On the way to worship after park-
ing the car a ways away, I passed
some shit filled ass wipes, per-
haps Koch brothers’ toilet tissue,

along a chain-link-fence-make-
shift-dry toilet along with a
discarded toothbrush and a couple
of candy wrappers along that way.

Across the street was a group of
homeless fellows fairly far away
from their shitting place, sorting
out their clothes from grocery

carts. The sun was rising and
they were moving under the one
lone desert tree for whatever
shade that might be. They had

found a place in the Valley
of the Sun where they could
camp and have their homeless
run and wait for their after-

noon dinner offered by the
congregation in the place of
fine dining — the courtyard
with bright sun. No one in-

sisted that they come to wor-
ship before they eat as they
did and assuming they still
do in the missions along skid

row in Chicago. They just wait-
ed and defecated and brushed
their teeth in preparation for
the Sunday afternoon feast.

And the pastor said, of all
that the congregation could
do, this was the very least.
And the congregation knew it

was true that it was the very
least that they could do, as
they heard the word — as
you have done it to the least

of these, you have done it to
me — for I am the very least
of the very least of these.