Lazarus: a dead man walking

At four-thirty the curly headed drunk I call Lazarus wouldn't let me open the door at church, so I went to the store and bought us each a can of juice and a piece of bread.

As I opened the plastic bag to share the prize he mumbled, "when you left I thought you were mad at me."

I was a bit upset, but I let it go.

We sat in the van and ate and drank together. He continuously slurred incoherent words while he ate his breakfast, lunch and maybe supper for the day and I understood that he was thankful. As I said my good-byes his semi-toothless smile and dirty smelly hug let me know the twenty minutes it took and the two dollars I spent, instead of shaking him off him by dropping twenty-five cents for a fictitious tortilla, was worth it. Jesus was there.

I went inside to set up for class.

Maybe your Lazarus isn't a drunk; maybe he isn't dirty and smelly; but there is somebody in your life, today, that needs to be touched with the love, grace and patience of God.

Be ready.