Mercy at the Evansville Food Pantry

My intention was to tell about John's account of the Feeding of the 5000. It was the text for last Sunday's sermon (Laetare 2014). That was easy. No preparation needed. The truth is that I had forgotten it was the first Tuesday of the month. It was my turn for the Bible Study at the Food Pantry. Last month I had forgotten about it all together: Jim had called about honeybees (a mutual hobby of ours) but really to ask if I was still planning on teaching the class. Of course, I would. I just forgot.

I handed out new large-print NIV Bibles and large-print Portals of Prayer. Some refused. Others had taken one of each just as they had every time I had been there before.

I began class with same two questions:

"How many are here for Bible study today?" A few raised their hands.

"How many are here because its warmer in here than it is outside?" The same few raised their hands again along with bandwagon additions.

We laughed. The familiar questions received a familiar welcome.

It didn't really matter how they got there or even why. We were together; the name of the Trinity was spoken; God was present.

The Passover. That was the sermon. God satisfies. The lamb was bittered food and good nourishment. The blood of the lamb was satisfactory to the angel of the death. God saved His people. The account preached Christ. Fools know that by faith.

Next came what was important too. The meeting and the greeting of the people who had ears to hear. Many of Evansville's poorest. The needy. The suspect of preachers (no doubt, for good reasons).

I shook each person's hand and told him, "Jesus is with you." Some concentrated on me, looking forward to taking their turn. Others looked out the corner of their eye expecting to be passed by, only too happy when my hand extended to take their hand. A few turned away so that I only could see their shrugged shoulder. a preacher's hand on their shoulder met a glance that said, "Me? ... thank you."

The assembly goes into motion after the benediction. Everyone has been given a number in the order they showed up that morning. The Bible study is over. Groceries are next. It's easy to overlook someone in the transition.

On the way out the door, I felt the weight of another person tugging on my blazer. Her face was wet. Soggy with tears. I took her by the hand and we walked to the semi-privacy of a corner in an overflowing, busy room.

She mumbled a few words, but I couldn't make out what she said. I finally caught, "Pray for me," after several repetitions. In the midst of sobbing she told me in broken sentences of her slavish addiction to cocaine. She wanted to be set free.

"Are you baptized?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then you have been set free. God has made promises to you in baptism. He saved you. You have died with Jesus and been raised with Him. You are a child of the King. Satan, his demons, his cocaine are defeated."

Then I prayed, "Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy. Keep Your promises to your child, dear Father. Love her in spite of her. Forgive her for the sake of Christ crucified. Drown her Old Adam in her once-for-every-sin Baptism. Order her footsteps to walk in newness of life. In the name of Jesus. Amen."

I started to walk away; she held my hand tightly.

I went my way. She went hers.

A morning of Mercy.