Tents multiply 
like mushrooms
after a spring rain.

The poor
addicted 
broken
tucked into dark corners
under bridges
stayed away from us.

And we forgot they were there.

But today
their destitution
creeps into our cul de sac
cannot escape our vision.

Tens of thousands image-bearers 
fall asleep in filth
captive to fear
imprisoned in despondency.

Every night.

And we forget their tents
until their proximity invades our denial.

Could their nearness be their
Maker’s plea from His heart
to His hands and His feet
to run
to touch
to restore?

Sunday at 10am,
the hands and feet gaze through stained-glass windows
at vacant land
resting idle.

Consider Jesus 
who left behind glory
to sit in the dirt 
to touch the leper
to be sleepless
friendless
possessionless
homeless 
to feel our sorrow.

That we may transform
desolate fields
into villages of relief
restoration
redemption.

Nestled next to the house of God,
those shooed off sidewalks
shoved off benches
snubbed from parks
find home.

Four walls replace patched tents
gardens reclaim garbage
jobs redeem shame
communities relieve contention.

The formerly hopeless 
flourishing next door
to the place 
where they found
eternal hope.

Because God so loved the world . . .

That His churches would choose
to race to the rescue
to fight for the chance
to be hands of mercy
feet of love
to be first in line 
to welcome the least of these.

*Inspired by Goodness Village, Compassion Village, and other churches building mini-villages for the homeless and vulnerable on their property. Thank you to Luke Grover for telling me about this innovative idea.

*Also, thank you to Alyssa Dunker. This topic materialized in my head in verse form, but when I started writing it, I realized I’m really not a good poet. Alyssa pushed and prodded it out of me and did a lot of editing. If you like it, she gets the credit too.

*Photos from Pixabay