Fellowship

The Reverend and the bare knuckle boxer..

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Fellow Jeep Reverend Simon Peter Dugdale's church fed the local homeless people dinner on a regular schedule twice a month. Usually the Reverend served on the food line, but on this particular evening that aforeside line was well manned with parishioner volunteers. So Reverend Dugdale went on a walkabout, dispensing throughout the fellowship hall equal parts Christian friendliness and Christian beatitudes to this family and to that family. Like a moving target, he glided from table to table with all the ease of one who's mastered the art of mingling. On his walkabout, he couldn't help but notice a youngish man scruffily dressed, seated on his own, solitary. No family. The Reverend studied the young man, watching him eat voraciously like it was his last supper. The young man never looked up, never made eye contact. Reverend Dugdale approached the young man's table and stood there waiting for some kind of affirmation. Finally the young man looked up, managed a brief smile, then continued with the business of eating. Mind if I join you? The Reverend asked. Suit yourself, was the curt reply. Simon Dugdale, I'm the Reverend of this parish. Welcome to our fellowship hall. The young man stopped eating, placing his fork on the left hand side of the almost empty plate. Arquert Byrne, but you can call me scrapper, and he held up two bruised, somewhat battered fists. The Reverend winced. I was a bare knuckle boxer for ten years or so, one of the travellers, and this is all I have to show for it. The Reverend winced twice. I suppose it's too late for grace. But I can offer you fellowship. The young man sat back, folded his arms, brushed some crumbs from his jacket lapel, then spoke. Well, I suppose that would be something different. A boxer's life is a lonely life, like one of the travellers, he added. Travelers, the Reverend inquired gently. You know, traveling people, gypsies, the young man replied. Like your man, Jesus. The Reverend smiled a friendly affirmation back, then prepared to launch into a miniature sermon, but the young man continued, This thing you call fellowship, what exactly is it anyway? he asked earnestly. Reverend Dugdale reached for his measured but missionary rhapsodism and launched into fellowship one hundred one. He described his efforts over the last seven years and growing fellowship of the church, fellowship that included community outreach to local food banks and homeless shelters. He waxed religiously with a small R, without changing the focus and mission of a congregation once wrapped in polite indifference to one semi-interested in matters of social justice. The young man listened politely, and when the reverend was finished, asked with a high half smile. So, when you return to your warm residence and have a home cooked meal tonight, and I take myself down to the city homeless shelter on Crichton Street, will you come with me for fellowship?