I see you, but I try not to see you, much less to listen. You stand there, your few possessions strapped to your back, clothes a jumbled mishmash of found items that protect your frail body from the elements you are constantly exposed to, speaking to a reluctant crowd. Some eye you nervously, others do their best to ignore you. Occasionally, a burst of mockery erupts from a far corner.
You see our depravity, the greed and gluttony on display. How long has it been since you had a good meal, yet here we sit before you, gorging ourselves on food and drink from the smorgasbord of the food court. We take our pick of whatever food fits our fancy, while you have lived on scraps. We are more than comfortable in our lives, but you... you make us uncomfortable.
You call out to us, warning us of the judgment to come. You clutch the Book, your only lifeline in a swirling sea of sin. Your heart and your voice break for the lost, urging us to see, to hear, to understand that this idyllic life we lead is a sham. It is nothing more than a cheap imitation of our true home.
You offer the Bread of Life. We just want lunch.
You offer Truth. We seek entertainment.
You offer Life. We settle for survival.
You offer God. We worship self.
Eventually, your voice gives out, your head hangs low. Has anyone heard? Have you been faithful? Is this how you saw your life playing out? Deflated, you shuffle on to your next stop.
I try not to see you.
