracles, for if Thomas did not believe after seeing the multitudes fed, then what for you who would not provide one meal from your abundance for a hungry man?" "A meal?" It seemed so simple that I had almost forgotten it was all that He had requested in the first place. "Yes, a meal. Let me run and get you something to eat, or give to you money, or take you somewhere that you might feast." At last I saw an exit, and in the simplicity of it, like the blink of an eye, I finally saw the light. "Please, tell me, what would you like and I shall go and retrieve it for you, and serve it to you." He smiled a kind and loving smile, one that bound and connected us both together and likewise to the moment, and I knew then that I looked upon the face of my friend, my brother, my father, and teacher; my Lord and my Saviour, and like a mirror, my own face shining back towards me as well. He slumped onto His side, and blood gushed suddenly from a wound that I had not previously seen, mostly because I had not taken the time to look, nor concerned myself with His need. My mind raced around the impossibility of the situation. Where did He receive this wound? Who had visited such cruelty upon a man whom, though initially frustrating, had certainly done no harm to another? "Dear God!" I exclaimed, less in reverence to Him and more from the habitual expression of an old and familial colloquialism. "You're wounded. You're bleeding. Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you raise your voice?" "For my voice is not to be heard in the street, but for my love of you, my dear beloved, did I call out." I had no medical training, and for all my degrees and education, even my title as doctor, I knew not what to do, and I did feel lame. "Tell me, tell me what I must do now." I implored Him, and logic and reason flew from me as a quail rousted from a bush. "Nothing for Me," He said with a peace that I cannot now describe, "but upon seeing Me again, remember Me, and as I have loved you, love Me then too." I knew then that this man was soon to die right before my eyes, and the knowledge of it made my breath catch in my throat, and I could barely muster a whisper. "My Lord," I asked, "how then shall I know you?" "As you have known me now," He answered, "for I shall be the least among you." Lee Sager was raised in Fort Worth, Texas. He graduated from the United States Military Academy at West Point in 1998 and served an additional 5 years as a helicopter pilot in the AirCav of the 82d Airborne. An honorably discharged disabled vet, Lee now makes music honoring God fulltime Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |