Kissed on the cheek by Christ

I saw Jesus today.
Under some trees by the Arby's
with alcohol and cigarettes and who-knows-what-else on the breath
and grateful arms reaching out
and lips kissed my cheek.

All I had was a too small offering
for Christ
whom I found there
under those trees,
waiting for me
with hope
to see if I was as good as my parking-lot word.

You just never know, these days, if someone's word is true,
so it was with true joy
that Christ greeted me
as I brought
a flimsy
Walmart bag:
trail mix,
coca cola
and some granola bars and a
ten dollar bill.
Not gold or frankincense or myrrh,
just easy-to-carry food
on a too-hot Kentucky day.

Small offering indeed for the
King of Kings,
sweaty,
who had not showered in days
and alcohol, cigarettes on the breath.

But Jesus kissed my cheek
and I did not realize it
until blogging
I saw a picture of a Greek priest
giving greeting.

And I realized that even in Kentucky
kissing means something.
Peace.

And I am utterly unworthy
for such an embrace
and for the rest of the day
my energy was somehow spent.