What Would Jesus Do?

Source: Griffin, Peter. Homeless man outside church. Digital image. Godvine.com. N.p., Feb.-Mar. 2011. Web. 5 Jan. 2016.

The closest thing to a parade Peyton had ever seen was the ensemble of people leaving mass every Sunday morning. These people marched from the cathedral in celebration of their godliness weekly.

Church had always made Peyton uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the ceremonial, almost militaristic quality of the traditions which made her nervous. Perhaps it was the loud echoes of every footstep which penetrated the daunting silence of the vast building. Perhaps it was the eerie melancholy written in the faces of the onlooking statues and paintings which lined every available space. Regardless, she could not walk into a house of worship without being overcome by dread. Churches had always seemed just as repulsed by her presence as she was by theirs. Unfortunately for Peyton, St. Henry’s Catholic Cathedral was directly next to her apartment.

As the cold bit at Peyton’s toes and fingers, she observed the churchgoers eagerly. They intrigued her in the same way she supposed they may be intrigued by a particularly riveting Bible verse. On this particular December Sunday, she sat alone on the balcony with the company of the sleeping homeless man on the street below. They had spoken on occasion, on the coldest nights she would often bring him a blanket, but otherwise she had little inclination to speak to him. She could see little of his face due to the large woolen cap covering the top of his head, and the long, mangly beard covering the bottom.

Slowly, attendees began to trickle from the service, all hesitant to step into the world’s icy embrace. She noted, as she had every previous week, how the congregation would leave looking decidedly content. Perhaps, it was only their excitement that the sermon had finally ended. However, it almost seemed as if their newly-claimed purity and holiness radiated off of them, in the most condescending of fashions.

A middle-aged mother had joined the procession leaving the cathedral. She clutched her son. He was the type of boy to pride himself on his innumerable visits to the principal’s office and the first to tell his friends Santa's not real, while simultaneously beating the Sunday School record for most memorized Bible verses.

Peyton had grown accustomed to the mother’s elaborate hats and would often cynically compare her to the prize float of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. Today, she was wearing a scarlet accessory which had a large cross engraved in the center. As the mother and son trudged through the snow to their parked car, the child boisterously tugged his mother’s ornamentation off her head. This sort of misbehavior was commonplace despite the boy’s good Catholic upbringing. Frustrated but unsurprised, she reached out to pluck it from his hand.

An uncomfortable chuckle escaped from his church friends. And after a quick tip of the hat, acknowledging his audience, the boy chucked it at the sleeping homeless man. The man was roughly roused out of his sleep, his only solace from the unforgiving cold. Peyton watched with intrigue.

The man’s collection bowl was always just as empty before the church procession passed as after it; perhaps now due to the added attention, he’d receive a few extra dollars. He shivered as the mother hastily walked up to him. She snatched her fashion statement from his hand. She then proceeded to yank the man’s own woollen cap from his head in a sanctimonious rage and sneered, “For if a woman does not cover her head, she might as well have her hair cut off but a man ought not to cover his head, since he is the image and glory of God. 1 Corinthians 11:6-7.”