OH, WE OF LITTLE FAITH

In homeless nation, as in all other nations, we suppose the universal meaning of the original of that tidy piece of scripture would mean, better to increase one's faith to counter one's fraility.

Fraility in the face of so many dangers real and imagined while living life on the edge of a precipice of unimaginable stress and vulnerability which is one way of saying homeless nation is a bottomless pit of anxiety and fear and the darkness of the unknown.  In other words, yeccch!

If there are no athiests in foxholes, an aphorism generally credited to journalist Ernie Pyle during World War II to argue that in times of extreme stress and/or fear, one will tend to believe in the protection and forthcoming help of a higher power, then it would also seem that there are no athiests in cardboard boxes, or abondoned cars, or under bridges or bushes or ditches or alleys or wherever it is that street puppies put their weary heads to rest night after endless, sleepless and fretful night.

And If a battlefield -and let's not kid ourselves here, homeless nation is a battlefield - is the place for a conversion, then it follows that all street puppies would wholeheartedly embrace the thought of a higher power coming to rescue us all, kind of like Mighty Mouse in a long nightgown swooping down and taking up our back pack, and leading us to the nearest 7-11 for  huge slurpies and microwaved cheese omelettes.

Alas.  The churches in homeless nation are named after various saints and sects and not one of them is named after Mighty Mouse.  And there aren't too many street puppies sitting around in them unless there's something to eat there, or a place in a pew or on the floor to spread a blanket and get some shut eye, or maybe pick up some socks, one of those nifty hygiene kits or an extra shirt from the donation pile.

Most street puppies got here by some route that put them totally off the idea of a higher power except as a demonic force which swept away their whole life, i.e. husband, wife, parent, boss, mortgage broker, boss, drug dealer, etc.  so there's not a lot of faith left in anything that even smacks of sanctity by the time the street puppy rolls through the gate to this place. 

But there are plenty of those churches named after saints and sects and all of their clergy and their volunteers bushtling  around to take up the role of patron saints of hand-outs. 

They feed us, they clothe us, they gently cajole us into getting onto the right path, and teach us the Bible.

And the teaching the Bible part is usually the appetizer and thus, comes first, before the handouts.

No street puppy in his right mind would stick around AFTER a big meal, or the handouts for the Bible study, or the message or the prayer service. 

So they sit, nodding at all the right places, smiling at all the right places, shaking their heads in all the right places of the delivery of the Word.  All the while thinking of the meat patties waiting, or how many socks they need. Or how much the hygiene kit and a couple of shirts would bring in to enable them to buy another bottle to ease the pain of another long night in that cardboard box, or under that bridge, or in that abandoned car, or the bush, the ditch or the alley, night after sleepless, fretful night.

And they're all here, the people who deliver the Word.  The Protestants, the Catholics, The Muslims, The Jews, the New (fill in the blank) Order of Such and Such, even the Temple of The Blue Parrot. 

The only spiritual advisors who ya don't see much around here, unless they're panhandling at the same street corner  are the Hare Krishna, and that's  because they're begging, too, and why complicate things by begging from the people you're preaching to about Hare or whatever his name is.

See, your average streetpuppy knows the deal. 

These  higher power people want something too.  They want the feel good thing of helping people out.  Ok.  That's usually the volunteers.  And some of them, usually the clergy, want to know they are doing their job well.  That's Ok, too.

 And occasionally, people like Charlie who just fill their car up with  food and neat stuff, and hand it out to street puppies, and talks about his love of Jesus, and is absolutely sincere. And he's all about truly loving his fellow man.   And he's one in a million.

And we know all of them are well meaning, and filled with love of their fellow man, especially the hurtin' ones, and Lord knows they are gaining bonus mileage in Heaven, which in this modern era, should probably  have it's own page on Facebook.  Along with a password and PIN to give St. Peter at the Golden Gates.

And then, there are the others.  The demagogues  and water walkin' wannabes who decide  it's time to start their own church.  Hmmmm..need some dough for that.  I know, donations for the poor!!    And I'll meet some good lookin' women, too!  Yippee! Praise the Lord!  Hallelujah!!

So they start their own church, name it after something, usually themself. And they get a lot of those volunteer need to feel good folks who have excellent recipes capable of feeding about a hundred people at a time.  And they're  in business. And they bellow out the Word.  And the money rolls in, and it's all tax free. 

And then, Lord forbid, sometimes they acquire an old rooming house, and bring street puppies in and take all of the little money they do have and tell them it's being saved  for them.  But first, they need to get a job  to earn that money to be saved, and not drink or do drugs and they will  be given all of their money after six months when they are clean and sober, and have eaten off their own elbows because they can't smoke either.

And of course, the street puppy will opt out of the rooming house and the program long before the six months is done, The church cries "foul,"  and the street puppy has not a dime to show for it.  Or elbows.

And he or she, will be just another athiest in a cardboard box, or the alley, or the ditch, or the bush, you get the picture. 

Yeah, Oh, we of little faith. 

When you think about it.  Maybe some real smart person in homeless nation should start a church named after Mighty Mouse.  They could call it, "Mighty Mouse Temple Of Flying  Caped Rodents In Nightgowns."

The entertainment value alone of a caped rodent clad in a long and flowing nightgown flying around homeless nation, coming to save the day would raise the spirits of every street puppy in homeless nation.