Early nineties R&B music played mournfully as Sarah danced next to a shopping cart filled with all her stuff. Serving both as home and companionship, the shopping cart seemed to transform the street corner into an intimate space, like a family room with a warm fireplace. Sarah asked what church I go to and told me that she loves her church. The name of Sarah’s church is Church on the Side of the Road. The name reminds me of the parable of the Good Samaritan. Sarah gets out her Bible and asks me to read it. The story talks about a person lying on the side of the road who has been beaten and robbed. Two church people pass by without helping while the Samaritan, a person maligned and hated by the dominant culture stops and helps with over-the-top generosity. The story ends with all of us encouraged to show mercy and compassion to our neighbors. To be, “real neighbors.”

Sarah shares that she is Presbyterian and starts to cry. I offer to pray, and she asks that we pray for her dad who recently had a heart attack. We pray and Sarah cries some more. She tells me that she usually doesn’t look people in the eye. We pray again and Sarah has tears streaming down her face. There is a gentle powerful quiet that has engulfed us. The Spirit’s presence is tangible and safe. We stand in silence for a moment and then Sarah sits down, looks me in the eye, and waves goodbye with a respectful thank you.

Wallace is in the park and immediately asks me to pray for him. He starts to cry and wants to pray for his broken relationship. He hasn’t seen or talked with his fiancé since Valentines Day. We pray and Wallace gently sobs, snot running out his nose and onto the street. When were done praying Wallace asks if he can pray for me. He puts his hand on my shoulder, starts to cry some more and asks God to give me a church. Wallace apologizes for crying so much and then shares Psalm 56:8. “You have kept record of my wandering. You have stored my tears in your bottle and counted each of them.” Tender and caring God, thank you for being a God that suffers for and with us.

Michael Cox