I was standing on a subway platform recently, awaiting the #6 for my ride home. It had been a long but very good day. I was ready to see family, to take off my tie and dive into a platter of something incredibly fattening.

Subways are great places for people-watching. There’s a fine line between “staring” and “watching,” and I try not to cross it. Even so, by looking around closely enough you see so many interesting faces, and every one is carrying some story that would fascinate if we only heard.

So, there I stood waiting on the train. Across from me stood a disheveled man with a briefcase. He was probably not nearly as old as he appeared at the end of the day. His coat was over his arm. He wore a hat tilted crookedly on his head. His face was lined with a hundred hard-earned stories from across the years. He looked like a modern-day Willie Loman.

Obviously I didn’t speak. That is crossing the line, being intrusive. But, he spoke. Out of the blue. Unexpectedly. Maybe my eyes accidentally caught his, and he saw that as an opening. I hope in my eyes he saw something that said, “I care.”  I really have no idea. He simply looked at me and uttered four words. Just four. “I am so tired.”  Then the train arrived, and we boarded different cars. I didn’t even have a chance to respond to him.

Maybe someone waiting at home responded. Or someone in a restaurant or a bar. Maybe there was no one to respond, just an empty apartment with a flickering TV. Who knows? I simply know that he articulated, both in appearance and word, what so many so often feel. He was fatigued, perhaps not only with his day but even more so with his life. Was he worn out and burned out? Had he lost hope that it would ever be different? Maybe the train just kept running for him, from one place to another where he tried to make a sale, but never to a place where he found welcome or kindness or hope.

We meet those people. They work with us. They live in our buildings. They sit in our classrooms. They are worn out and burned out, no longer daring to dream that they will find a place of welcome, kindness, and hope. But, there is such a place. We call it “church.”  Many of us call it Marble Collegiate Church. The window facing Fifth Avenue is named “The Welcoming Christ.”  That is the symbol of who we are, indeed, of Whose we are. We are a place that longs to be home for those who need a home – a place of welcome, kindness, and hope. Not everyone will feel comfortable enough to step inside on their own. They will remain “on the platform,” feeling tired and overwhelmed. But, some will respond to a gentle invitation to step from weariness to welcome. So, be aware of those persons. Do some compassionate people-watching. And when you see the weary or worn, invite. That’s a sensitive and compassionate word. Invite someone to come home to a place they’ve never been before and to find there the gifts of rest and renewal, life and love.