Entertaining Angels

By David Webb
 

It had been a good Sunday. My sermons were well received, and there had been the usual number of welcomed compliments. But evening was coming on and my 10 year old daughter and I still had nearly a 3 hour drive ahead of us from Yuma, Arizona back to San Diego.

I thoroughly enjoyed working with the saints in that small congregation. They made the trip each weekend well worth the long distance I traveled, and they didn’t seem to mind if my sermon ran a little longer than usual. They drank in every word, and it showed in their lives.

As we neared the freeway, Kathi and I could see the golden arches of the McDonalds up ahead, a welcomed sight for two junk-food addicts. We decided to make a quick stop at the drive-through and get something to eat before began our journey back to San Diego, a little more than 170 miles away. It would only take a minute or so, and then we would be on our way back home.

But it didn’t happen quite the way I’d planned.

Fate, perhaps. Or maybe it wasn’t fate at all.

Maybe there was a reason for that woman standing in the vacant field next to McDonalds holding a sign that read, “Hungry. Will work for Food.”

Oh, I had seen those signs before. She was just another one of those Yuma transients; one of those “bums’ that hung around the nearby railroad tracks. Work for food?  Sure. That would be the day! Just another handout. That’s all they wanted. Just some poor sucker to come along and take pity on them.

But as we drove past and turned into McDonalds parking lot, I glanced over to see my 10 year old daughter peering through the window at the woman.

After a moment, Kathi turned to me.

“Daddy?  Can I ask you something?  And promise you won’t say no ‘till I ask?”

What kind of a question is that, I thought to myself. I always listen to my children — at least I though I did. Maybe she knew me better than I knew myself.

“Sure, what it is,” I replied.

“Did you see that lady with the sign?”

“Yes.”

“Well... do you still have my birthday money in your wallet?”

She was speaking about that flatly folded $10 dollar bill I kept for her. “Yeah, I still have it.”

“Well... can I use it to buy that lady something to eat?  She’s hungry.”

For one fleeting moment I though now would be a good time to tell my young daughter all about panhandlers. Now’s the time to educate her about how those people play on the emotions of others. She needs to know that if they really wanted food they could work, just like I do. After all it’s Biblical, isn’t it?

Now was the perfect opportunity to teach this child some important lessons in life about...

About what?

About giving? About compassion? About being Christ-like?

Instead of preaching another sermon that day I had the rare privilege of seeing one lived out. Only this time it was being lived out in the heart of a little 10 year old girl.

I reached for my wallet, removed the crisp $10 dollar bill from its secret place and said, “Sure. Get her something if you want.”

Minutes later we got our orders. I paid for ours with my money and Kathi paid for the other with hers.

The woman was still standing in the field near the road when we pulled around into the front parking lot. Kathi was beaming as she gathered up the McDonalds bag in one hand and the large Coke in the other and walked toward the woman with the sign.

My throat tightened and my eyes began to water slightly as I watched this precious little girl, dressed in her pretty pink “church dress” and shiny black shoes, walk through the dusty field and hand the grateful woman a meal for the evening.

As Kathi returned to the car the woman slowly climbed the nearby hill, occasionally glancing back with a warm smile, as she approached the big water tank where she would spend the night sleeping on the ground.

That’s when it struck me. It came like a painful bolt of lightning that burned to the very depths of my soul. My sermon this evening had been on the second chapter of James. No more than 30 minutes earlier I had been preaching a lesson on how we demonstrate the authenticity of our faith by the things we do. I bore down on how we sometimes see a genuine need and fail to respond thinking it’s not my responsibility. I was amazed at how well I had preached to others about showing loving concern for those in need and yet had failed to hear the lesson myself.

Someone once said, “I would rather see a sermon any day than hear one.”

I don't believe even the most eloquent preacher with the most polished delivery could have preached a more beautiful sermon on compassion and grace than the sermon I saw preached by a 10 year old girl that evening in a dusty field in Yuma, Arizona.

I once read a story about the Roman soldier-saint, Martin of Turin. The legend says that Martin was entering a small, desolate village one frigid winder day, when he noticed a beggar. The man was nearly blue from the cold, and frail. He was begging for money. Martin told the poor beggar that he didn’t have any money. But to prevent the old man from freezing to death, Martin took off his battered Roman soldier’s cloak and ripped it in two, giving half to the beggar. The poor old man thanked Martin and quickly disappeared around a corner. Later that same night, the legend says, Martin had a dream in which he saw heaven and all the glory of heavenly beings around the throne of Christ. One of the angels there was seen wearing half of an old worn Roman soldier’s cloak. Then Jesus asked, “My son, where did you get that?”  The angel replied, “Your servant Martin gave it to me!”

Since that night in Yuma I’ve often wondered. I’ve wondered if later than same night an angel might have been seen walking through the streets of heaven, carrying in one hand a McDonalds bag containing a quarter-pounder with cheese and a large fry and in the other a large Coke. And I’ve wondered if perhaps she wasn’t stopped by Jesus who asked, “My child, where did you get that?”  Only to have her reply, “Your servant Kathi gave it to me!”

I learned a lot that night. My daughter taught me well. She never said anything more about the incident as we drove home. She just sat there quietly contented that she had helped someone who had less than her.

She may not remember that night years from now. It might slip back into the recesses of her mind and become lost among a billion other memories. But I will never forget.

That night I learned what a servant’s heart is all about.

And that night I saw Jesus in the heart of a 10 year old girl named Kathi. And so did a woman who held a sign saying, “Hungry. Will work for food.”

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