It's the first Monday of Lent, and I'm offering this short confession. To learn "How to Lent and Why," check out my Tiny Letter.
"When did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or ill or in prison, and not minister to your needs?
He will answer them... what you did not do for one of the least of these you did not do for me."
~Matthew 25:31-46, Daily reading for the first Monday of Lent (February 19 2018)
This is my confession:
I drive smooth streets in an upper-middle class part of town. Homes around here have real wood doors, wooden shutters too, even on the second and third stories. They are situated in subdivisions named estates.
I live north of poverty, set aside not by railroad tracks but by miles of pavement and economic barriers. I attend a church a couple of miles down the road, one that attracts the literate upper-middle class and upwardly-mobile college student. We break bread in the commercial district of Fayetteville, U.S.A.
Most weeks, I work at home in a comfortable office, sitting on a Swiss Ball, pecking at my keyboard. It's individual work, sometimes isolating. I like the isolation.
I am set apart, but not in the sense of the holy writ. I'm set apart by American middle-class isolationism, by individualism, by economic choice. And in that, I can almost hear a whisper trying to wriggle out of my stranglehold.
"Lord, when did I see you..."
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