Last night "The Boy" phoned while he was waiting for his pizza to finish cooking. It had been a busy week at work. My son works on Capitol Hill as a congressional aide to a liberal Democrat from a big midwestern city that has its share of poor people.
They'd spent the week pondering the ramifications of the current mortgage crisis and, in particular, trying to devise relief for people who rent in a property that is foreclosed. He said, "For example, if you had an apartment in your basement, and I rented it, and you got foreclosed on your mortgage, I'd be out on the street the very next day." Most renters -- heck, most people, I'd venture to say -- don't have a cash reserve large enough to come up with a security deposit and first month's rent and moving costs on one day's notice. So Andrew and his colleagues were trying to anticipate this problem and find some help.
A couple of years ago his work involved trying to find a way to establish credit ratings for renters who lacked credit; the plan was to make it possible for credit agencies to learn that yes, this person paid his electric bill on time and yes, this person paid his rent on time, and yes, therefore, this person was perhaps creditworthy.
I've always loved Isaiah 57:1-12 and hope someone reads it at my funeral. Maybe Andrew could do that. Because I want to tell you, I most definitely am not worried about Andrew because he isn't a regular churchgoer. He's not just talking the talk. He's making a difference, one poor person at a time.