I was hungry and you formed a humanities club to discuss my hunger.
I was imprisoned and you crept off quietly to your chapel to pray for my release.
I was naked and in your mind you debated the morality of my appearance.
What good did that do?
I was sick and you knelt and thanked God for your health.
But I needed you.
I was homeless and you preached to me of the shelter of the love of God.
I wish you'd taken me home.
I was lonely and you left me alone to pray for me.
Why didn't you stay?
You seem so holy, so close to God; but I'm still very hungry, lonely, cold, and still in pain.
Does it matter?