the oasis - part two

So I stepped inside and the nice lady smiled at me and closed the door behind me.

Whats your name, she asked me.

Another split decision to be made; was I going to lie to this woman who just invited me in from out of the cold and give her a fake name, like that would somehow distance me from my actions? Or just own up to the fact that Im standing in a mission in downtown Morristown and give her my real name.

Barabbas, I said.

Im Susan, she replied.

And while I did not lie, the names have been changed here to protect the innocent. Everyone but me.

Well, Barabbas, have some coffee and breakfast. Weve got biscuits and sausage and some eggs over there. Help yourself.

And with that, Susan left me standing next to a long folding table that did indeed have a coffee urn and a tray of biscuit and sausage sandwiches and row after row of deviled eggs. I walked over to the coffee urn, pulling one of those little Styrofoam cups I had seen through the window and poured myself a cup of coffee. As I was shaking a cloud of powdered creamer into my cup and eyeballing the free grub, the old man in the trucker hat asked me through his broken teeth if I was going to eat a biscuit. He held up his halfgummed sandwich as if to say, See. Theyre good.

I looked at this man, as he clutched his sad little breakfast, and realized that I couldnt eat anything.

No, no. I couldnt possibly eat, but thank you very much. I appreciate it, I said.

He looked at me funny, then kind of shrugged me a Suit Yourself look.

Suddenly, Susan appeared at my side.

Youre not going to have a breakfast, Barabbas?

Apparently she was the breakfast closer.

No, I cant. But thank you very much, I said.

The terrible truth is, though, I wanted to chow down on the spread, I really did. But even in the few minutes I had been standing there, I began to feel like a terrible thief. I didnt need free coffee and I certainly didnt need a free breakfast. I mean, I was standing there, in the middle of this room where truly hungry people were eating, where people who truly had nowhere else to go were sitting in small groups with their kids. And here I was, with my rental Camry parked up the street, wearing a backpack that had my laptop, iPod and cell phone in it; and I was seriously considering eating a handful of free deviled eggs. Everything about me came screaming into focus; my vague, middle class upbringing, my warped sense of entitlement, the fact that I would willingly eat free food intended for homeless people.

And in short, I was ashamed.

So, with that shame in mind, I promised to steal only one cup off coffee and leave right after that.

I walked over and sat down at a table with a kid who looked to be about twenty and he may have been tweaking because he wouldnt sit still and wouldnt stop spinning a Coke bottle on the table. He was working feverishly on his Coke bottle and couldnt have cared less that he had company. I looked around me, at the solemn, bearded face of Jesus gazing down at me, at the kids playing in the other room, at the young mothers praying together. And none of them looked at me. To them, I was just another guy in a wool coat getting in from out of the cold. It didn't matter to them why I was there. We all needed something. But I knew that I needed something other than a free cup of coffee.

Half way through my coffee, Susan said it was time for some singing and invited one of the young mothers over to the mic and boom box that was set up just to the right of the buffet. The young mother selected The Beautiful Star Of Bethlehem and began to sing. No one else seemed interested and since I still felt like I had to give something back for the cup of coffee I was drinking, I began to kind of hum along. I didnt know the lyrics, but I smiled and swayed and tossed in words when I could figure them out. When this song ended, she launched into The Gift Goes On; a song I knew. So I sang along to that one, belting out the chorus I leaned as a young boy.

After the second song, I had finished my coffee and needed to make good on my promise of leaving after the one cup. I found Susan and thanked her for her hospitality. She told me the missions hours of operation and when I could attend services. I thanked her again and walked back out into the cold.

As soon as I was back outside, I saw the real coffee shop (Java House? Java The Hut?) and went over and bought a cup of coffee. Im not sure why I did and I instantly regretted it and hoped that no one from the mission would see me sipping coffee from a tall paper cup with a java jacket on it. I walked back up Main Street (steering clear of the elevated sidewalks) and went back up to Jazzercise. My wife and her friends and all their kids where there, laughing and talking and enjoying the afterglow of some good old fashioned exercise. It was warm in there and I was comfortable and my wife smiled at me and asked me how the coffee shop was.

I said it was fine.

So, Morristown, I guess what I needed was to feel welcome and you certainly gave me that. Thank you for your hospitality. All are welcome at The Oasis.

And thats pretty cool.