One Sunday, we were doing our weekly church collection.
The Pastor was such a genuine, honest man. He was not interested in being the Pastor, or the guy who got to tell everyone why they weren't good enough. He always used to say about collections, "give what you can. If you can't give financially, touch the collection jar and give it a prayer that we can make the heating bill this month. If you can give in prayer, that's just as valuable!"
It was always so refreshing to hear him say that. We were a poor church and we knew it. But, it felt nice to be affirmed that our service to others and to the church was a gift, too.
An unknown white man joined us for church that day. I don't think I'd seen him before. He looked like he'd seen better days. His face shone with hope that we'd accept him. His being was screaming, "I just want to make things right". I tried to look at him with all the warmth I could muster, but any look I gave only faced his back.
At the end of the collection, sitting nicely on top of the crumpled bills and the lose silver and bronze circles were two unused cigarettes.
"What on earth? This man is crazy! Why would he give us two cigarettes?", they'd exclaim.
The man's face said it all. It's all he had to give, or give up. He wasn't out of his mind, he was purposeful in his bidding. The insecurity in his posture and his eyes said he was hoping for a different response and realized the church didn't understand.
"Here, here are your two cigarettes back," they said. He protested. He didn't want them, he was giving them away. Were they an offering? Were they a silent promise? Were they the sole penny he had to give, the greatest sacrifice of all?
They shook their heads. "What in Christ's name is that man thinking?"
We kind of stood there, unable to speak because we were new to the church and our words would be drowned. Most of all, we knew they wouldn't understand and would argue with us about "those crazy fiends". I think our hearts broke silently that day.
The man was given back his cigarettes.
With a sad look on his face, knowing he was misunderstood,
He took his two cigarettes, and walked back out into the wind, his coat swallowing his face and identity, and I think it blew him away, that wind, because we never did see him again.
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