I'm sorry, man standing outside of the church. Holding the little white paper saying "I have three children, please help". I'm sorry we are so metallic-cold and distasteful- that out of a church full of people, only a few even looked your way. Others walk past you like you aren't there, despite the fact that all you ever did was bless them and their families as they neglected you and yours. They're wishing you didn't make them so uncomfortable, when you had to lower your dignity to the point of begging for a little bit of life sustenance from those who are well past well off. I'm sorry that we, the "children of God", don't have the humanity to even acknowledge your existence on Easter, when we are supposed to embrace others. Yet the choking mass goes on its was to nice homes, warm meals and a family they love, while you have your suffering to go through, that they believe you deserve. They are passing around you like a muddy puddle that is unwanted, inconvenient and will get them *****.

I'm sorry I was one of those people. I wanted to give you money but couldn't. I didn't have my own with me. I wanted so badly to help you but I was afraid of my mother thinking I'm gullible or silly. I was afraid of the tears you brought to my eyes then and for the rest of this Easter day. I was startled with the emotions you called out of my being; regret, compassion, guilt, my own shame.  I'm so sorry that instead of helping you up, we kick you while you're down, put a gun to your head and pull the golden trigger.