The Exit Ramp
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
Series II Cycle A
He stood there at the exit ramp, an imposing figure. There was something about him that drew you to him while at the same time you were repelled by his appearance. His clothes were well-worn and dirty; he wore an old hunting cap; his hair was unkempt. He was unshaved. He looked as though he had not bathed in quite sometime -- he was dirty. He had that glazed-over, spaced-out look on his face; either he was on drugs or completely stressed. He held a sign, sloppily written on a piece of discarded cardboard: "Will work for food." He stood there on that gray December morning at the end of the exit ramp as cars exited the highway. He did not move; he just stood there as cars lined up waiting for the light to turn green.
Chuck saw him standing there. He tried not to look at this man but could not help himself. He knew he did not want to make eye contact. If the strange man would look up Chuck would be sure to turn his head. There were several cars ahead of Chuck whose drivers seemed preoccupied, not paying any attention to him either. It was mid-December, after all, and people were busy and did not have either the time or inclination to help this poor soul.
As soon as the light turned, several cars whizzed passed him without even looking at him, without giving him even a second thought. Chuck was relieved when the light turned. Nothing was worse than seeing someone like that on your way to work, he thought. Chuck did not get too far down the road when his conscience got the better of him. Chuck had grown up in the church; he vaguely remembered something about helping those less fortunate. He recalled the time his youth group collected food and then went to a homeless shelter. But that was long ago. Now he had a job with responsibilities and a family besides. He knew he should have stopped; he could have stopped at a convenience store a half mile down the road and bought this man something to eat. It would only have taken a few minutes. Chuck tried to put this man out of his mind but he could not. It was as though his image was burned in his mind, like a photograph.
He had no more than pulled into his office complex when he turned around, heading back in the direction he had just traveled. This time he would stop and offer assistance. This time he would see to it that this man had something to eat.
Barely fifteen minutes later, when he passed that same intersection, the man was gone without a trace. He was not on the other side of the road. Even the cardboard sign was gone. All day long Chuck wondered what had happened to this unfortunate man.
He told his friends at work. One of his friends told him that his church was not only collecting food and clothing but was organizing teams to help find places for homeless people to stay. Chuck went to church with his friend the next Sunday; he told of his experience in the Sunday School class. "We have to do something," he told the class, offering to help out in any way possible.
His first inclination was right, that man standing at the exit ramp did have a message for him, a message from God.
Chuck saw him standing there. He tried not to look at this man but could not help himself. He knew he did not want to make eye contact. If the strange man would look up Chuck would be sure to turn his head. There were several cars ahead of Chuck whose drivers seemed preoccupied, not paying any attention to him either. It was mid-December, after all, and people were busy and did not have either the time or inclination to help this poor soul.
As soon as the light turned, several cars whizzed passed him without even looking at him, without giving him even a second thought. Chuck was relieved when the light turned. Nothing was worse than seeing someone like that on your way to work, he thought. Chuck did not get too far down the road when his conscience got the better of him. Chuck had grown up in the church; he vaguely remembered something about helping those less fortunate. He recalled the time his youth group collected food and then went to a homeless shelter. But that was long ago. Now he had a job with responsibilities and a family besides. He knew he should have stopped; he could have stopped at a convenience store a half mile down the road and bought this man something to eat. It would only have taken a few minutes. Chuck tried to put this man out of his mind but he could not. It was as though his image was burned in his mind, like a photograph.
He had no more than pulled into his office complex when he turned around, heading back in the direction he had just traveled. This time he would stop and offer assistance. This time he would see to it that this man had something to eat.
Barely fifteen minutes later, when he passed that same intersection, the man was gone without a trace. He was not on the other side of the road. Even the cardboard sign was gone. All day long Chuck wondered what had happened to this unfortunate man.
He told his friends at work. One of his friends told him that his church was not only collecting food and clothing but was organizing teams to help find places for homeless people to stay. Chuck went to church with his friend the next Sunday; he told of his experience in the Sunday School class. "We have to do something," he told the class, offering to help out in any way possible.
His first inclination was right, that man standing at the exit ramp did have a message for him, a message from God.
