Casual Holiness

About a year ago I was on my way into a church to attend a meeting. As I approached the door I passed a woman sitting on a red, overturned milk crate near the door. She had dark hair, and she was leaning forward, her bottom coming off the crate, her hands reaching just off the edge of the sidewalk and toward the asphalt of the parking lot. She appeared to be slowly falling forward, tumbling off the crate in slow motion.

I had stopped to hold the door for a man who was entering the church just behind me, and as I watched, he approached the woman on the crate.

"Here's two of them," he said, handing down a carton of Marlboro Light 100s. "Have a good day."

I realized then what the man with the Marlboros must have recognized immediately: the woman had no doubt been reaching for a discarded cigarette butt that someone had tossed down on their way into the church. I felt awed by the man's simple act of compassion. Without the slightest trace of judgement or distaste, he handed over his last two cigarettes, wished the woman well, and moved on. His action seemed so unselfconscious that I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd forgotten about it by the time he reached his destination in the church.

Such casual holiness peels back the veil for just a moment, revealing the kingdom of love whose reign shall have no end.