I had just finished a walking tour through Oxford, a city rife with memories of people like Shakespeare, C.S. Lewis, Tokien, William Tyndale and countless others. Ornate college buildings rose up on every side. People of all nationalities clogged the sidewalks as they scurried from store to store, their sacks bulging with brand name apparel and souvenirs. I had just passed “The Eagle and Child” pub and was admiring the spiraling cathedrals when a steady rain began to fall. I pulled out my umbrella when I saw him. A homeless man sat huddled under a blanket in the pouring rain. His shoulders were hunched. An open duffel bag rested near his knees. Its contents boasted a folded tarp, a few paltry coins and an empty soda can. Nothing else. As I passed his slight form, I heard his soft plea. “Could you spare a coin, me love?” I dug through my wallet and handed him a few pounds. His dirt-crusted fingers reached for the coins. “God bless ye.” “God bless you too.” I walked away but my heart twisted. The sights I wanted to see paled in comparison to the emaciated form sitting in the deluge. Whirling back, I walked up…