With the mercury already rising on another sultry Sunday morning, the runner stopped for a much-needed drink of water. The mammoth megachurch had always been a good wayside for such purposes. Situated approximately halfway through the run, one of the side doors was usually open by 7:00am, and there was a water fountain just a few feet inside; real water, and who knows, on a good day, maybe a little “living water” too.<\/p>\n
The runner was not exactly dressed for church, but he rarely encountered anyone inside, and he would only be there for a few moments, so he didn’t see any harm. He entered the building, stooped by the fountain, and began to eagerly lap up the refreshing fluid. As he did so, he knew he was being watched. A Sunday School man, in a dark suit, white shirt and black tie, was eyeing him warily from around the corner at the end of the hall. He began to approach the runner slowly and cautiously, as one stalking wild prey. By the time the runner had drank his fill, Sunday School man had stopped only a few feet away.<\/p>\n
“Well,” he suddenly declared, “thanks so much. And please do come again.”<\/p>\n
The runner was startled, not so much by his sudden appearance (he knew he was coming) or by his words, which on the surface, were generous and inviting. It was the sarcastic edge in his voice that made him jump. At first the runner thought that he had misheard his tone, that went he looked up he would encounter a smiling visage, maybe even the face of an angel.<\/p>\n
But as he turned and faced him, his worst fears were realized–Sunday School man meant business. The furrowed brow, the look of confusion commingled with a dash or two of suspicion and fear–the scowl–matched his tone of voice perfectly. Only the words themselves were out of synch.<\/p>\n
The runner realized quickly that he had offended and perhaps even scared Sunday School man. Maybe it had been his disheveled “homeless” appearance or the fact that he was shedding drops of sweat all over the carpet, he wasn’t sure, but he smiled at Sunday School man, waved and said, “Thanks so much for the water. I really appreciate it.”<\/p>\n
As he returned to his course and made his way down quiet neighborhood streets, the runner thought about what had just happened and imagined that Sunday School man would soon relate this story to the powers-that-be and that someday this upcoming week, yet another committee would convene to discuss this most recent security breach. He couldn’t help but wonder if the next time he stopped by to wet his parched lips, the door might be locked.<\/p>\n
He made another turn and started up the long hill that leads toward home. Another man, wearing a t-shirt, jeans and slippers and nursing his morning coffee, was making his way down his driveway to retrieve his Sunday paper. He had the look of a man who was in no hurry, who most likely planned to wile away the morning poring over the business section, sports pages and the comics–and not necessarily in that order. If this man was going to church, it would be the very latest service available.<\/p>\n
He had paused at the end of his driveway and was now watching the runner as he approached. His face was one of pure benevolence, his eyes alive with interest and curiosity. The corners of his mouth began to lift like the rising morning sun.<\/p>\n
“Good morning to you,” he called out. “I hope you have a nice run.”<\/p>\n
The runner smiled and returned his greeting. He really wanted to stop and give the man a hug, but he didn’t want to risk ruining the moment.<\/p>\n
The runner finished his course, a little lighter in step now, and contemplated the lessons of the morning. He thought about that passage from the Good Book, the one about “wheat and tares” existing side-by-side, and he nodded his head silently in affirmation.<\/p>\n
And then he had another thought: On the one hand, there are the things that we say. And on the other, there are the things we say without saying anything at all.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
\n<\/p>\n
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