I was in a rush that afternoon. The grocery store parking lot was full. I rehearsed what we needed: taco shells, cilantro, and creamer, while thinking about the news headlines I’d read just hours before. The daily circus of horrible news hung over my mind like a blanket.

I couldn’t shake this thought: everyone everywhere hates each other.

I had read about terrible things being said and done to other human beings — those created in the image of God. I thought about the repercussions of cruelty and hate and how they keep reaching further and deeper as one generation stacks upon another. Along with the heaviness of the headlines that day, I had left the house discouraged over an automated response email from one of the representatives I’d emailed about an issue close to my heart. I wondered where and how the light would shine through.

I started to recite The Lord’s Prayer in my mind, trying to refocus and remember how Jesus taught His disciples to pray. Our Father in heaven, may your name be kept holy.*

I thought about the world the disciples lived in, the cultural moment and customs that made up their everyday lives, and how they, too, must’ve longed for any evidence of light at the end of the tunnel, for evidence of goodness at work despite all the bad, hard, and confusing things, and for hope to not wane day after day. May your Kingdom come soon.*

As I walked from my car to the entrance of the store, I saw a group of people circled in front of an elderly man in the parking lot. They were bent over, looking at small shiny objects on the hot pavement. May your will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.*

The elderly man stood there, silent, but his body spoke. His hands were shaking. He held a plastic grocery bag that rustled with his shaky hands, and his mouth was slightly open while he watched the people around him. Give us today the food we need.*

As I got closer, I realized none of these people knew each other. The shiny objects were coins and they were scattered near and far. They were working together to pick up the coins.

Once I was close enough, I asked, “What happened?”

A woman who had stopped her van in the middle of the parking lot grabbed a sturdier bag and gave it to the elderly man to use, and said, “Here, this might hold the coins better than that Kroger bag.” She turned towards me and said, “He dropped all of his money on the ground.”

I pushed my crossbody purse from front to back and got into a kimchi-squat. The woman bent down next to me, nodded at me in solidarity. There were at least six of us there, not including the man who dropped his coins. We ranged in age from teenagers to senior citizens. Our skin color was varied. From the t-shirt one of the men was wearing to the music playing from another woman’s idling car, I could tell this group of people probably didn’t spend time around the likes of one another.

I thought about what else might get a group like ours that day in as close of quarters as we were in this moment. This group of strangers, but neighbors as Jesus would’ve called us to be to one another. I thought about the news headlines I saw just before this unexpected moment, and how I wanted to throw my phone on the ground over what I read. I had left for the store wanting to give up. On the drive I felt angry towards those I was sure lacked the love and empathy of Jesus. And forgive us our sins, as we have forgiven those who sin against us.*

We worked quickly to gather this man’s lost coins. We reached under parked cars, all of our arms and hands working in tandem. That day, we momentarily stopped our plans because this man needed something we could all come together to provide. I’m not sure he could’ve easily bent over to pick up his coins, and if he had, I’m sure he would’ve struggled to get back up. He never uttered a word while we gathered on his behalf, but he didn’t need to.

We smiled and nodded at one another as we collected dimes, nickels, and pennies, until there were no more left on the ground. Once we were done, we dusted our hands off and sent the man on his way with a new bag. One of the men gently patted him on the back before we all dispersed and carried on with our individual lives. And don’t let us yield to temptation, but rescue us from the evil one.*

I went back to rehearsing my short list of groceries as I walked into the store and found a cart, and then started to cry. I’d just experienced a simple, ordinary moment without a big stage, but it was sacred. For me, it was a living sermon without words, but full of hope. It was the daily bread of life that my spirit needed. May it be so, again and again, Amen.*

*excerpts of The Lord’s Prayer woven throughout the article are from Matthew 6:5-15 in the NLT

 

Listen to Tasha’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast.

 

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