More Beggars!

Behind the house where I grew up, just at the back of our yard, ran train tracks… and those tracks carried more than conductors and cabooses and boxcars heaped with coal. One day a strange man showed up at our door, not the most dapper of fellows. He was a hobo who’d likely come from the train, perhaps dropping out of a boxcar when the conductor slowed for our crossing.

He knocked on the door and asked for a bit of food, which Mom supplied, then sat out on the side porch, downing his meal. When he was finished, without fanfare, he set out for parts unknown. But he was not the last to come. Somehow, others found their way to our door. Tramps had a way of “marking” houses, we children were told. Apparently one beggar had told another beggar where to find bread.

If spiritually I am a beggar (and I am), then I want to be like that first fellow – the kind who knows where the Bread is! Who has stopped there and tasted and found that it was good! Who trusts that the kitchen is big and the cook is gracious and that there will always be enough. I don’t even need to hesitate to call others to come and share the feast; there’s plenty to go around!

But if there’s anything that doesn’t sound important when the plate is empty and the tummy is full, it’s food. We don’t think about our own stomachs for quite awhile, let alone anyone else’s. And when we do… well, we’re camped at a place where we need never go hungry again! Life is great! So we quickly forget the beggars who have not yet found an open door and a kind reception. We forget what hobo-life was like. We forget the gnawing hunger pangs, the trembling weakness, the rising desperation for something, anything to fill the belly.

The Parable of the Great Banquet reminds me that the Father never forgets. That He can’t get enough beggars around His table. “More! Go out and get more!” He still urges His servants. It reminds me that I should be embarrassed to be found sitting here stuffing my spirit with all the good things He’s provided (long after my hunger is appeased), while fellow hobos are starving, and my Father’s heart is breaking for them.

It’s a sobering parable, and not just for the high-muckety-mucks who snubbed the Host. It should challenge some of us beggars who've already "arrived" to look around at all the empty chairs, put down our forks, and heed the urgent calls of the Father…

“More! Bring more!
My house must be full!”