“Scooby Doo Mother…!”

“What about the homeless? What about the sick? What about individuals in Africa?

Does God still love them?”The question isn’t about God. The question is about us.

-Gary Morgan,
Pastor Mosaic Church Nashville

We sat together on the vents outside the Nashville Predators hockey stadium. It was a group five men. Some were black, some were white, some were addicts and some had mental disabilities—all were homeless.

I had passed the group a couple weeks before, commenting on my sadness for the men to my friend Michelle, but quickly continued on with my life.

My friend Michelle didn’t. She returned, brought them food and listened to their stories.

It was Michelle’s idea to return again on a recent Sunday night. She wanted to see Glenn, a sweet man, who cried frequently in his wheelchair. She told me McDonald’s was having a special on double cheeseburgers and asked me to come along.

I followed.

Scooby caught my eye. His hands shook when he spoke and he had a raw crassness to him that was appealing. While we talked he chugged cheap canned beer, told me I should be “tapping that” (Michelle) and wondered if there were dead bodies in the vents below us. He also yelled without warning things like “Scooby Do Mother F-er!”.

His friend said he was embarrassed because Scooby swore in front of guests. But I kind of liked it. I could tell Scooby wasn’t trying to impress me.

Midway through our conversation, Scooby asked me if I had attended church that day.

Surprised by the question, I said no. I had worked instead.

Scooby then said, “When you share what you have you are the Church. So right now we are at church.”

May we live as the Church,
Kent