The door creaked slightly and the scent greeted him. He called it the Holy Spirit scent. Many churches had it. Others didn’t. Tonight he was glad for it. Ever since the troubles, churches had found themselves in a different place, a place requiring a larger faith than they had ever experienced. It was good, but it was hard, too. The sifting had left them smaller than ever. It was clear that depth of faith mattered more than numbers through the door, but you’d have to be crazy to not miss the large fellowship. He prayed again one request: just an extra soul at the manger tonight. One single soul won out of the many lost. The longing ended in a sigh, then a tired smile. At least the Holy Spirit scent had stayed. If only he could witness it’s miraculous work!

It was Christmas Eve. The worship team had arrived early and someone had put on the coffee. He placed the plate of cookies his wife had sent ahead with him next to the disposable coffee cups, unlocked his office door, shrugged out of his coat, and picked up tonight’s message. It would be short. To the point. A timeless story of the event that changed the world and the world’s chances of heaven. It was what was needed now. No jokes, though they could all use some laughter; no cultural tripe, though some might love to hear it; but hope. And truth.

Someone walked past his door. He recognized the black jacket, a four inch tear on the left seam. The man had stood outside the church off and on for a month. One time the minister had called out the door for the stranger to come in from the cold for a hot cup of coffee, but the man had pulled up his collar and quickly walked away. He shot up a quick prayer for him, but he had a nagging feeling. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.

Cold air rushed in as the entrance door opened and attendees filtered in. Families, friends, and singles dotted the sanctuary as Christmas music softly echoed over the pews.

As he walked to the pulpit, the man in the black jacket shrugged uncomfortably as though he meant to take it off, then thought better of it. And again. The minister began his short homily, attendees’ eyes shone with anticipation, and the stranger fidgeted. And the scent – the Holy Spirit scent – grew stronger. Strange. That hadn’t happened before.

“. . . The event we celebrate so gloriously this time of year was as expansive as the cosmos and as intentional as a train whistle. It started in simple surroundings so that each of us could approach it in a way we could understand. Some come to the manger with the eyes of a child. Some, with jaded sight, like perhaps, some of the shepherds or the innkeeper, himself. And some with humble beauty, like the wise men did later on. So you see, at this very moment in history – what scripture calls ‘in the fullness of time’ . . .”

The man in the black coat stood and, as though driven by an unknown force, the minister stepped into the aisle, away from his notes, and continued, “It’s hard for us to grasp, isn’t it? The fullness of time. Because we are used to not having to wait. We grow impatient.” What was he saying? Nothing he’d planned.

“Our questions remain unanswered. We become angry. Maybe even defiant. It doesn’t occur to us that it could be because we’re not yet ready to hear the answer. But God, Who is patient with us beyond reason . . .”

The man stepped into the aisle. The minister continued walking slowly toward him. The Holy Spirit scent increased.

“He watches us. And waits so very patiently. We might even sense it, but choose to ignore it. Even run from it. And if we run, He waits at the place where we run to.”

The minister stopped in front of the stranger. “He’s waiting for you, you know.”

The man fled, and it was only then that the minister saw the butt of a gun peeking out of his coat pocket. The minister wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow. What had just happened?

He led the congregation in a prayer for wandering souls on dark streets. They finished with Silent Night sung in quavering voices and left without eating his wife’s cookies.

One more night his prayer was unanswered, thought the minister as he pulled out of the parking lot. What had he been thinking? He had chased the stranger away!

And beyond the candlelight of the darkened church, the Holy Spirit scent reached a lost soul just outside the door, obscured by the night.

Images: pexels-nikolett-emmert-10385833.jpg; pexels-rahul-695644.jpg; Love Came Down at Christmastime and Come, Messiah! by Connie Miller Pease @ http://bit.ly/2y1z08E