The man came in after I had dimmed the lights in the alcove in anticipation of the final part of the service.

We were in the middle of the heaviest rain I've seen in Southern California in some time. It came in bursts and, although our Christmas Eve service usually ends with carols outside, we had decided to stay inside.

Down the hall leading to the bathrooms, a father played with his son. The son had started crying during the service and his mother brought him out to the alcove to avoid disturbing the service. His father came out and relieved her; perhaps he knew that the service meant more to her, or maybe he was just better at calming the boy down.

I'd left the doors from the alcove to the sanctuary open; the boy was playing loudly but his voice wasn't carrying into the sanctuary itself so I just let them be.

The main doors into the alcove from the outside were also open. I like to keep them open during service as a symbol of welcome and despite the rain and wind it wasn't that cold.

Where the church is located, we get homeless at our service from time to time. We welcome them and try to help them if they ask. I can't remember a time when they've ever created a disturbance; they mostly sit quietly in the back.

So I welcomed the man. He didn't say anything, just looked through the doors from the alcove. He didn't want to go in, just stand and watch.

I love the last part of the Christmas Eve service. We give every one a candle as they come in. At the end, while we are singing Silent Night, the pastor walks down the aisle lighting the candles at the start of each row. Each person then lights the candle of the person standing next to them down the row. As the candles are lit, we dim the sanctuary lights so it ends up with just the candle flames in the dark.

I think it's beautiful and I told the man so. I gave him a candle too and we stood together as the pastor came down the aisle.

She came out, smiled at him, lit his candle and walked back to the front.

I stood beside him till the end of the song. Okay, it was partly to make sure he didn't do anything stupid with the flame, but also in brotherhood with a lonely man on a cold wet night.

He turned his head away and cried.

I put my hand on his shoulder. You usually don't touch the homeless; they're pretty picky about being touched, but he just stood there quietly.

And cried.

The song ended, the pastor said her final words of blessing and it was over.

I took the candle from him and blew it out. I had usher duties to see to and went on into the sanctuary. As I left, I heard someone ask him if he needed anything. He wanted a Bible, that's all I heard. When I got back he was gone.

There's more I could have done, there's more I didn't have the resources to give. I touched his shoulder and stood with him as we sang.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Sleep in heavenly peace.