Miners, Jews and Evangelical Christians
A minor miracle occurred this week: 33 Chilean coal miners were rescued after being trapped underground since August 5 – including 17 days without being able to get word to the surface that they had survived the initial mine collapse.
As the men emerged from the earth on Tuesday, they were wearing t-shirts reading “gracias, Seňor” – “thank the Lord.”
The shirts were a gift from an organization called the Jesus Film Project, a ministry of Campus Crusade for Christ International, based in Orlando, Florida.
Jesus Film Project had distributed the shirts to the miners by contacting the family of Jose Henriquez, an evangelical Christian preacher and one of the 33 men trapped in the mine.
Henriquez had helped keep the men in good spirits during the ordeal.
On the back of the shirts was a verse from Psalm 95: “In G1d’s hand are the depths of the earth; the peaks of the mountains are G1d’s.”
The dramatic rescue of the Chilean coal miners demonstrates how a good story can captivate a global audience from Santiago to Malawi.
It also shows the reach and influence of evangelical Christianity – once, Latin America was the exclusive domain of the Roman Catholic Church.
No longer – today, the evangelical movement can get its branded t-shirts to the epicenter of the global news cycle in time to be featured on everyone’s tv, laptop, or smart phone.
The story of the miners and the way they turned to G1d in their ordeal evokes the so-called “coal miners’ prayer” of the original union prayer book of the reform movement.
What’s more, Psalm 95 is found in the opening passages of the Shabbat service recited by Jewish congregations around the globe for centuries.
Beginning in the 1990s and especially with the ascension to the presidency of evangelical Christian George w. Bush, the American Jewish community has encountered evangelical Christian support for Israel.
It is an unfamiliar phenomenon, puzzling or even alarming to many of us.
Evangelical support manifests itself in financial donations, political support for Israel in American policy, and moral and charitable support for Israeli Jews and offers of similar support for the American Jewish community.
Right here in St. Louis, within a month of the end of Israel’s 2006 Lebanon War, some 250 evangelical Christians gathered in Clayton to express solidarity and donated $23,700 for Israeli families injured or dislocated by the fighting.
Political groups like Christians United for Israel promise unconditional support for Israel on Capitol Hill.
According to Rabbi Yechiel Eckstein, founder and president of the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, the group has given 100 million dollars to charitable causes in Israel in the last 12 months alone.
This week’s Torah portion, lekh l’kha, is not the beginning of the book, but it is the beginning of the Jewish narrative.
In the magnificent opening verse of our portion, G1d abruptly speaks to Abram (who will soon become known as Abraham), telling him, “lekh l’kha” – get yourself up, from your native land, and from your father’s house, and your birthplace, to the land that I will show you.”
G1d then apparently broke into song, as the verses take on a poetic cast – “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and you shall be a blessing.
I will bless those that bless you, and curse him that curses you; and all the families of the earth shall bless themselves by you.”
It can be astonishing just how literally some Christians take those verses.
Visitors to Jerusalem during the Festival of Sukkot will be treated to the spectacle of groups of Christian visitors from countries as far flung as Denmark, Colombia, and Japan marching in the municipal parade, invoking G1d’s blessing on their countries through blessing the stock of Abraham.
The American Jewish community is deeply ambivalent about Evangelical Christian support and alliances.
We have reacted in one of two basic modes: (1) eeek! And (2) “we need all the friends we can get.”
There are a few variations on eek! Mode:
Eek, they’re only out to convert us (or our children); and/or
Eeek, they only want to provoke Armegeddon with Israel’s rab neighbors and/or global Jihad; and/or
Eek, the evangelical social agenda is in many ways directly across the political line of scrimmage from the Jewish one, particularly the reform Jewish agenda – school prayer, abortion, legal protection for members of the LGBT community… the list of fights goes on and on.
On the other hand, the idea that “with enemies like these, we need all the friends we can get” has its proponents in the Jewish community, too, among a fairly broad political and denominational range.
In Israel, there is no ambivalence about evangelical Christian support.
Israel does not perceive itself as having the luxury of questioning what little international support it does have.
(Some wag said that Jews are democrats, Israelis are republicans.)
So what’s this got to do with lekh l’kha?
Well, we are surrounded tonight by tangible evidence of our congregation’s commitment to interfaith dialogue.
Not to mention, we are surrounded by proof of just how important the fruits of interfaith dialogue and understanding or at least respect and trust can be.
But some of those “eek!” responses have their merits.
Therefore, we, the American Jewish community should neither write off evangelicals nor accept support too freely.
We should engage in dialogue – and we at Temple Emanuel are well positioned to do so at the local level.
There are at least three motivations for evangelical support for Jewish causes.
I’m going to label these –first, eschatological; second, patriotic; and third, spiritual.
On a scale of 1 to 3, with 1 being worst and 3 being best, these are… first, eschatological; second, patriotic; and third, spiritual.
Eschatological means having to do with the end of days, final, climactic battles between good and evil, the arrival of the Messiah, and a day of judgment.
Most of the mode of Jewish response that I labeled “eek!” is due to a perception of support that is motivated by eschatological concerns: that the Christians only want us to convert, whether out of their own sincere imperative to spread the gospel or whether something darker, hoping to provoke an Armegeddon that will result in the final coming of the Messiah – who they believe to be Jesus.
Such concern is justifiable.
There is indeed an amount of evangelical support that comes from eschatological world views.
But the great thing about theology is that we can change it as often as we change our socks.
The pride and joy of Liberty University, founded by moral majority leader Jerry Falwell is its debate team, which routinely competes against teams of undergraduates from Ivy League colleges, the Stanfords and Carnegie Mellons of the country.
Liberty U’s debate program proves that however staunch they may be in their beliefs, evangelical Christians are capable of intellectual inquiry.
Besides, if evangelicals are motivated by a desire to proselytize, that’s a great question to bring to the table for interfaith discussion – when is proselytizing acceptable and when not?
The second motivation for evangelical support for Israel is the patriotic motivation.
Evangelicals are likely to be highly loyal to the United States (because, ironically, they’ve benefited from the separation of church and state just as Jews have).
Evangelicals are aware of the close alliance between the United States and the state of Israel, the democratic nature of Israeli society, and common values of our two nations.
They want what’s best for the security and welfare of the United States, and therefore they want what’s best for Israel.
This, too, reveals some fairly rich soil for the seeds of interfaith dialogue.
The evangelical community is criticized, in some cases quite rightly, for supporting only the right wing of the Israeli political spectrum, and for attempting to block any attempt to relinquish Israeli sovereignty over land conquered in 1967.
It’s worth having a discussion with what might be called the AIPAC wing of Christian Zionism, over Israel’s long-term security interests.
It’s also worth noticing that there’s little legitimate daylight between our communities over the issue of Iran’s nuclear ambitions and the dangerous ravings of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
Finally, there is the third motivation, the spiritual motivation.
Evangelical Christians take Genesis 12:3 very seriously, and for some, maybe even the majority of evangelicals, the desire to attain G1d’s blessing by blessing the Israelites is the entire motivation.
Quite amazingly, there is no hidden agenda, just a sincere desire to obtain G1d’s blessing.
There is a vast acreage here of common ground waiting to be discovered.
Israeli-American essayist, political analyst, and gadfly Ze’ev Chafetz writes in his book, A Match Made in Heaven: “For now, they are not the enemy but the enemy of the enemy and they want to be accepted and appreciated.
In return, they are offering wartime alliance and full partnership in a Judeo-Christian America.
It is an offer the Jews of America should consider while it is still on the table.”
We have every reason to be concerned about Chafetz’s implicit characterization of “the enemy,” and about a Judeo-Christian America in an era of increasing American Muslim presence.
Still, his point is valid.
The experience of the Chilean miners shows that there are risks in maintaining our aloof posture.
Evangelical Christianity is a global force, smart, confident, assertive, adaptable, and fast.
The American Jewish community has much to gain by taking a closer look, by seeing it is not a monolith, and by opening channels of dialogue toward a more mutually respectful and beneficial partnership where possible.
Keyn y’hi ratzon.
So may it be G1d’s will.
Gracias, Senor; Sermon, 2010 Oct 15, 7th Cheshvan 5771, Temple Emanuel, St. Louis, MO
The Baptism of Jesse Taylor (His Faith Made Him Well)
I love Johnny Russell’s songs, and my favorite Johnny Russell song is “The Baptism of Jesse Taylor” (click here to listen). The first person I ever baptized was a man who, in many ways, reminds me of “Jesse Taylor,” so, I’ll just call him “Jesse.”
Jesse lived a hard life. Just a few years older than me, I’m not sure if he even finished high school. He did a lot of things he shouldn’t have, got involved with things he shouldn’t have, and he spent time in jail.
But eventually, he started to put the pieces of his life back together. He was a very good handyman, especially at painting.
People in our town, who had known Jesse since birth and knew his entire family, were willing to help him out. He stayed busy – some people needed some rooms painted in their house. Some needed outside painting done on their house. The church needed some painting here and there. A trained electrician, people called on him to help with some wiring, lighting and things. A good plumber, he installed new faucets for us at the church parsonage.
Jesse carried his tools around town in a pick-up truck and was accompanied by his trusted sidekick, a loyal and very sweet old dog named “Yeller.” Jesse seemed to truly enjoy his work, and he was very good at it – which meant he was often a dirty, unkempt, rough-looking handyman.
But, “Jesse Taylor” was one of the gentlest, kindest, most soft-spoken people I had ever met. And, he was one of the most gracious and merciful people I have ever met.
Jesse was thankful. Jesse was thankful everyday just to be alive. Jesse was thankful everyday that he didn’t have to be in jail anymore; thankful that God loved him when he was at his very worst; and thankful that God loved him when he trying as hard as he could to be his very best.
There were still a few folks in town, and even a few folks in the church, who still looked down on Jesse and treated him suspiciously. In their eyes, he simply was always going to be somewhat of a “lesser-than” person, a bit of an outcast.
Jesse, though, didn’t hold anything against anybody. Jesse became as accepting of and gracious to people he encountered as Christ had been so totally accepting of and gracious to him.
Luke’s Gospel tells about ten lepers who called out for mercy as Jesus was walking by. He instructed them to get up and go see the priests. As they were going on their way to do just that, they were healed. Luke stresses the ethnicity of one of those ten now-ex-lepers – a Samaritan. When the Samaritan realized that he was healed, he turned around and returned to Jesus, praising God the whole way. Jesus makes sure everyone knows that the other nine did not return; but the one who did was considered of a lower race, second-or-third-or-fourth class person who probably deserved to have leprosy anyway.
It is to this one that Jesus says, “Your faith has made you well.” The other nine were healed, to be sure, yet it is implied that only this one was “made well.”
I often wonder if many of us as Christians are like those other nine … taking our grace for granted; maybe because we secretly believe we deserve it – even when we say we don’t. How can we tell? Perhaps by how much grace we are willing to extend to others, or how much we withhold from others whom we “know” do not deserve it. I wonder if many of us as Christians, like those other nine ex-lepers, may be healed or redeemed, but we do not have the faith through which we will be “made well.”
Clearly, to me, “Jesse Taylor” was like that one who returned. Like the Samaritan, he was always going to be considered “not good enough” by some standards – always a convict, or “white trash,” or worse. Yet it was Jesse, far more than many of us, whose faith had “made him well.” How can we tell? By his giving out grace and compassion to others without restraint; just as God had poured out unrestrained grace and compassion upon him.
And it all starts with awe-filled gratitude to God. There’s something about being overwhelmed by God’s unconditional love that leads a person to unconditionally accept and love others.
The Samaritan wasn’t just healed; his faith had made him well. “Jesse Taylor” wasn’t just redeemed; his faith had made him well.
Here’s that we, too, may not just be healed, but that by our faith we may be made well.
And, thanks be to God for both Johnny Russell and “Jesse Taylor” who are now fully welcomed, loved, and healed, in heaven.
© Bert Montgomery, October 2010
What is Hateful to You, Do Not Do to Another.
I will start with a story that many of you may already know.
The two great luminaries of the late first century BCE Jewish world were Hillel and Shammai. One day a non-Jew came to Shammai and said, “If you will teach me all of Torah while I stand on one foot, I will become a Jew.” Shemmai, who was working on a project at the time, took the ruler he had in his hand and pushed the man away.
The man then went to Hillel and offered the same deal. Hillel replied, “What is hateful to you, do not do to another. That is the whole Torah. The rest is commentary-go and learn it.” (Adapted from the Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a)
I do not want to understate the importance of the “go and learn it”, but my theme this evening is “What is hateful to you, do not do to another.”
When I was ten years old, a fifth grader, there was a boy in my class. I cannot remember his name and only vaguely remember what he looked like. In those days, things like cooties and similar stuff were taken seriously and, it was whispered, this boy had cooties and every manner of flaw. He was isolated and picked on mercilessly.
Looking back, I can see no reason for this singling out of one boy for mental cruelty and bullying. Perhaps he looked just a little odd or was quiet. I really have no idea. Yet the banter and gossip was enough that he gave me the willies. I had an actual physical reaction when I came near him in the form of queasiness- as if he really was some disgusting vessel of disease or plague.
I will admit that one time, I saw him walking home from school and I tried to play the bully myself. I wanted to be just like my friends and one of the guys. I felt bad when I tried my bit of shoving and teasing and horrible afterward. That afternoon, sitting at home, I decided that I would try to be nice instead of cruel. There was no moral or ethical theory in my 10 year old brain. Rather, there was a sense of wrongness in my child’s heart. I think the fact that I still feel some guilt over my attempt at cruelty tells you what an impression it made.
I kept to my resolution. I made it a point to always greet him and say hello and smile, even though I still had a physical desire to shy away from him. This happened in the spring of the year. I would like to think that I would have continued reaching out to him and we might have become friends. However, the next year, after a family move, I was at a new school and it was my turn to be the reviled outsider. I truly learned about “what is hateful to you, do not do to another.” I took some comfort, during my own experience, that I had already rejected the role of bully before I found myself in the role of victim.
My story tells us a little bit about the power of gossip, rumor, and innuendo. I had a physical reaction to that poor boy just because of listening to what was being said about him. The Talmud has much to say about gossip. It asks, “why is gossip like a three-pronged tongue? Because it kills three people: the person who says it, the person who listens to it, and the person about who it is said.” (Babylonian Talmud, Arakhin 15b)
It is said that tana recited before R. Nahman ben Isaac: “A person who publicly shames his neighbor is like someone who has shed blood.”
To which R. Nahman answered, “You have spoken well. I have seen that when someone is shamed, the color leaves his face and he becomes pale.”
Abbaye asked R. Dimi, “What do people in Palestine most carefully avoid?”
He answered, “Putting others to shame.”
The text later goes on to state, “It would be better for a man to throw himself into a fiery furnace than publicly put his neighbor to shame.” (Babylonian Talmud Bava Mezia 58b-59a)
It is well to think, concerning gossip or spreading tales about others, “how would I feel if people were speaking of me this way?”
What is hateful to you, do not do to another.
We have seen in the story from my childhood how rumor and shaming made one innocent boy’s life a misery and how such rumors poison those who listen and those who tell. Who among us has not read numerous stories in the news of young people driven by cruel words to suicide? How many of us have heard of those whose reputations and lives were destroyed by whispers or even bold assertions of lies, half truth, maliciously interpreted truth? We see it every day on so called news shows. The venomous tongue of the oft repeated accusation, even it is merely to say, it was reported in thus and such source that so and so….
Do we have a responsibility to speak out against gossip, public shaming, and innuendo? In the Perkei Avot, R. Eliezer says, “Let the honor of your fellow be as dear to you as your own.” (Avot 2:15) This is explained in the Fathers according to R. Nathan (chap. 15), “How so? This teaches that even as one looks out for his own honor, so should he look out for his fellow’s honor. And even as no man wishes that his own honor be held in ill repute, so should he wish that the honor of his fellow not be held in ill repute.”
Thus, we must try to protect the reputations of others. Indeed, even if they are different from us. A favorite saying of the rabbis of Yavneh was:
I am a creature of G-D and my neighbor is also a creature of G-D.
I work in the city and he works in the country.
I rise early for my work and he rises early for his work.
Just as he cannot excel at my work, I cannot excel at his work.
Will you say that I do great things and he does small things?
We have learned it does not matter if a person does much or little, as long as he directs his heart to heaven. (Babylonian Talmud Berakhot 17a)
What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. Do not gossip about or shame him or her, defend his or her honor, and respect your fellow, even if he or she is quite different from you.
Now what has been said about individuals can be said about groups of people.
Consider how we Jews have been treated over the years. We were spoken about as the source of all the world’s troubles. It was said that we poisoned the wells, causing plague-even when we too were dying of plague. People knew we made our matzah with the blood of Christian children, even when Bishops proclaimed it ridiculous because Jews did not eat blood of any kind. Later we were somehow both the nexus of predatory capitalism and the spreader of world communism, even when banks owned by Jews were rare and the leaders of Communist countries espoused antisemitism. We were and are accused of controlling the media when our influence is limited.
No matter what facts or counter arguments were brought to bare, truth could not batter down the oft repeated lies of gossip and hate mongering. Even in our own republic, until fairly recently, we were denied our rights because of this ill will and ill repute generated of years of lies and ignorance.
The historian Jonathan Sarna reports that it took an act of the legislature of the State of Connecticut to get permission to build a synagogue in New Haven in 1843. There was outrage among some in the Christian community. The New Haven Register editorialized: “The Jews have outflanked us here, and effected a footing in the very centre of of our own fortress. Strange as it may sound, it is nevertheless true that a Jewish synagogue has been established in this city-and their place of worship was dedicated on Friday afternoon. Yale College divinity deserves a Court-martial for bad generalship.”
The same story was repeated in Washington D.C. Where the congress had to intervene to allow the construction of a Synagogue in 1856. Later, once attempts to ban the building of synagogues on the overt basis of them being Jewish institutions became unacceptable, other reasons were brought forward, from issues of traffic to the fact that synagogues would attract rats. Dr. Sarna reports such arguments being made as late as 1999 in New Rochelle, NY. Fortunately, as the acts of various zoning boards and legislatures have shown, our Christian fellow citizens followed the version of Hillel’s dictum propagated by Jesus of Nazareth, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” (Mat. 7:12) and granted us the right to build houses of worship just as they cherished the right to do the same.
Even the issue of respect and sensitivity was raised against Jewish worship. After the Battle of Iwo Jima in 1945, several Protestant chaplains felt that it was inappropriate for a rabbi to take part in an interfaith service and pray over Christian dead. In the end, three separate ceremonies were held, Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish. Some of the Protestant clergy held fast to the teaching of Jesus and, in protest, attended the service conducted by Marine Chaplain Rabbi Roland Gittelsohn rather than the Protestant service. Here is part of what Rabbi Gittelsohn said.
We dedicate ourselves, first, to live together in peace the way they fought and are buried in this war. Here lie men who loved America because their ancestors generations ago helped in her founding, and other men who loved her with equal passion because they themselves or their own fathers escaped from oppression to her blessed shores. Here lie officers and men, negroes and whites, rich men and poor–together. Here no man prefers another because of his faith or despises him because of his color. Here there are no quotas of how many from each group are admitted or allowed. Among these men there is no discrimination. No prejudices. No hatred. Theirs is the highest and purest democracy.
Any man among us the living who fails to understand that will thereby betray those who lie here dead. Whoever of us lifts up his hand in hate against a brother, or thinks himself superior to those who happen to be in the minority, makes of this ceremony and of the bloody sacrifice it commemorates, an empty, hollow mockery. To this, then, as our solemn, sacred duty, do we the living now dedicate ourselves: to the rights of Protestants, Catholics and Jews, of white men and negroes alike, to enjoy the democracy for which all of them here have paid the price.
What is hateful to you, do not do unto others.
We have been told that there is a certain people scattered about and dispersed among the peoples in all the states of the Republic; and their laws are different from those of our country therefore it is not good for the country to suffer them. I am speaking, of course, of Muslims. We are told they are all alike. Any moderation coming out the Muslim community is a ruse, any evidence of good citizenship is a trick. And the gossip and innuendo take their toll. We are given quotes out of context and separated from their interpretive tradition; we are told that Osama bin Laden is right and that the version of Islam he espouses is the only true Islam; is Islam. And like children told repeatedly that he has cooties or she is stinky, we shudder in revulsion and fear.
What is hateful to you, do not do to another.
I do not doubt that there are those who have an honest emotional upset at the Park51 project, yet there were certainly Christians who had a problem with a rabbi praying over their battle dead. Yet the hysteria that has arisen over this barely started and unfunded project has spread to other states and cities where the argument of the sacredness of downtown Manhattan cannot be raised. There have been acts of violence against individuals and acts of vandalism against building sites. Is Murfreesboro, TN so sacred that a Muslim community center and mosque cannot be built there?
I am heart sick for America. Where is the toleration and respect for the individual of George Washington, who said in his instructions for hiring men to work at Mount Vernon, “If they are good workmen, be they of Assia [sic], Africa, or Europe. If they may be Mahometans [Muslims], Jews, or a Christian of any sect or they may be Atheists”?
We are bigger than this, both as Americans and Jews. How we have let winged rumor fly carrying the three-pronged poison tongue of gossip and slander. How we have let fear overtake our ideals and better selves to cause outrage over a community center and house of prayer to boil over into rage and hatred.
What is hateful to you, do not do to another.
We do not have to look back very far in time to when we were the ones whose religion was incompatible with democracy and freedom. When we were the ones whose conspiracies threatened freedom and well being. When we were the ones who, in putting our synagogues in proximity to Christian sites, were being insensitive and selfish. Oh, well I know that few, if any, reputable commentators say that the Park51 project should be stopped on legal grounds. Instead, they say, in all sincerity that it is a question of sensitivity. Yes, following the unspoken subtext that all Islam is alike and this community center and mosque is victory mosque rather than the next natural step of a growing Muslim community whose children have lost their lives in service to the Republic.
Let us not forget that we are required to defend the reputation of our fellow. We are not allowed to be silent.
I beg you this evening, as we enter the days of awe, look into your heart. Be it regarding another individual, a small group of people or a large group of people, whether you need consider your words or your action, or your silence or your inaction, think how you would feel in the other’s place. Remember history, the history of our people and of our nation. Remember the ideals of Judaism and the founding fathers. And always, always remember:
What is hateful to you, do not do to another. That is the whole Torah. The rest is commentary-go and learn it.
A sermon for Rosh HaShanah Eve 2010, September 8, 2010, Erev 1 Tishri, 5771, by Rabbi Seth F. Oppenheimer
The Learning Curve of Forgiveness
Then Peter came up and said to him, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven. (Matthew 18:21-23 ESV)
I’m among the fortunate people. I grew up in a home in which Christian principles were understood as the foundation for all of life. Dad and Mom taught me early to be nice and that forgiving those who wronged me was part of what being nice meant.
During my early childhood, forgiveness came easily. I learned both to forgive and to ask to be forgiven. Doing so was no problem until I entered the second grade. That was about the time that my pudginess became of interest to a handful of schoolyard bullies. Their constant efforts to make fun of the “fat boy” became worse when I got my first pair of glasses about midway through the year. Being called “fatty four-eyes” became a daily experience. Everyday I could count on Jackie and his cronies to come after me at recess. Did I really have to forgive these guys? If so, how often?
One Sunday our Bible lesson at church included Peter’s question to Jesus and Jesus’ answer to Peter. How, I wondered, was a kid supposed to keep track of forgiveness up to 490 times? Once Jackie and his cronies had received their 490th forgiveness, what then?
Once I entered the Junior Sunday school class (ages 9-12), my dad became my teacher. He told us that Jesus’ seventy times seven wasn’t about keeping track. It was, he told us, a way of saying that Christians were to just keep on forgiving. Being Christian demanded more than I had thought.
Looking back at those days, it seems to me that over time forgiving others became easier. I now realize that part of what made it easy was that the wrongs done to me were not all that awful. The real test was yet to come.
The test came when I was in my early thirties when I discovered that my dad, whom I had seen as a pillar of virtue, was involved in an affair. I was angry and disappointed. I confronted my dad. I listened to his explanations and excuses and became angrier. The affair lasted for years. As I watched what was happening to our family, Dad and I grew farther and farther apart. After years of this, I finally realized that I had a choice. I could have a relationship with the Dad I had but not the Dad I wanted him to be. “I have to forgive him,” I told myself.
In forgiving Dad, I learned the real meaning of Jesus’ response to Peter. Forgiveness is not a one-time experience. When the wrong done is great and the subsequent pain deep, forgiveness has to happen again and again each time the pain resurfaces, each time a new disappointment is experienced.
Amazingly, it was my Dad who became my best teacher about the nature and consequence of forgiveness. In August of 1998, Dad was the victim of shooting that left him partially paralyzed for the remaining eight years of his life. A year after the shooting, I stood beside Dad as he faced the shooter, held out his right hand to him, and said, “Terrell, I hate what you’ve done to me, but I don’t hate you. I forgive you and pray that the rest of your life can be as good as possible.” That act of forgiveness set three men free that day: a father, a son, and a convicted criminal.
A few months before Dad died in 2006, he and I talked about the encounter with Terrell. I commented to Dad that his act of forgiveness seemed to have set him free to live well after the shooting. Dad responded, “It wasn’t an act of forgiveness. I’ve had to forgive Terrell over and over again. Each time I’ve encountered something I couldn’t do that I’d always been able to do before the shooting and each time the pain in my leg flared up, I had to revisit the forgiveness and do it again.”
In the years between the shooting and his death, Dad ended the affair and he and Mom rebuilt their relationship and discovered anew the love they had for each other. At Dad’s request, I preached his funeral, acknowledging the affair and the pain it brought to so many and celebrating the wholeness that came through forgiveness and the repentant life Dad lived in his final years.
And we lived happily ever after . . . not quite. Dad was right. Forgiveness is not a one-time act. It is an act that must be repeated each time the memory recalls the wrong and the resulting pain.
Forgiving those who wrong us is not a matter of accounting (seventy times seven). It is a way of life. It is the way to find life in the midst our own brokenness and in the midst of the broken world in which we live.
Katrina Recollections: Darla Digirolamo LeBlanc
I honestly don’t remember when I met first Darla or her family. I was ten years old – that much I know for sure because that’s how old I was when we moved to Destrehan, and when we started attending the First Baptist Church of Norco. Darla, her sisters, and her parents were active at FBC. Darla’s family and my family got along well; being some of the few Tulane Green Wave fans sprinkled among the throngs of LSU Tiger fans, we bonded together in our suffering (and our occasional celebrating). Long after my parents moved my sister and me to West Tennessee, we would bump into Darla’s parents at Tulane road games; even after I was married with kids of my own, there was Mr. Nick at the 1998 Liberty Bowl in Memphis cheering along with my parents, my son and me as Tulane went undefeated – a perfect 12-0.
Mr. Nick was 80 years old and still going strong when Katrina hit. He passed away three years later in 2008. Mrs. Myrt is still, in Darla’s words, “a power-house.” Darla, a middle school teacher in Luling, has lived in St. Charles Parish her entire life so far, with the exception of her college years spent at, well … LSU.
Tell me about the week leading up to Hurricane Katrina.
The week before Katrina, I was dealing with my husband (Michael) being asked to go to Florida to work – Katrina was about to hit the lower part of Florida before going into the Gulf…. He began working at the Emergency Response Center for the state of Florida where he received first-hand information about the hurricane track. He – who never evacuates for hurricanes – was telling me that we needed to evacuate.
As soon as I got the call from school on Friday stating that school would be canceled for Monday and Tuesday, I was ready to go. Saturday morning, around 5:00 a.m., I called my mom and told her to get ready to go to my sister Deena’s house (she lived in League City, Texas)…. Like Michael, she never wants to leave her home for hurricanes, but for some reason she knew that she had to go for this one. While the kids slept, I moved all of the patio furniture into the garage along with anything that I thought might get picked up by the wind.
I didn’t take any photos or any sentimental things with me. I packed very lightly, loaded up the kids and my twelve-year-old sheltie, picked up my parents in Norco, and headed for Houston, Texas. We had no problem getting to my sister’s house in League City – we left at the right time. My other sister, Donna, was coming to meet us with her family, but they got stuck in horrible traffic for hours. She stopped in Lafayette at her husband’s niece’s house where they would ride out the storm.
As you watched/heard news reports, what were you thinking/feeling?
As I watched the news, I can remember thinking that I was glad that I left. I didn’t like the fact that I couldn’t watch our news stations – it wasn’t familiar faces giving us the news. I became obsessed with getting information; waking up all hours of the night to see what was happening. It is hard to explain the feelings that I had – I had a feeling of relief because I knew that my house was OK, but also a feeling of panic and concern about all of the water, people on the roofs, crime, etc. It was hard not to cry when watching everything unfolding.
Did you lose contact with any “key” family/friends during the hurricane and days that followed? How long were you away from home?
I could not speak with anyone except my husband in Florida. He was the go-between person that could speak with everyone. Texting was the only way to contact anyone (texting wasn’t as common as it is now, but I learned really quickly!). I do remember that my principal was the only person that was able to get her call through to me. It was great to hear her voice.
My mother really wanted to go back home as soon as the storm passed, but I thought it was best to wait until the electricity was back on; and I finally convinced her of that. My in-laws returned home right after the storm. They checked out all of our houses, and cleaned out the refrigerator and freezers in all of the houses. They were able to save and cook some of the meats that were still frozen from our freezers. They lived for a few days with only a generator and gas stove.
When did you and your family return home? What was that like?
We were in the Houston area one week before the electricity was restored to my neighborhood; then we finally headed back home. We stocked up with groceries because we knew that no stores would be open.
As we headed back home we noticed a caravan of army hummers and jeeps – I think we counted over seventy of them! I am not sure where they came from but they were definitely headed to the New Orleans area. As we approached the St. Charles Parish line, traffic came to a stop. We had to show proof that we lived in the parish in order to get in. My sister, Donna, was heading our way to stay with our parents, only to be turned away at the parish line; she was very upset.
When we got home it was dark; I really couldn’t see what had happened until the next morning. It was quite devastating. My house had very minor damage, though there was lots of debris in the yard, with large tree branches down. Neighbors rallied together to help each other clean yards of debris. Large dumpsters were put in neighborhoods for all of the trash and refrigerator and freezer garbage. It was hard getting things back in order with Michael being gone, and it really drove him crazy not being able to come home.
Police and military were stationed all over the parish. I remember being really worried about safety. MRE’s and ice were available at the parks at the Mississippi River bridge. As you drove through the parish line, soldiers were there to help you. All you did was open your trunk, and they’d load it up.
All of the stores that opened had soldiers stationed by the front doors with guns, letting in only a few customers at a time. It was like something out of a movie; very scary – very surreal. I couldn’t believe it was like this, and I remember thinking, “When will things get back to normal?”
My school opened about a week-and-a-half after we returned home. Teachers went back a day before the students. My school was a brand new school, and the military was using it as a make-shift base. The gym was wall-to-wall cots for the soldiers to sleep on. Rooms were labeled “chapel,” “infirmary,” “general,” etc. When the school opened again, many students were absent, and some of those would never come back because they relocated to another area.
Being back to work/school helped us get a little normalcy back in our lives. St. Charles Parish did a great job getting the parish back up and running. We didn’t lose jobs, and income kept coming in for us. We were very, very fortunate. When Michael finished his job in Florida, he came home to work on the demolition of the houses in the Ninth Ward – that was such a hard-stricken area; so sad to see all of the devastation. It was sad seeing all of the surrounding areas going through terrible times. Everywhere we drove we saw help wanted signs, vacant houses, and houses with spray paint on them. We didn’t know how long it would take for New Orleans to “come back.”
Well, here we are in 2010 – hard to believe it has been five years. The city seems to be back better than ever, and the Saints won the Super Bowl!
I just hope we don’t ever have to go through anything like that again.
Simchat Torah
I move through predawn darkness,
star crusted sky fills my view.
Is there less wonder because I have seen the sky before?
Is there less beauty?
No and no.
Beyond the static beauty,
the runner who runs this morning
is not the runner who ran last week.
The lightening flashes
thunder rends the air
Wind howls
almost covering the warning siren.
Is there less awe because I have seen storms before.
Is there less a frisson of fear spicing my amazement?
No and no.
Beyond the raging glory of the storm,
the one who rides out the storm
is not who sat in the darkness last month.
The green silence of deep forest surrounds me.
The stillness of ancient trees
the distant drip of water
the gentle sursuration of leaves far above.
Is the peace diminished because I have hiked in this wood before?
I there less of a sense of connection with what is truly real?
No and no.
Beyond the living whole of the forest
The one who hikes the hidden trails
is not the one who did so an autumn ago.
I pray the morning liturgy,
alone,
wrapped in tallit and t’fillen.
The seal on each blessing the same as the day before.
Is the power of the prayer set aside because I have prayed it before?
The beauty of the dance between kevah and kavenah diminished?
No and no.
Beyond the comforting song of prayer
The one who prays this morning
is not the one who prayed yesterday.
I roll the scroll back.
Past Devarim,
Bemidbar
Vayikra
Shemot
To the beginning
I say
Bereisheit
once more.
I read again through the ancient stories
the explanations that once satisfied my ancestors
the laws that need new meaning and new application
and I ask
Is there any less wisdom because I have read the text before?
Are the truths contained somehow less true and revelatory?
No and no.
Beyond the the eternal story of creation, revelation, and redemption,
The one who reads this year
is not the one who read last year.
Confusing Contemplations
Last week I participated in what was to be the final meeting of a contemplative group that I had participated in bi-weekly for the past two months. Anyone who knows me would recognize the irony of my involvement in such a group. I am a unique individual. I think much, perhaps too much. I am loud, frequently too loud. And I have never been accused of being too serious in my approach to matters of faith. In fact, some would consider my approach to theology as being to flippant, too irreverent, or too unorthodox for the vocational ministry to which I have committed my life. However, I chose to engage in this community of Christian believers for the sake of finding peace within myself. I was invited by a friend who frequently assists in my search for peace, a friend I trust, and so I took a chance on being an outsider in the midst of a journey inside. I was seeking clarity so I could have certainty for the journey of my future; I was seeking what I would not find.
Throughout the four meetings of this group of twelve searching souls we explored faith through the eyes of poetry, photography, music, cinematography, and community sharing of story. There were moments in which I was frightened by my inclination to so easily trust in this group. So many different dynamics were present for me, and for everyone, but somehow we found our way to a courageous journey. We found our way to unknowing.
I began a journey of a contemplative path praying that God would provide some answer to the confusion that sometimes overwhelms me in my day to day life. I live out moments praying that I will find some sort of clarity or wisdom that will mean hope or direction to a desperate soul that is hurting, or even for myself. I want to be able to give the answers that are sought, that control makes me feel comfortable in my role as a minister. I want to be able to make hurting stop, but I forget my place in those moments of desire to meet needs that I cannot answer. In those moments I am not equipped to provide cessation of hurting or an answer for a God big enough to defend Godself. In those times I am to embrace the moments of misunderstanding and heartache with a stranger and be present as an ambassador of Christ. I am a tangible shoulder without an answer, without explanation; simply present and honest. The journey with strangers and friends, toward answers and resolution, brought only reconciliation within me; reconciliation with the unknowing that I face and fear each day.
In the deepest moments of the contemplative group when I was sent from a large meeting into a moment of solitude for reflection, I found myself distraught to the point of tears and trembling at the un-definable mystery that surrounds the movements of the Trinitarian God in, with, and through the human journey. I found myself afraid at the inexplicable presence and absence of God in my prayers and wondering, and yet my faith remained. I found myself asking what had driven me forever forward through my life and led me from one love to another, out of darkness and into light. I found myself asking if it was happenstance or God. The answer came comfortably, but at the root of a question asked with much difficulty; God.
I am sustained by a God that I cannot always name; one I cannot adequately protect from the anger and hatred from some in this world- as though that were my job at all. The reciprocity of the love I hold for this immeasurable, indefinable, incomprehensible entity is found in my submission to un-answers to questions held delicately in the delicate palms of my prayers. This submission brings more powerlessness, but deeper love. I read John chapter three with new eyes, “..John replied, “A man can receive only what is given him from heaven. You yourselves can testify that I said, ‘I am not the Christ but am sent ahead of him.’ The bride belongs to the bridegroom. The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom’s voice. That joy is mine, and it is now complete. He must become greater; I must become less.”
I am called to the service of God, the service of God’s people and Church. I seek answers to know that I am prepared for the task, at least to a point. I continue seeking, not for the sake of preparedness, but for the sake of expertise that will justify my place in leadership because I do not feel worthy to lead. To know a great deal of theology means that I have read a great deal on the topic of God. To lead in God’s church, to minister, does not mean claiming authority- at least as this world would define it. To minister, in a manner that is honest to the Christ who ministered first, we submit to questions put forth through our path and the journeys that intertwine. In becoming less, we acknowledge that we are not now, nor can we become enough to answer the questions believers and our minds bring to us. In becoming less we settle for the mystery and unknowing that come from moments of contemplation and inexplicable hope at our darkest moments. Then, when we- our minds and ideals of control- are less; then God, our love wound up in the overwhelming sense of Divine, is more.
I Refuse!
Last night, I was “treated,” if that’s the word, to a blog where someone related their story about an argument that they got into at a Starbucks. He talked about how he met people who were repeating patently false rumors about the president, and how he got fed up, got in those person’s faces, and demanded that they provide proof of their claims, which, of course, they couldn’t. I admired his pluck and determination, if not exactly his choice of words, in confronting such hurtful falsehoods, uttered, as they were, in a public place. I also felt good about the responses he received, both from the other people in the immediate vicinity and the commentators on the blog. It got me so fired up that, when I saw someone on my Facebook page was making similar comments, I got all fired up and composed a similar response.
Shortly after I posted that response, I apologized to all concerned. As I told the other guys, it’s not good to get upset over the fabrications of someone who makes his or her living deliberately making people upset with each other. Evidently, that explanation only made things worse, since, to them, it was a direct attack on someone in whom they have come to an almost religious, cult-like, faith. After all, these people excel on making us angry by telling us what they think we want to hear, and they egg us on to, as they do, “score points” in a never-ending argument. Telling people that they are repeating another person’s lies, or forcing them to provide some sort of proof, or resort to applying logic, is, in this venue, the worst of insults.
I joined a group called the Coffee Party last spring. It’s not that I want to get all political or anything, so much as they passed two important tests for me. First, they claim that they exist to bring civility back into the political process, where they take all the punditry and fighting out of things and get back to just trying to help people speak honestly and openly to each other. Second, Glenn Hinson joined before I did, and I’ll enthusiastically follow any cause that he would willingly join. In occasionally dropping by to see what they’re talking about, I took note of the expected commitment to being honest and fair in our conversations, and not picking a fight for the sake of picking a fight.
So, it is in that sense that I have finally decided to refuse. I refuse to let people deliberately lie and engage in character assassination in my presence, or repeat the manufactured lies that they have heard from whatever professional provocateur or terrorist they are listening to. If they do so, I will challenge what they say. In doing so, however, I also refuse to sink to the level of personal attacks, angry speech, manufactured hatred, or other divisive tactics that seem to be the current standard of discourse promoted by such people. I will no longer play that game. I refuse.
I’m no better than anyone else at this, but for months now, I have been blogging and complaining about the fact that our society seems to have lost the traditional virtues of civility, honesty, integrity, and tolerance. Recognizing that I’m going to fail from time to time, I realize that we’re not going to get such things back by shaking our fists at each other or complaining that our world has passed us by. Instead, it’s going to take a determination from each of us that it is important to return to a vision of humanity that involves decency and compassion, rather than rapaciousness and exploitation. I refuse to settle for anything less.
Coal Ash & Environmental Justice
What follows is a statement given to the Environmental Protection Agency Coal Ash Hearings held in Louisville, Kentucky, September 28, 2010.
I come this morning, not to advocate for one side or the other on the regulation options before you (you are being hammered with plenty of information from both sides). Besides, I do not know the science well enough to make such a recommendation. But rather I come to bring to you a word encouragement and direction from the churches. I cannot speak to you for all churches or communities of faith, but I can speak to you from my experience of many of them, and I want you to know this morning that there is a “turning” happening in the churches. It is an awakening a truth that has always lied deep in her bones and close to her heart, but present day applications of which has perhaps been slow in dawning upon her.
Words of Jesus that have long resonated in causes of justice and peace are now being heard in the pews as relevant to how we are treating planet earth:
Matthew 25:37-40 – Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’
I want you to know that the faith community is waking to issues of environmental justice. I say this to you not as a sermon, but as a word of encouragement from faith communities. I want to tell you this so you can know that doing the right thing for all citizens, children, wildlife, the elderly and the voiceless is what we really want, and thus it will be recognized and affirmed by the churches. I say this so you may know that it is increasingly felt in communities of faith that our future is not to be trusted to big business or Wall Street and those who lobby for them. It is being increasingly recognized that the future lies with attention and care of those who have to date been shoved aside for the sake of development and sidelined for corporate profits, cheap oil, agribusiness and the short-term gain of a few.
Today you have before you one of those choices that has, as its subtext, a question of what kind of society we are going to be. This is a choice about values, priorities, wisdom and justice. It is a choice about whom and what is valued in our society. It is a choice about the value of our children, our unborn, our health and our wholeness. Pope John Paul II has written:
A society will be judged on the basis of how it treats its weakest members and among the most vulnerable are surely the unborn and the dying.
There are unborn at this hearing, and they are depending on others for their voice. They are those children who will be drinking the waters, playing in the spaces, breathing the air and eating the food on the planet we leave to them. There are also the dying – those who are telling you stories of toxins and sickness, cancers and death this day.
I am here to let you know that the churches are beginning to understand that the business of America is not just business but also the health and happiness of its citizens, and to the best it can, those of the world outside her borders. In taking care of the least, we take care of all of us – the rich and poor, strong and weak.
Let me share these words from Roger S. Gottlieb, professor of philosophy at Worcester Polytechnic Institute, from the introduction of his book, A Greener Faith:
More recently, institutionalized religions typically held favorable attitudes towards the rise of industrial civilization. . . Most religious leaders took it for granted that economic development and technological progress, as long as their fruits were distributed with a modicum of fairness, were good things. . . .
. . . Religion is now a leading voice telling us to respect the earth, love our non-human as well as our human neighbors, and think deeply our social policies and economic priorities.
I know you have been hearing “facts” from all angles, lobbyists from all sides, and voices of all kinds. I am not here to declare to you the answers from among all those voices. I am here, though, to implore you to do the right thing for the health and happiness of all the people. By so doing, you are aligned with the rising voices of the present and future church.
I can confidently declare this before you as a man of faith – the right thing is not defined by short term service of the almighty dollar or selling out the future for the present or the weak ones for the powerful. Please do the wise thing, the right thing, the good thing, and I dare say, the holy thing.
The Rev. Jerry Cappel is Associate for Justice Ministries, St. Matthews Episcopal Church and President, of the Kentuckiana Interfaith Community in Louisville, Kentucky.
My Dreams Last Evening
My dreams last evening were full of beautiful and humbling revelation. I began walking down the small, suburban streets surrounding the campus of the University of Louisville. I didn’t now the specific area, but the houses were reminiscent of the 1950s structures that line the edge of Eastern Parkway. I could see light beaming through brilliantly green trees overhead. I could smell the grass, sweetened with the topping of morning dew. There were no people out in the areas around me. It will still and quiet. I was uncertain of my direction, but felt only a twinge of anxiety at my unknowing. While walking up and down the hills of the unknown neighborhood I came upon a young man. He was a white man who looked to be in his thirties. I don’t recall having ever seen him before, but it’s unlikely I pulled that visage from thin air. He came to me. He was upset and confused.
“I don’t know how to get home. I don’t have what I need to get home.” He held out his hand. In the opening fist I saw tiny pieces of silver-mechanical things for which I have no name. He stared at them in puzzlement.
“I need a bearing. If I get that then I can put it back together and make my way home. I just need a bearing.”
He shoved the handful of silver at my face, expectant of some resolution. It was in this moment that I felt myself fear. “I don’t know what a bearing is. I don’t know what it does, but I will help you in any way that I can.”
His response was not one of anger that I had anticipated, it seemed hopeful and assured. “Okay…,” he nodded his head quickly, “Okay, then. I’ll follow you.”
“Sir, I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what a bearing is. I don’t know if you want to follow me.” I tried to clumsily explain my position of powerlessness for his dilemma. I didn’t want anyone to follow me toward an answer that I could not name in order to seek. I was simply walking along rolling hills admiring what God had laid down for me to journey through.
“I know. I heard you say that, but followin’ you is something. Otherwise I’m just waiting around with and for nothin’.”
I had to acknowledge that truth in the statement. “Okay, then. I’m Katie, which direction do you think we should go to find this bearing?”
“Katie, I’m Bobby.” He extended his empty hand while putting the hardware into the pocket of his well, worn jeans. “I’ll follow you ‘til we figure something else out.”
I return my hand to meet his with a slower pace of shaking and speaking. “Pleased to meet you, Bobby. Let’s find our way.”
At this statement we start walking down the same street; each in stride with the other, but neither speaking another word. I don’t know the mentality of this presence in my subconscious, but I know that I was afraid. I was afraid of not being able to find a damn bearing to help a man put an engine, or whatever, back together so he could find his way home. So, I walked with him toward no place and no answer. I walked and prayed to my God, “Help me help him.”
After a couple of blocks we came upon a couple. They were older, maybe in their fifties. They were African-American and seemed somewhat more refined. The walked up to the two of us, but spoke only to me. The wife asked, “Do you know the way toward a seat for the ride?”
She seemed as desperate as the first man, as did her husband. He chimed in, “You know with the bars that hang and the red cushion? We need it to get home.”
I was thoroughly confused by their answer and their desire to ask me. I answered with the polite uncertainty that I had spoken to the first man. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’ll help if I can.”
The woman almost jumped out of her skin and she leapt forward to hug me. “Oh, thank God! Someone who can help us find it.”
My response was born out of my fear, which had now increased exponentially. “I don’t know that I can help you do that. I don’t know what you’re talking about and Bobby and I don’t know where we’re going. We’re just going instead of waiting.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Going is better than waiting any day, especially if you’re going with somebody. We’ll just go, too.”
Now, wrapped in my fears and unable to even imagine that peace I had prior to gathering this crowd of people seeking, I put feet to my prayers. I smiled at each of the faces that had come to me on my walk. I felt the weight of their desperationg and I offered what I could to their search, “Lets go together, then. God’ll take us somewhere.”
They each nodded and turned to walk with me again. We walked. The same scenery, the same houses, trees, and light shown in the path around us, but I didn’t feel serene anymore. I felt lost. I felt shame for not knowing the way to lead. I felt fear for the resentment that would take the place of trust in these three who followed me.
Finally, a young woman came up to our growing pack of persons seeking a way. She was a young woman. I’m not sure of an ethnicity, but her skin had a lovely tan, olive hue. She had big, beautiful black eyes that were crested with tears. She said to me, “I need a spring to put it back together. If I get the spring, then I can make it work again and I can take it home. Just a tiny spring, but it has to be the right one. You see how tiny?”
She too held out her hand. It was full of gears and springs of different sizes. They looked like they might be pieces to a music box or a clock.
Once again, now more familiar with the expectation, I offered what clarity I had. “I don’t know where you can get a spring like what you’re looking for. We don’t have a real plan, per se, but we’re all searching for things together. You are more than welcome to join us. We’ll help you if we can.”
I had decided that the community had formed and I diverted the responsibility for helping from myself. At this point I was frustrated by the requests being set forth; a bearing, a seat cushion, and a tiny spring. I looked up as the woman introduced herself to the rest of the group. I saw something beyond the trees ahead of us, it was a pile of junk. I have been to junkyards in my life and I know that you can find a lot of stuff there. It wasn’t ideal for any of those that were searching, but it’s what I could offer that might meet all of the needs in the foreseeable future. I turned to them, “I see a pile of junk up there. I know it’s probably not what you guys were thinking of as an answer, but it seems like we might be able to find some of what you’re searching for there. What do you guys think?”
They all looked at me, trusting. There wasn’t a snide comment or rebuttal of any sort. They just looked at me. The young woman answered, “You’re the one who said you’d try to help. We’ll follow you.”
I think I felt less fear before I heard those words come out of her mouth. We’ll follow you is daunting to hear from the mouths of desperate people. I almost cried when she spoke it. “God help me, please help me,” I thought over and over again in my head.
“Let’s get going then. Y’all need to make your way home. Is everybody alright right now?” They each turned and looked at one another, waiting for an affirmative answer. Once consensus had been reached we began walking again. It wasn’t far for us to travel to the heap, maybe a block. We each walked, still silent, up the hill toward the junky horizon. Each man and woman, each generation represented in step with the other; we all marched in step like a quiet, peaceful, seeking army journeying toward hope.
We made our way to the heap. There was an entrance. It seemed to be inside walls of stucco. We walked in and the walls were lined with shelf after shelf of this and that’s and things and springs. It wasn’t like anything I had seen before and I didn’t know if the people would find what they sought, but they spread out and began looking. I wanted to know if I could direct them toward their items, but I didn’t. I found my way to the stairs. The stairs led downward to another floor full of this’ and that’s and things and springs; and then there was another. After a little while of wandering the youngest woman came to me, tears in her eyes. “I found it! I found the perfect one.”
She held up a tiny spring and showed it to me. It was almost miniscule, but seemed to be a mighty treasure to her. She hugged me, “Thank you for helping me find this place. Thank you.”
She then ran down the stairs to the floors below us. I felt myself breathe a little easier for the answer she had found. I didn’t have to find it. I didn’t have to do anything except lead her to a pile of junk where she found her treasure. I was so thankful for her answer.
I continued on down the stairs, a smile on my face, searching for the rest of the crowd that had followed me there. I didn’t have to go much further until I came upon the middle-aged couple carrying this large, swing-like contraption. They set it down and then came over to me. “Thank you for bringing us here. We found it. It was just sittin’ over there in the corner gathering dust.”
I smiled and squeezed the frail shoulders that embraced me. I was so happy for them. They had found some resolution. They had found what they needed. After they finished with their thanks and hugs they picked up the swing and headed down the steps in front of them. It was the last flight. I could hear other voices speaking with them as they made their way down. I wanted to follow and I began to, but was stopped before I reached the steps. The young man slapped me on the back, laughing. “Ha-Ha! I found it. This is the baring for my engine. This’ll take me right home. Thanks for bringing me to it. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t come upon you.”
I was startled by his quick, excited presence, but then settled into excitement with him. “I’m glad you found what you were looking for. You take care of yourself on the way home, now. Alright?”
“Will do. Thanks again.” He smiled as he hopped down the stairs.
Once again, I was pleased to have helped. I didn’t do anything, really. I don’t know why bringing people to a junk pile held the thing they needed, but God does many things I don’t understand. I was just happy to be a part of Bobby’s journey.
That was it. So, all the members of our traveling band of trust had found their way out of the heap, all members besides me. I stood for a moment looking around the walls. What did I need? Why would I have been sent to this place? I assumed it was to help the others. I took in the beauty of the many this’ and that’s and things and springs and was thankful for the answers they would be to people. I smiled and headed down the last flight of stairs. When I reached the bottom I was amazed at what I saw. It was a fine, well kept, old home. It had hard wood floors and beautifully ornate window coverings. There was a counter with milk and cookies beside the door. I saw two figures standing there. They turned and smiled at me. I knew their faces, but never had they seemed so radiant. Joe and Liz Hayes had been members of the church I served. They were in their eighties and inseparable. They were some of the kindest, most intelligent, and gracious people I had ever known. They loved each other beautifully. The end of their two lives was separated by a span of only a couple of months. They loved each other with all of themselves and found their peace together. I walked over to them, almost overcome with joy to see them again. I was greeted with a warm embrace from Liz. “Hi honey, how’ve you been?”
“I’ve been very well. You look beautiful. What are you doing here?” I asked.
“This is your dream. What am I doing here?” she answered.
I had to think for a moment, even in my dream. Why would I want Jo and Liz here? They were dead.
Liz answered my thought, “We’re not gone. We’re home. Thank you for inviting us here. It’s good to see you using what you got for God’s people.”
I was surprised by her answer, mostly because I’m unaccustomed to people answering my inner dialogue, but also because it was a poignant answer to receive. “I’m doing the best I can,” was all that I could say in response.
“And that’s fine. You’re doing just fine.” She smiled and hugged me again.
Joe walked over and put his long, lanky fingers upon my shoulder. His bright blue eyes shined as he smiled and said, “You’re doing a fine job. Just keep payin’ attention.”
After Joe had finished speaking the two of them joined hands and walked into another room. I was happy to see them again. I was happy to see them so peaceful, it was overwhelming. They were home. This was home for them. I don’t know that I thought to seek anything else, but I know I turned to walk out the pristine, front door into a beautiful yard. As I walked I heard a voice from behind me. It was the pastor of my home church, Tommy Valentine. He has been with me throughout my entire journey of ministry. He walked toward me with a smile, just like he always does. “Hey there trouble, how are ya’ doing?”
I smiled at the familiar, friendly greeting. “I’m fine, Tommy. How ‘bout you?”
“I’m alright… alright. I hear you’ve done some good work here today,” he said.
I was very confused by that comment. First, I knew it was a dream. Second, I wasn’t sure I had done anything at all. So I ask, “What good work?”
“Well, Joe in there said you got a whole crew here; that good work.”
“Tommy, I was just walkin’. I didn’t do anything. They just followed me here and found what they needed. That wasn’t me, it was them.” I was very confused at this point and feeling frustrated at my lack of understanding.
“You see, Katie, that’s what we’re called to do. Just get ‘em here.”
“Where is here?”, I answer in my frustration.
“Doesn’t matter where here is.”
“Fine, I get that I’ll understand it later or somethin’ like that,” I muttered as we walked along the sidewalk of the neighborhood outside the house.
“No, I think you understand it now,” was his reply.
I tried to figure it out, but I still couldn’t quite add the words to what was brewing inside my head. I looked in front of us at the crossing streets of the neighborhood and asked, “Which way do I go?”
He smiled and answered, “I don’t know. Which way are you called to go?”
I felt myself afraid again, uncertain of which direction. So I asked my friend, my pastor, who had led me this far down the path, “Can I just walk with you for a while?”
He smiled again. “No,” he answered. “We end up in the same place. We both help people find what they need to get home, but we’re called to different paths.”
It hurt to hear that I was alone again. I had begun alone and wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t afraid of the journey. I loved the peace, but now, knowing that I would be met with others who would want me to guide them to whatever it was they were seeking made me afraid. “How do I know if I’m doing it right? How do I know if I’m messin’ up or not?” I asked him, trying to hold back my tears.
He put his hand on my shoulder, turned his body toward an adjoining street, and then spoke some wisdom I needed to hear. “God isn’t like a lot of people, Katie. The fact that you’re trying makes Him happy and that’s plenty right.”
He then turned, put his hands in his pocket, and began walking down the street to my right. I watched him walk down that street for a while. I watched for a while and felt my tears fall as breath left my body. I cried for the relief that came from his words. I then faced forward; before me was the long, beautiful, hilly road that brought new faces to my journey. I began a journey back down to wherever it was that I had been. I could know that as long as I keep walking and try to help people find what they need to get home, God will be smiling at my wayward stroll.
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