Christmas Story

I didn’t brave the frigid temperature 
to attend the Christmas Eve liturgy. 
I went to the 10:30 a.m. Eucharist 
when it was marginally warmer. 
Driving slowly, carefully home, I saw 
in the Medical Building’s entrance, 
a man was surrounded by his stuff. 
I’d once noticed someone sleeping there. 
However will he endure this cold? 
The Salvation Army is on this block. 
Should I stop to tell them about him? 
Old, widowed church ladies don’t 
take in homeless men for Christmas. 
But perhaps, my sisters, we should. 
Perhaps this is St. Joseph who 
first shepherded Mary and her babe 
to the Catholic’s warming center. 
Maybe he is Jesus whom yearly 
we hymn in beauty by candle light 
then leave to freeze to death 
on some anonymous doorstep.