I had always thought of myself as a steward, a steward of the things of God, whether it be the wine of the Lord’s Supper, or the lesser wine given to cheer our hearts. But I never thought of myself as crafty or shrewd like the steward in chapter 16 of St. Luke’s Gospel until…

At that particular time in my life, it wasn’t so much that the Lord had decided I could be steward no longer but more like I had nothing of the Lord’s which to be steward of.

I felt like a beggar who needed some spare change, and God wouldn’t give me any until I told him what I was going to use it for, and I didn’t want to tell him.

I used to do the same thing when people on the street begged spare change from me. Even if I didn’t say it out loud, I would be thinking it: what are you going to do with it?

But one day I stopped doing that and instead, when someone begged from me, I would offer my spare change and then ask them what they really needed.

"I’m hungry and I just need something to eat." It was not unusual for both of us to end up at a local fast-food outlet having a sandwich and a cup of coffee together.

So, for me, it was a normal question to ask the man who came begging outside the Greyhound bus station that morning.

I gave him some spare change, and then I asked him what he really needed. He was not the first to risk telling me the truth: "Me-’n mah friends be needin’ some wine."

"Friends?"

He pointed to three men in the entrance of an alley near by. "Yep, they be mah friends,"

"Well, what little change I just gave you won’t buy the four of you a Styrofoam cup of wine. So why don’t you all get together over there in the parking lot, and I’ll go find us some wine."

I not only didn’t expect him to believe me, but I didn’t expect them to be there when I came back. But I found a liquor store, bought two bottles of inexpensive wine and five Styrofoam cups, and off I went to the parking lot. There they were.

As me and my new friends sipped our first cup of wine together, one of them asked me what I had in my hand. I told him it was my Jesus beads, and then I explained to them what they were.

"Oh, Jesus be mah best friend," the elder in the group piped up. "I goes ta church evah Sunday."

"You lie like a snake. You ain’t been in no church since yo momma died," one of the others said, "and that be ten years ago."

"Ah do too go ta church in mah own way with Jesus, mah best friend."

And so the time went. We talked a lot about Jesus, about life, about hard knocks. And then one of them looked at me and asked, "You be a preacher man?"

"I guess so," I said, "I’m a Roman Catholic priest."

"Sweet Jesus, what you be doin’ with fo losers in a parkin’ lot drinkin’ wine on a Sunday? You oughta be in church preachin’ whar you balong."

I told him I wasn’t in church because right now it didn’t feel like Jesus was there anymore. But Jesus did say, "What we do to others you do to me," so I guess I just needed to sit down in a parking lot with Jesus this mornin’ and have a cup of wine."

I wish I had had a tape recorder for the conversation that followed. It was best theology class I had ever attended.

"An’ now y’all owe me a favor, too," I said as I got up to leave. "When you get to the Pearly Gates, you can’t go in till I get there. I’ll be needin’ all the help I can get to pay my debt. My name is Pat, so don’t forget: ya can’t go in the Pearlies without me."

"We be waitin’ fo ya, Reverend Pat."

"Shoot man, you ain’t goin’ ta tha Pearlies! You be goin’ ta the uther place, you don’t change yo ways."

"Wall, you be right there wiff me, you don’t change yo ways too."

"But you ain’t even ’cepted Jesus yet. You kain’t git ta the Pearlies."

"Well, Mistah Know-It-All, if you done ’cepted Jesus, it don’t show, the way you treats me. Preacher man said, Jesus in me, too."

Well, I figured that church in the parking lot was over, and I’d best be on my way while I was biblically still ahead.

I don’t know how their conversation ended, but I know I met Jesus, my best friend, in a parking lot next to a Greyhound bus station.

It was Sunday. And, yes, it was time for me "ta go ta church whar you balong." So I did, and I haven’t missed ever since.

I wasn’t being particularly "crafty" that day in the parking lot, but I think my new friends unwittingly took my huge unpaid bill, sat down, and wrote, "fifty."