"Jesus Christ!" He screamed as he pulled the tape off his finger, "Jesus Christ!"

It felt like less of a curse and more of a primordial prayer. I winced and looked at him, "Tony you just got to pull it off."

He loosened one layer only to reveal another. "Dude. I'm leaving it. Man I'm gonna pass out. This is freakin' me out."

I shook my head, "You'll lose your finger. You can't leave duct tape on it. Keep pulling."

So here's this guy two months into detoxing off alcohol and heavy drugs and hours earlier he accidentally shot a nail into his finger with a malfunctioning nail gun. The nail was about an inch into his finger and as he pulled it out he couldn't control the bleeding. But he had to keep working. He has six mouths to feed, court fines to pay for all his criminal behavior and back rent to pay. So Tony grabbed a roll of duct tape and tightly wrapped a long piece around his finger.

Originally, the reason I was at their tiny apartment that day had nothing to do with his finger. I got a call from his mom because one of her grandkids had thrown-up all over their one bedroom and she didn't have the stomach to clean it. The family lives off food stamps and food boxes from churches. Unfortunately the food that goes into these boxes is sometimes right on the edge of expiring. They got some bad meat and about half the family got sick. So as I was cleaning carpets Tony walked in cursing about his finger. Now his girlfriend was prodding him to unwrap his swollen finger. "I need to look at it or it's not gonna get better. Then we can wrap it back up…I have more duct tape."

"I don't think so!" I nearly yelled, "I'm leaving right now…going to the store. Don't do anything before I get back except take that tape off."

A few minutes later I walked back into the house and found Tony sitting on the floor soaking his hand. He dried himself off and I held his hand in mine and began to wrap it with gauze and antibiotic cream. The same hand that had beat his wife and children, stuck needles into his veins and poured longnecks down his throat. The pain made him wince and I gently told him that it would be okay. This is one of the ironies of urban work, watching the man become a boy.

And Tony looked at me, "Yeah man, I'm gonna come to that church of yours. Man I'm ready."

His replies were always seasoned with curse words but I didn't seem to notice, "Alright Tony. We'll be there."

This is the man I picked up from the hospital after he had blown out his arm shooting Heroin. The man I sat with after he almost killed his wife in another cruel bout of violence. The man who smokes pot while I'm sitting in his kitchen. The man whose children barely know him sober. This man just told me he wanted to go to church. I know the odds of that actually happening are rather slim, but just the fact that the thought crossed his mind seemed a miracle of Goliath proportions.

My heart was glad. The word God had slipped closer to Tony's heart as something more than a curse word. He had a new, clean splint on his finger. The carpet was cleaner. Dinner was on the table and I still had time to get to the parish to feed the homeless. Average day around here.

And to think, so much of the world pushes Jesus away…but not here, we're nearly frantic for Him.

And I pray like our souls depend upon it…I believe they do. Sweet Jesus, yes we could use some new carpet at Tony's house, I wouldn't mind some more medical tape and that antibiotic cream that helps to take away the pain, their walls have holes in them that go clear outside, the kids need gloves, a food box that's fresh off the grocery store shelves rather than teetering on the edge of the day old rack…and in a pinch, a little extra duct tape is nice. But we could manage a long time without these. We have this far. But I'm quite certain we can't live a moment without You. Because there are 8 solid blocks of concrete and souls that need more than a house cleaning and a little first aid…we need redemption.

And if you came to a stable and slept with not so much between you and the stars surely you can come here. Be among us. On streets where money and poverty meet. City blocks that are ruled by pornography on one side and lavish showrooms on the other. Gang members sitting on stoops and children playing in the streets.

Here Jesus. Can this be your next Bethlehem?