Suddenly, from around a corner a figure darted up the church steps. He was without a rain jacket or other protection. He was soaked.
“You the Parson?” he asked as he wiped the water from his face.
“I am,” said the parson. “Come in and let me get you something to get dry.”
“Oh, no, no,” he replied, “I’m just here to pick up the keys to that place your church has out at the fairgrounds. My Mom says you’re giving us all the bread left over. We really appreciate it. What with the economy being what it is we’re running low on a lot of stuff. She said you guys had a bunch to donate.”
“There’s quite a bit,” said the parson. “The rain kept a lot of people away from the fair this year.”
“Well, we appreciate it that you thought of us.”
The parson had extricated the key from his chain and held it out to the man.
“Do you work with the mission?”
“I do,” said the man. “I’m Ben Hanson; I’m the director.”
“It’s great to meet you, Ben,” said the parson. “Sure, I can’t get you something to dry off with.”
“No, Parson, but thank you,” he said. “I really need to get this stuff from your place and get back to the mission. We’re pack to capacity.”
“We’re glad we could help,” said the parson. “Tell me, Ben, what church do you go to?”
“I don’t go to church, Parson. I’m a bit turned off with the church. I’m not a Christian. I’m just a follower of Jesus.”
“Well, let me know whenever you think we can help,” the parson said.
“I’ll do that, Parson,” he said. He then darted back into the rain, dashed around the corner of the building and was gone.
The parson sat back down on the front porch bench. Leaning back he contemplated the implied difference in Christians and followers of Christ.
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