My friend grabbed me immediately after the service. “I finally understand that verse.” A question in my eyes. “The ‘I had no place to lay my head’ verse. Tonight, for the first time, I understand it.”

We were at Saturday night worship the night before Palm Sunday at The Net Fellowship, a church formed by former street children who are graduates of Hope Unlimited’s residential program. Joining the graduates, their families, and members of the community who have become part of The Net were about two hundred children who presently live at the two Hope campuses in Campinas, Brazil.

And we worshipped with those children and young adults, strains of “Hosanna, you are my King,” woven throughout the service as language barriers melted away. We worshipped.

My friend continued, “I learn experientially, and here tonight I finally understood those words of Jesus. He was saying that these are His people. These are the ones He identifies with. These kids didn’t have a home, a place to sleep. They are the ones like Him.”

“These are His people.”

If you are like me, you are less concerned with being conformed to the image of God than you are about recasting Jesus in your own image. I want Jesus to be a middle-class family man — and usually share my political affiliation. Facts are, He wasn’t, and He didn’t.

These are His people.

Are they ours?

Are they yours?