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I saw Jesus in the parking lot after mass this evening. He was homeless and schizophrenic.

We had a good conversation.

I gave him my late husbands’ old pancho that I had in the car with me. I don’t think he really wanted it. I think he took it to be kind.

He was lonely and worried. He was elderly with faded blue eyes.

“What’s schizophrenic?” He asked me. “Do you think maybe Jesus was schizophrenic?”

He said, “I bet Jesus had a lot of good jokes.”

His name was John Wilkinson.

He knew the Hail Mary and we prayed it together.

He asked if maybe homeless people were God’s chosen ones. I said I bet they are.

He was tired.

He kept talking I think because he was lonely. He cried when I left. I did too.

Some things I will never understand.

We should do better. We should do better than this.

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