The stories and character names are fictitious. No resemblance is intended in the character names to any living or deceased person.
People averted their eyes as they passed him, a pitiful sight. The loose leather on the front
of his shoes flapped like facecloths on a washing line. His trousers were two sizes too big
and secured around his waist by a tie donated by the Salvation Army. His shirt was from them
too, clean when given, but now grimy and stained.
His pullover was of lambswool with holes in the sleeves, insufficient for the bitter winter
night. He shivered as he contemplated spending another night in the rail sidings. It wouldn't be too
hard to find an empty carriage as he'd done in the past three nights since they had banned him
from the hostel for fighting. He would be back there, but it would take time.
He saw a seagull up ahead pecking at a rubbish bin. It squawked angrily as he waved his arms
at it. He eagerly fished out the remains of a Big Mac. It would do until tomorrow anyway.
Where to find some warmth, that was the immediate problem. The railway was a good spot, but
last night he'd been reluctantly thrown out by the security guards. Hadn't they ever been
down on their luck, he mused bitterly.
Faintly in the distance he heard music. It was somehow familiar, something he had heard as a child. As he shuffled along the singing became louder. He could see lights in a building. That must mean warmth and people. Now the words of the song were clear, wafting through the air like the winter mist. "Yes Jesus loves me". Then he remembered. He had heard it in Sunday School forty years before.
Now he was at the entrance. One of two large wooden doors were open. A large man wearing a suit and tie was sitting on a chair near the door. An electric fire was near his feet. He stared at the tramp and said "You can't ..." but no more words came out. The tramp was past him now.
The hall was full but all eyes were on the front. He saw one vacant chair next to the aisle and, bones aching, eagerly flopped onto it. Someone was standing now, and talking. This man looked different, the tramp thought, not at all like the ones who had taught him at Sunday School. He looked scruffy and tough. Maybe he's a guest speaker, the tramp mused. What was he was saying though, "Jesus loves everyone". Me? Even me? The man was talking about a beggar and a rich man. A beggar, that's me, the tramp thought.
Now the man was saying that the beggar and the rich man had both died, yet the beggar was in heaven and the rich man in hell, and there was an enormous chasm between them. Is it true? Must be, the tramp pondered, because he's quoting from that Bible in his hand.
The preacher was saying anyone can go to heaven if they accept and believe in Jesus and follow him. The man on the platform was asking people to do that and walk to the front if they made a decision. He said anyone could do it if they were sincere, didn't matter who they were. The words were piercing.
Slowly the tramp got to his feet and began to walk down the aisle. People stared, some disapprovingly, some smirking but some smiling. He didn't care. He kept on walking. He didn't care what they thought. He was on his way to heaven. END.