911.
The Boston Marathon.
Chattanooga.
We're suspicious of their garb.
Are they hiding explosives?
We avoid them, and want them
To go back home.
But in church today we met
A young man.
He was also one of them.
Born in Iraq, a devotee, he
Memorized the prophet's
Words,
Prayed five times a day.
His god was strong, a king
Who ruled with fear,
A distant being who never
Once spoke of love.
To be assured of heaven,
He demanded
Blood
Of the devout ones,
The blinded ones.
This follower had questions, but
There were no answers, for it
Was a shame to admit doubt.
A friend, a true friend,
Gave him a Bible, and he read,
Amazed at the King who washed
Feet,
The King of love,
The King Who also required
Blood,
But His Own.
"Yes, yes!" the seeker
Cried.
"I found Him.
He found me."
And now we're family.
Some are to be feared, it's
True,
Just like some of our kind
Too.
But most are like our friend,
Our brother,
Fellow human beings
Searching,
Longing,
Needing Jesus to meet
Their God-need just like
We.