“God is the comic shepherd who gets more of a kick out of that one lost
sheep once he finds it again than out of the ninety and nine who had the
good sense not to get lost in the first place. God is the eccentric
host who, when the country-club crowd all turned out to have other
things more important to do than come live it up with him, goes out into
the skid rows and soup kitchens and charity wards and brings home a
freak show. The man with no legs who sells shoelaces at the corner. The
old woman in the moth-eaten fur coat who makes her daily rounds of the
garbage cans. The old wino with his pint in a brown paper bag. The
pusher, the whore, the village idiot who stands at the blinker light
waving his hand as the cars go by. They are seated at the damask-laid
table in the great hall. The candles are all lit and the champagne
glasses filled. At a sign from the host, the musicians in their gallery
strike up "Amazing Grace.”
―
Frederick Buechner,
Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairy Tale
This God's Kingdom is the true home I long for. Could it be that Haywood Street is this small taste of Heaven?
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