lone magi

Today after church, we were sitting near the front of the sanctuary waiting for the choir rehearsal to begin. Up walks a man I'll call Frank. He is a sweet man, perhaps mentally ill, or maybe developmentally handicapped. At our church what matters is that he is a beloved regular parishioner. He has a habit of asking an odd question and then walking away abruptly as soon as he gets the answer. When he sees me, he usually points at my daughter, and asks in an urgent tone, "How is she doing in school, is she doing okay?" I always answer that she is doing very well, to which he nods gravely before turning quickly away.

So today, Frank approached this young man in our choir, who we'll call Reggie. Reggie is a good-natured, constantly smiling person. He has a had a difficult life sometimes, from what little I know. Frank bent down until his white beard was almost brushing Reggie's smiling face, and in his formal, serious way, announced:

"I'm looking for Jesus of Nazareth, do you know where I might find him?"

I smiled because we had just finished having mass and we were sitting there in our glorious romanesque sanctuary where Jesus is depicted hundreds of times all around us in the statues, stained glass, and ceiling frescos.

Reggie didn't take even a second to think.

"Look in the mirror."

Frank raised his eyebrows and pointed at his heart.

"He's inside of me?"

Reggie nodded. "Yes he is."

Frank thought about it for a moment and then bowed.

"Thank you."

Then he turned around and walked away in a hurry.

Things happen at my church that defy commentary. I am always wanting to make a poem out of what happens there, but so many moments arrive already full of poetry and then there is nothing left to record but the gratitude.

And I am grateful.