F*@k You and this Church

On a Monday morning, during one of my first few weeks at Carr Church, I drove into the church’s parking lot and noticed a man sleeping there in one of the Church vans. Having had relatively little experience with the Carr fellowship at the time and being unsure how the pastor would handle the situation, I went into the office and asked the pastor what I should do. She instructed me that if anything were to happen to him while on the church’s ground we would be legally liable and so with her blessing and prayers, my first ministerial moment of the day would be to clear him off the church grounds.
It was not until I reached the parking lot for the second time that I realized how gravely unprepared for the situation I was. As I made my way across the gravel lot, my mind raced with all the worst possible scenarios of this situation. With very little effort, this could easily devolve into a very dangerous situation. To my benefit, I had witnessed and been a part of a number of violent confrontations as a child. Still, it had been a long time since I needed or wanted to defend myself physically. What is more, I was an assistant pastor now. It could not be beneficial for the church if tomorrow’s headline read: Local Pastor Beats-Up Homeless Man. I was wracking my brain to figure out how exactly one knocks on a glass windshield in such a way as to clearly communicate, “It’s time to wake up … I’m sorry you can’t sleep here,” and, “Please don’t break that beer bottle on the curb and stab me to death,” when I reached the van.
It tuned out my plans did not matter, because the gentleman was already awake and climbing out of the van when I arrived. Attempting to appear firm yet graceful, I told him that he could not sleep in here and that he would have to move along. He responded by stumbling farther out of the van and unsuccessfully attempting to balance himself. Encouraged by his compliance, I began to list to him the programs the Carr church offered for the homeless when he projectile vomited onto another car in the parking lot and his own shoes. It was at this point I realized he had not listened or even heard what I had said, but was solely concerned with finding a place other than his bedroom to soil.
Again, this time more forcefully, I told him that he would be unable to sleep here; he would have to leave. Adding this time that he was trespassing and it was not safe to sleep here, I knew instantly that I had gotten his attention, because his gaze wandered up to mine.
“You gonna throw me out of this here church. You think Jesus would throw me out of his church. F*@k You and this Church,” he slurred. And then with no other fanfare he stumbled away and out of the parking lot, stopping only to relieve himself on the side of the church building.