The Boy Who Was Looked Down Upon By Many

As I, the writer, sat in the corner of the room, noting the count of teenager filling the place, roughly twenty. I embarked on a spiritual journey.

I, the writer, am a religious man. A man who fears God of His justice, but loves Him for His gifts.

The room was that of an old sanctuary. A red carpet, stuco walls, old stained glass windows littered the walls. A few new windows from where the stained glass had been broke by bean bags, baseballs, frisbees, and pellet guns. A new stage arose from the from the of building. Guitars sat on one side, three homemade crosses on the other. A vivid reminder of why the teenagers were there that day.

In they came, one by one. Talking and sweating from the outdoor activity prior to the "worship" service. After a while of being seated and going over the annoucements and forewarns of the camp to come, the leader of the group grabbed his guitar and began to play a few chords.

Slowly, yet surely the group came to calmness, a sense of responsibility, or duty came over the group. As the man with the guitar began to sing, a transition of the group took place before my very eyes.

Though the room was one, in realities sake it was actually two. As the songs continued people began to change.

On the left side they stood up, as if it was "tradition". These students for the majority were "active youth". You know, the ones dragged to church every Sunday morning, early. Goes on all the mission trips and camps, the ones who together seem to enjoy themselves. However, be warned for those who are calm in the presence of God also carry with them a doubled edged sword used to cut down their fellow brothers and sisters. The left side took a physical stand, but were unable to get over themselves to note the rest of the people in the room.

The writer had never been one for standing up during "worship" or in other words, "singing". He chose to sit there and just watch, listen, meditate, and most importantly...relax. Is it not true that we should be able to be our true selves and enjoy the moments in which we dwell in the presense of God?

On the right side of the room were the "different" kids. The ones who sometimes came to church, sometimes didn't. A few that hadn't been seen around the area in months. A new girl from California, the skater kids, the rock kids, those who chose to be "different". They were no masks, they were obnoxious, and even rude. Some were just quiet, some were just afraid. But, they...were...real. No faces, if they had something to say to someone, they said it to them, directly. No talking behind ones back. In this setting though, they, were the outcasts. Their own brothers and sisters in the same room had spoken poorly about them. How they looked, how they sounded, the words they said, the clothes they wore. Though it was stated in the good book that Christians are to fight a war in which they cannot see, not flesh in blood. There, before the writer, was the civil war of cutting down one another. The teenagers of the right did not stand up during the singing, they did not raise their hands, they did not choose to be known. Instead they sat, quietly.

While all of this was going on, the natural division of the room, a strange soul appeared. He was short, young, looked down upon by many. Even made fun of by the some of the leaders of the church. He was loud, talkative, and while he had a kind soul, by accident he drove away many. The young man meant well, it was the fact that no one could see past what was up front to dive deeper in the boy.

To get a better grasp on the young man, he was not from the wealthiest of households. His jeans were faded, his shirt was not fancy. His ballcap he wore constantly (except in the church of course).

He...was...not...popular...

He was not like the left, he wasn't the athlete, the up front popular kids. He wasn't the one that the elders of the church asked about each Sunday. At the same time, he was not like the right. He wasn't quiet, he didn't stay seated, he didn't keep to himself. It was this individual that grabbed the writers attention.

As the writer sat in the corner of the room, watching all this unfold he watched an amazing action take place.

One of the boys on the right had grown incredibly quiet, perhaps even a bit troubled in his soul. The people of the left had looked over, but remember who he is and what he does, no one went over to pray for the young man. Then out from the corner diagonal from the writer came the boy that so many looked down on. He stood up, looked across the room, and in one brave action he took a step. He began walking from that corner to the young man seated. He wasn't looking for the spotlight, he wasn't trying to grab the attention away from God. He just arose and went (check out the book of Matthew, last chapter). Over to the boy he walked, and he kneeled next to him. Place his right hand on his shoulder and began to pray. The boy could of been asleep, he could of just been looking down, or he could of been troubled, as if God was laying something on his heart. Regardless the boy who so many looked down on, chose to follow the feeling in his heart.

The writer, while watching all of this took great joy in realizing something...

Though so many of the churchmembers today look down at those they do not know, or understand, though the leaders of the church may poke fun at those who desire to be "different", it is those who are "different" from the rest of the "religious elite" that will save our world and bring us back to the heart of worship.

Amen.