Tending the Flock

I'm not the type to be rude to folks just because they knock on my door. It doesn't matter what they're selling... Vacuum cleaners, magazines, religion... it's all the same to me. It's a tough job, and I'm just glad I don't have to do it. I don't typically get many uninvited visitors, and most door-knockers have the sense not to ply their trade in the middle of February in the Midwest; it's just too cold. This year, however, the weather's been unusually warm through the central United States.

Today we hit 70 degrees. I was in the kitchen, dancing around with dish suds up to my elbows, singing at the top of my lungs to the Avenue Q soundtrack, when some one rapped on my door. On the porch was a mocha-skinned man in a knit vest the color of egg yolk and navy blue pants that broke above his ankles.

"Excuse me, ma'am, and please pardon the intrusion, but I'm Mr. Social Studies Teacher at Church of the Holy Somethin-or-Other parochial school two towns over. I was wondering if I couldn't take a moment of your time?" It was about this time I realized that the song pouring through the cocked screen door was "Every One's a Little Bit Racist", which is, of course, backed by hokey Sesame-street-esque music.

"We have a few students this semester that are having difficulty paying their tuition. We've never turned students away before, and although the school is prepared to operate at a loss, we're looking for support from our local community."

Now, I just happen to be blessed with the knowledge that this private school takes on "problem" youth and helps them get their lives turned around. It also received a write-up in the local paper a few years back (amazing what the mind will regurgitate) for being a Christian school with an outstandingly strong curriculum. I'd like to do my part to contribute, and I say so. "If you'll hold on for just a moment, I'll be right back."

I scrawl out a check for what I can spare and deliver it back to the porch. The man, awkward and appreciative, accepts the check with a heart-felt, "Thank you!" He walks down the steps in time with the music from "The Internet is for Porn", which is pouring through my open living room windows.

Halfway through his decent, he stops and turns, looking up at me. "Are you a counselor?" the man asks. "A teacher?"

"Nah."

"Mind if I ask about your interest in the school?" It's pretty obvious I'm not the church-going type.

"Education is important to me. Beyond that, I'm a student. I know how hard it can be to get together enough money for tuition. Everybody needs a little help now and then."

I'm reasonably sure that at some point during our interaction, the man noticed the lyrics to the songs in the background. I'm also reasonably certain he was surprised to find support in "a wretch like me". Sometimes, I guess, it's okay to let a stranger watch over the flock. Sometimes it's okay to shake the hand of a neighbor we don't necessarily like or understand. I don't know if he only accepted the money because the school is desperate. I don't know if, given a different set of circumstances, he would have judged me for the lifestyle I lead. I'd like to think he's the type of man who follows the word of the book to the letter when it says, "Love thy neighbor..."

Compassion is a beautiful thing.