{"id":4572,"date":"2017-02-16T09:37:05","date_gmt":"2017-02-16T15:37:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=4572"},"modified":"2020-09-05T03:38:43","modified_gmt":"2020-09-05T08:38:43","slug":"the-lost-sheep","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/the-lost-sheep\/","title":{"rendered":"The Lost Sheep"},"content":{"rendered":"

Mary Donaldson-Evans<\/a><\/h3>\n

Original Fiction<\/h4>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

O<\/span>n the face of it, the request was simple. Shannon, a long-time parishioner, was ready to be released from the hospital after three months of grueling in-patient treatment for leukemia, and needed a place to stay. She called the church office.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Terry, church secretary, recognized her voice immediately. \u201cHow are<\/em> you?\u201d she asked. Terry administered the church fund set up in Shannon\u2019s name after it came to the rector\u2019s attention that Shannon had no health insurance.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot so great,\u201d Shannon replied. \u201cI mean, the treatments are going okay, and the hospital is prepared to discharge me. But they won\u2019t let me go until I have a place to stay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t you go home?\u201d Terry asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cFurnace is broken, so there\u2019s no heat.\u201d<\/p>\n

A gust of wind rattled the windows next to Terry\u2019s desk. The very thought of living in a house without heat in January sent a shiver through her. \u201cOh dear,\u201d she replied. \u201cBut wait. Isn\u2019t there enough money in the account to get it fixed?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot sure,\u201d Shannon said. \u201cIt might take a while.\u201d<\/p>\n

Terry shifted in her seat and looked over at the rector. When Father Jim drew a question mark in the air, Terry rolled her eyes. \u201cSo what can we do for you, Shannon?\u201d<\/p>\n

The parish had already done more than enough, Terry grumbled to herself. First the fund, generously supported by the parishioners, then the organized visits to the hospital. Plus all the cards, even flowers.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to stay in St. Andrew\u2019s Hall\u2014just until the furnace is fixed,\u201d Shannon said.<\/p>\n

Terry nearly gasped at the audacity of the request. The Good Shepherd Episcopal Church did plenty for people in need, especially through the Ecumenical Hospitality Network, a consortium of churches in and around Chicago that welcomed the working homeless for week-long stays in the church hall, complete with hot meals cooked in turn by volunteers from the parish. But there were rules, the premises to be vacated every morning at seven, beginning and end dates.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, gosh, Shannon, I don\u2019t know if that\u2019d be allowed,\u201d Terry said, hoping Shannon would get the hint. \u201cI\u2019ll speak to Father Jim and get back to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"THE<\/p>\n

Father Jim, the interim rector, was coasting to retirement after the death of his wife two years before. Beloved by the parish, he was a jolly fellow with a loping gait and a somewhat intemperate appreciation for fine food. When friends suggested he should watch his weight and think about getting into shape, he\u2019d laugh and answer, \u201cI am <\/em>in shape. My shape is round.\u201d He realized, of course, that he was not as fit as he could be for a man in his late sixties. He took care not to exert himself too much lest the old \u201cticker\u201d give out. Serving The Good Shepherd during a transitional period seemed like a relatively easy last assignment.<\/p>\n

Until this. When Terry explained Shannon\u2019s request, he knew the vestry would never go for it. But he decided to put it to them anyway, just so the rejection wouldn\u2019t be his alone.<\/p>\n

The vestry voted, and Shannon\u2019s request was ovewhelmingly rejected. Taken by secret ballot, the vote would have been unanimous were it not for a single abstention.<\/p>\n

When Father Jim broke the word to Shannon in a phone call, he heard her deep sigh and trembling voice. \u201cWhat am I going to do?\u201d she asked..<\/p>\n

It was at that moment that Father Jim heard Christ\u2019s words, as clearly as if the Savior were sitting right next to him: \u201cWhatsoever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me.\u201d<\/p>\n

An answer came to him, unbidden, unfiltered, unexamined: \u201cMaybe you could stay in the rectory until your furnace is fixed.\u201d<\/p>\n

A large, Victorian-era house, the rectory was big enough for a family of five or more. In fact, the previous rector had lived there with her husband and three school-aged daughters. When Father Jim moved in on his own, he had barely enough furniture to fill all the rooms. As far as space was concerned, there was no problem housing a needy parishioner for several days\u2014maybe even a week. Father Jim reasoned that he didn\u2019t really need the Vestry\u2019s approval on this plan, any more than he would need their approval if he were going to have a houseguest.<\/p>\n

It suddenly occurred to him that his scheme was probably in violation of Canon Law, but the invitation had been extended. He couldn’t very well take it back.<\/p>\n

On a snowy afternoon in late January, Shannon pulled her old VW bus into the driveway of the rectory and began to unload her belongings. Having expected her to arrive with a suitcase or two at most, Father Jim was a bit alarmed when she hauled out a dozen battered old cardboard boxes. Was she indigent? Father Jim couldn\u2019t remember if her name was among the parish\u2019s pledging members. An interim for only the past three months, he didn\u2019t know everybody\u2019s name yet, let alone who pledged what to the church.<\/p>\n

Father Jim reached for one of the larger boxes and discovered to his surprise that it was much too heavy to be clothing. A trickle of sweat ran down his back and his chest felt tight. For a moment, he thought he was going to have a heart attack. Nevertheless, picking his way through the snow and ice, he carried the box into the rectory without a word. Shannon trailed behind him with a smaller box.<\/p>\n

\u201cFollow me.\u201d Father Jim said. His footsteps drummed heavily on the stairs to the second floor.<\/p>\n

He gave Shannon the master bedroom, the only bedroom with its own bathroom, while he moved into the small guest room on the floor below. If Shannon was touched by his kindness, she didn\u2019t show it.<\/p>\n

It took about half an hour to get all of Shannon\u2019s belongings into her room. Although she was clearly exhausted, Father Jim couldn\u2019t help but notice a gleam in her eye as she looked around the room at the queen-sized bed, the down comforter, the high ceiling, and the large windows that let in a lot of light.<\/p>\n

Father Jim felt a stab of sympathy as he looked at her. The chemo had been rough on her: She had lost all her hair, as well as her eyebrows and eyelashes, and her skin was sallow and blotched. Her clothes hung loosely on her thin frame.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s only three o\u2019clock,\u201d he told her. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you have a lie-down, and when you\u2019re rested, I\u2019ll show you around the house. Then I\u2019ll cook dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

Father Jim headed down the stairs, stooping to wipe the snowy tracks on each step with paper toweling as he did so.<\/p>\n

For Shannon\u2019s first dinner in the rectory, Father Jim made spaghetti and garlic bread with a big tossed salad. Vanilla ice cream would have to do for dessert.<\/p>\n

Father Jim was used to cooking plenty and then freezing the leftovers so he would have labor-free meals later in the week. He watched as Shannon piled her plate high with spaghetti and smothered it with sauce. There’d be no leftovers tonight, that’s for sure.<\/p>\n

But she only played with her food, moving it around the plate. After dinner, most of it ended up in the trash. If there was one thing he couldn’t abide, it was wasted food. As a kid, he had always been made to clean his plate.<\/p>\n

Shannon was sick, he reproached himself.<\/p>\n

\"THE<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t take long for word to get around that someone was staying in the rectory. The VW bus parked in the driveway gave it away.<\/p>\n

Apprised of the situation, Claudia, one of the parishioners, decided to arrange a meal rotation for Shannon so Father Jim wouldn\u2019t have to cook for her every day. \u00a0Seven parishioners agreed to provide a day\u2019s meals for Shannon that they would drop off at the rectory on the evening preceding their assigned day. Breakfast and lunch were simple matters: cereal, sandwiches, cookies, fruit. For dinner, they furnished meals that could be microwaved.<\/p>\n

Shannon was given a shelf in the fridge.<\/p>\n

A week into Shannon\u2019s stay, the food had piled up, and one shelf was no longer sufficient. Father Jim was more than a little vexed one day when Shannon, who had left the house for a doctor\u2019s appointment, returned with chicken McNuggets, french fries, and a large Coke.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about the food that the Johnsons brought in last evening?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019ll get around to that,\u201d Shannon said. \u201cI just felt like some fast food for a change.\u201d<\/p>\n

But she didn\u2019t get around to the Johnsons\u2019 dinner, or the Clarks\u2019 or the Cunninghams\u2019 either, for that matter. She only picked at their offerings, favoring the desserts and the soft drinks, the salty snacks and the granola bars.<\/p>\n

The food began to spoil.<\/p>\n

\u201cShannon, you\u2019re running out of room. I think we need to start throwing some of this food out,\u201d Father Jim said one day.<\/p>\n

Shannon wouldn\u2019t hear of it. Wrappers and containers from food items that didn\u2019t need to be refrigerated littered the house. Father Jim believed it was important to respect Shannon\u2019s privacy, but one afternoon when she was out he noticed an unpleasant odor coming from her room, and he peeked inside. It was a rodent\u2019s paradise.<\/p>\n

An apple core rotted on one of his finest oriental rugs. A half-consumed glass of milk had soured and was spreading its miasma through the room. Sheets on the unmade bed were stained and littered with crumbs. Empty soda cans were stashed in a corner of the room, while styrofoam containers from fast food restaurants covered the desk. The mahogany bedside table was sticky and discolored: Who knows what had been spilled on it?<\/p>\n

The cardboard boxes seemed to be exactly where they had been put down the day Shannon moved in. Although a few had been opened, nothing had been unpacked.<\/p>\n

He closed the door quietly and trudged down the hall to his study. Sitting at his desk, he tried to block out the image of what he had just seen and forced himself to pray.<\/p>\n

But for what? Patience? Wisdom? Tolerance? Mercy? The repair of the furnace so that Shannon would get the hell out of the rectory and he\u2019d have his bedroom back?<\/p>\n

Like a rebuke for his uncharitable thoughts, Christ\u2019s words from The Sermon on the Mount<\/em> came to him: \u201cBlessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Father Jim winced. Obviously, he had a mercy deficit. He was being weighed in the balance and found wanting. Christ had cured the blind, made lepers clean, raised the dead\u2026 All Father Jim was being asked to do was to provide lodging for an ill parishioner for a couple of weeks, and he was finding the burden too heavy. What kind of a Christian was he? What sort of example would he set for the parish if he cast her out?<\/p>\n

Word got back to Father Jim with a very different judgment. As far as most parishioners were concerned, he was being a fool. Once Shannon\u2019s hoarding tendencies became known, whispered disapproval turned into outrage. The anger grew when someone discovered that not only had Shannon spurned their meal offerings in favor of fast food, but she had taken no steps to get the furnace repaired. How long did Shannon expect to stay at the rectory?<\/p>\n

More than a few complained to Father Jim that it seemed to take days rather than hours for him to return phone calls. They made comments about the diminishing frequency of his hospital visits. His sermons weren\u2019t as witty and well-written as before. Something had to be done.<\/p>\n

\"THE<\/p>\n

On a bright, crisp Monday morning, three weeks into Shannon\u2019s stay in the rectory, Julie, one of the younger parishioners, came to talk to Shannon. They used to be friendly before Shannon\u2019s illness, so Julie volunteered to approach her about how she was doing. But the minute Julie saw Shannon wearing stained flannel pajamas that hadn\u2019t seen a washing machine in a long time she knew something was wrong. Shannon slouched in an armchair in the living room, watching Good Morning America and eating Fruit Loops straight from the box.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo how\u2019re you doing, Shannon?\u201d Julie asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay.\u201d Shannon barely took her eyes from the TV screen.<\/p>\n

\u201cChemo all finished now?\u201d Julie asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m due for another chemo treatment next week. Not looking forward to that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh wow. I can imagine.\u201d Julie paused. \u201cSo, what\u2019s up with the furnace?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s broken.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you call someone to fix it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I\u2019ve left messages, but they don\u2019t return my calls.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you like me to try?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you don\u2019t have to do that. I\u2019ll call again this afternoon.\u201d Shannon dug another handful of cereal out of the box.<\/p>\n

\"THE<\/p>\n

A week later, with Shannon still at the rectory and no progress reported on the furnace, Father Jim prayed for Divine Intervention.<\/p>\n

Then Shannon spiked a fever\u2014103.5 degrees. There was no way he could keep her at home in that condition. Shannon was re-admitted to the hospital.<\/p>\n

As she recovered, it was clear that Shannon couldn\u2019t return to the rectory, nor could she be discharged to her own home. One of the parishioners learned from a friend who heard from one of Shannon\u2019s neighbors that her house was uninhabitable\u2014no heat, no water, no electricity. Years of hoarding provided a breeding ground for rodents and cockroaches. The property was condemned.<\/p>\n

The parishioners didn\u2019t give up on Shannon, at least not at first. They investigated homeless shelters, but Shannon needed a place to stay during the day, which made her ineligible. They worked with a local public housing authority to find Shannon lodging and procured forms for her to complete. The forms lay on her bedside table at the hospital, splattered with coffee, but empty of ink. When Father Jim visited her, Shannon couldn\u2019t understand why she couldn\u2019t return to the rectory.<\/p>\n

Father Jim wondered when Shannon had lost all purchase on reality. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders had recently added \u201ccompulsive hoarding\u201d to its list of mental illnesses, but perhaps there was something else going on too, a category ending in \u2013ism, -is or \u2013ic that described her set of symptoms. Unfortunately, despite repeated requests from Father Jim, the hospital elected not to call in a psychiatric consult. The social worker assigned to Shannon was stymied by her refusal to cooperate in planning for her release.<\/p>\n

The priest felt great pain over failing a member of his flock.<\/p>\n

Time passed. Rumors circulated among the parishioners that Shannon had been released from the hospital into the care of a relative. Relative? What relative? As far as anybody knew, she was alone in the world. Had she lied to them?<\/p>\n

Lent came and went. then Easter. The church thrift shop was up and running after its winter hiatus, and members of the parish were busy organizing a bake sale as a fundraiser for the parish youth. The kids\u2019 annual pilgrimage to Canterbury, England was just around the corner.<\/p>\n

Then, one sweltering day in July, Father Jim was walking down Michigan Avenue when he spotted a woman sitting on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign that read \u201cAbandoned in my hour of need. Please help.\u201d Sweat glistened on her face, yet she was covered in filthy blankets. A supermarket cart nearby was filled to overflowing with paper cups, soda cans, plastic bags, a pair of old sneakers, sunglasses missing a bow.<\/p>\n

Leaning over to see if there was something he could do to help, Father Jim recognized Shannon. But she simply stared at him through empty eyes and said nothing.<\/p>\n

Father Jim fished his wallet out of his pocket, found a $20 bill, and dropped it into her plate.<\/p>\n

His heart heavy, his conscience troubled, he paused, but only for a moment. His mind flashed back to Shannon\u2019s room in the rectory that had to be fumigated and cleaned by a professional cleaning service after she left. He shrugged his shoulders, sighed, and continued on his way.<\/p>\n

Then he heard Shannon call him by name. Father Jim felt a rock-hard pit in his stomach. So she had <\/em>recognized him. What words of abuse would she fling at him? Worse, what would she ask of him?<\/p>\n

\u201cGod bless you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
\n

Once a professor of French literature, Mary Donaldson-Evans<\/strong> has transitioned from writing about <\/em>fiction to writing fiction and creative non-fiction of her own. Her creative work has been published in The New York Times <\/em>\u201cMetropolitan Diary,\u201d TheStir@CafeMom, The Lowestoft Chronicle, Diverse Voices Quarterly, Corner Club Quarterly, <\/em>and BoomerLitMag.<\/em><\/p>\n

Image Credit:
\n\u00a9 Alefl04 | Dreamstime.com – Lost Sheep Stained Glass Window Photo<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It was at that moment that Father Jim heard Christ\u2019s words, The Lost Sheep, as clearly as if the Savior were sitting right next to him: \u201cWhatsoever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":4586,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,1],"tags":[176,174,129,15,175,25,124],"class_list":["post-4572","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-original-online-fiction","category-uncategorized","tag-compassion","tag-homeless","tag-illness","tag-love","tag-mercy","tag-short-story","tag-spiritual"],"yoast_head":"\nThe Lost Sheep | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Suddenly Father Jim heard Christ\u2019s words, from The Lost Sheep, as clearly as if the Savior were sitting right next to him. 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