Tragedy

This morning a drunk came to my door and asked for help. He was a sorry sight, dirty, sick, long hair and worn out clothes. I quickly went to get him some food. He was very unappreciative, so I determined that he owed me a little information about himself. In slurred, slow speech he told me his name didn't matter to anyone. I told him that he needed more than physical food, that he needed the Bread of Life to fill his empty soul. He was very offended at this, hurtling curses loudly my way, then He exclaimed,

I serve Jesus; He's my King!

This contradiction interested me, so I asked him if he knew the way to Heaven.  He looked me in the eye and said angrily, "Look, you are destined to serve Trinity.  Me... I serve Tragedy!"  He went on to explain how tragedy sticks to people like himself.  I said that Jesus died to take away tragedy and give us real life.  He clenched his fist and repeated angrily, "Tragedy!  Tragedy!"

I said, God loves you and sent his son Jesus to die for you, but you have to repent of your sins and accept Him as Saviour.

He stood up, wobbling, and cursed vehemently as he walked away.  The next time Tragedy comes to my door, I'll simply hand him so food and say, "Jesus loves you."  Tragedy may remember those three words and be saved, but likely I will never meet him in Heaven, because of his name.  Who named him that anyway?