He’d come to our church several Sundays in a row. He always walked in late, always sat in the back, always left early before I had a chance to speak to him. Surely he must have needed something but didn’t know how to ask. It was my job as pastor to help everyone who entered our doors. From the podium this Sunday morning, I waited for the chance to help this stranger.
Ten minutes into the service, he arrived, a middle-aged man in framed glasses, his shoulders slumped as if he were carrying a heavy burden. He slipped into a pew in the very back of the sanctuary, as usual. He didn’t follow along
