“Don’t worry about a speck in another’s eye when you have a log in your own?” ~ Luke 6:41
Every morning, he sat on the same
park bench outside the county courthouse, watching people arrive for their
hearings - anxious, poorly dressed, loud. Byron liked to think that he wasn’t
judgmental, just observant.
Byron sat up straighter.
He’d done things right. He worked steadily. Paid his bills. Showed up on time. When he passed the man sleeping near the fountain, he shook his head, not cruelly, just honestly. Some people just won’t help themselves.
When he messed up, Byron asked for God’s grace.
But when others did, he wanted accountability. Mercy, in his
mind, was something earned by trying harder.
That morning, an announcement broke his routine. A volunteer
from the nearby shelter stood in the square, announcing: “Free meals inside!”
she shouted. “No questions. No conditions.”
Byron frowned. “No conditions” felt reckless. Mercy,
he believed, needed guardrails. Otherwise, what was the incentive to change?
As he stood to leave, the volunteer looked straight at him.
“Sir,” she said kindly, “would you help me carry these trays?” He
hesitated. He wasn’t a hands-on kind of person. Still, it would only take a
moment. He followed her inside.
Indoors, the shelter was warm
and noisy. People lined up, some grateful, others demanding, most barely awake.
Byron noticed every flaw: the way they ate too fast, complained too easily,
took more than their share. When his foot caught on a loose mat, the tray
tipped. Soup spilled across the floor and down the front of his coat. The room
went quiet.
Heat flushed his face. He braced for irritation, for
judgment. Instead, a man he’d silently condemned earlier, rushed forward with a
towel. “It’s okay,” the man said. “Happens to me sometimes.” A
woman laughed softly, not mockingly, and handed him some napkins. She asked, “You
alright, brother?”
“Brother?” No one scolded him. No one suggested he
should’ve known better. No one hinted that he didn’t deserve help. They simply
helped.
Byron stood there, dripping
soup, holding a towel offered by a man with nothing to spare.
When he left the shelter, his coat still damp, Byron passed
the bench where he usually sat in judgment. For the first time, he saw himself
clearly - not as better, but just as needy; not as deserving, but clearly as
dependent.
God of mercy, when Your grace collides with our
pride, keep us from pulling away. Teach us to see ourselves honestly and others
with compassion - not as problems to fix, but as people in need, just like us.
Amen
