Some years ago, David Robinson, who plays basketball in San Antonio, visited our church. He's not a member of our church, but he shows up occasionally. You can imagine the stir that occurred when that seven-foot striking fellow walked into the auditorium. We have two worship services, and he came to the first one. At the end of it, people mobbed him. Kids all wanted his autograph. Dads lined up, allegedly to get things signed for their kids, but we all knew the truth. The brouhaha finally settled down and David went his way, and we began the second service.

In the second service that day, I was standing to do the announcements when something happened that has never happened since. A homeless person walked in the back of the auditorium, came down the center aisle with his backpack, ratty jeans, torn T-shirt, unshaven face, and distinct odor. He walked down to the front, and he sat down.

The contrast struck me. When David Robinson entered, he was immediately swarmed. People wanted to touch him and be close to him, be next to him. However, I'm sad to say that nobody jumped up to run and sit next to the homeless man. After two or three awkward minutes during which I was trying to act like nothing was happening, one of our elders got up from his seat and sat by the man and touched him. I was struck. Wouldn't you have been as well?

The message that I received in my heart that morning was: Which of these men do you think touched Jesus? If you want to touch Jesus, whom do you touch? Jesus said, "Whatever you've done for the least of these, my brethren, you've done also to me."