Dismissals

Cinderella slept in the ashes and she is named for those cinders. The world is now rife with ashes … war, deteriorating environment, plague, the general distemper among us. Like Cinderella, I find myself brought low … into the ashes and the nether regions of hearth and heart. This is katabasis. Webster’s defines katabasis as “Literally, going down … a retreat … the downward motion of air.”* I have made my descent into the ashes of this Lent. There is little light, no foreseeable resolution or return, and no glass slippers to be found. Yet I carry on, and my trust remains in God. *Webster’s New International Dictionary, 2nd Edition, 1937

Her chauffeur sat in the back row during the Sunday service. She sat alone, knew the hymns by heart, and had been a beloved Sunday School teacher. One day at coffee hour she said: “I simply do not understand people who don’t pay their bills on time. I always pay my bills on time. I sit down, write a check, and put it in the mail.” What could one say? She died not too long after that and left the church well endowed. As for me, I am sorry that I never took a few minutes to greet her chauffeur.

People might say, “Three dollars won’t buy much.” I’m not so sure. I volunteered at the Mobile Food Pantry last week. A family … Mom, dad, kids … came to get a few bags of fresh, free produce. The kids had good English … mom and dad, not so much. Dad spoke to me but I only heard, “Thank you for food.” He pressed an envelope into my hand. The next day, I opened the envelope and there were three dollar bills. I was moved. I sent the cash to St. Luke’s and added my own offering. Funny what three bucks can do. 

When I was a boy, with my family at the dinner table, my father sometimes pointed to his plate and, in a theatrically stern voice, asked us, “What do you call this?” We knew the story! Army Air Corp, WWII, a visiting general once dined with the enlisted men. Unhappy with the fare, the general called the cook into the mess hall, pointed to his plate and demanded, “What do you call this?” The cook calmly replied, “Sir! I call it delicious!” Whenever our Dad posed that question at dinner, the family answered as one: “Sir! I call it delicious!”

I worked for Pete years ago. He taught me his business … more a mentor than a boss. It was often a while between paydays. After one dry spell, with payday getting close, I’d been eyeing some essentials: a car stereo topped the list. Pete said to me offhandedly that when that check finally hit, I’d do well to put four new tires on that car of mine. “For safety sake … and folks take note how you care for your car.” I put four tires on that car and was glad I did. From then on, I thought differently about payday.

I’m lucky. I started my own business forty years ago. I enjoy the work and I can buy groceries every Friday. I often meet young people trying to get their work lives started yet they seem unable to settle in. It was once so for me. A friend suggested a book containing excellent advice.* Particularly, asking successful or professional people for an “informational interview.” How did they get started? What might they suggest? Ask them questions. Successful people often delight in talking to someone who is at loose ends and they want others to succeed … for which I am grateful.  *What Color Is Your Parachute? by Richard Bolles, (published since 1970)

I was a pedestrian. A street had to be crossed. I followed protocol, pushed the button. Lights flashed, “Look out world! He’s coming across!” All was well until the midpoint of my crossing. Piloting a big automobile, a man about my age stared straight ahead and utterly failed to cede my right-of-way. I stopped, he swerved, calamity was averted. He double-parked and exited his car. I made the sidewalk in one piece, wondering what that old man wanted. He stood by his car, cupped his hands and shouted, “I’m sorry!” I shouted in reply, “Go in peace.”

At a routine doctor appointment, they checked my pulse. I had one. Then came questions: Had I recently slipped in the bathtub? Do I ever forget where I am? I answered correctly and the doctor cut me loose. I found my car and sat there. I realized that no one had asked me plainly, “How are you?” I had no ailments to make mention of … but still, it’s a great question. I took the long way home, vowing that, whenever it might be the right thing to do, I’ll ask someone plainly, “How are you?” … and I’ll hear them out. 

I delivered a carload of winter coats to St. Luke’s … good coats, gently worn,  given by a congregation for anyone in need. Somewhere in that heap of coats was one of mine … a good coat but I have a new one and don’t need two. I believe whenever someone zips up that old coat of mine, to face the winter chill of Lake Erie, I will feel a little extra warmth in my new coat. Maybe it’s only my imagination … or it may be the thanks of a stranger, no more than a whisper carried along on a winter wind.

I received a letter recently from parishioners with whom I served at a church some years ago. It is a personal letter warmly recalling my time and my work with their congregation. This gives me pause. It is not every day that I learn of some good that I have done. I need to hear these words to sustain me on the road ahead. I will reply with my sincere thanks for the letter that was sent to me … and I am moved now to write such letters to others who traveled with me as I stumbled along the way.

I recall a boy from grade school … Fred … quiet, not popular … he sat with me at lunch … brought his lunch in a paper bag … a sandwich, maybe some kind of fruit, a cookie … I recall that Fred always had something extra in his lunch bag, an extra apple or brownie in wax paper. Fred said it was “just in case” food. I asked, “Just in case what?” Fred said, “In case someone’s hungry and doesn’t have enough.” Kids made fun of Fred. He was a bit of an odd duck, but I’ll never forget that … extra food … “just in case.”

At the bus stop, bitter cold, a line of riders waiting for the No. 3, they peer down the street, holding lunch pails and briefcases … the No. 3’s airbrakes hiss … the line pushes forward for the open door … “Hey, you!” … a man cuts into the line, mounts the steps … “Someone call the cops!” … these good people have waited patiently for the bus to carry them to their factory, office, or school … now this! … of all the nerve! … but the intruder quits the bus and says for all to hear, “Sally forgot her lunchbox!” … and the line moves quietly forward.