Dismissals

Long ago, a New England town, Main Street, ramshackle second-hand store. I entered … old tools, chipped china, photo albums of long ago families. Nothing I needed but, in a wooden box, a jumble of old hymnals, rosary beads, magnetic dashboard figurines. Deep within, a well-worn crucifix, six inches long, metal with inlaid wood. I carried Jesus to the cashier. She said, “You know that ain’t real silver.” I said, “I’m alright with that.” I handed her the ransom. She offered neither bag nor wrapping, not even a kind word. We left that old store, glad to be gone.

Long ago … at a tavern … a jukebox … one song … over and over. Bartender Kenny, dime after dime, same song, again and again … Loretta Lynn’s, “The screen door’s a-bangin’, coffee’s boilin’ over and the wash needs a-hangin’.” The jukebox man came weekly, saw how many times that one song played and left it in the jukebox. We figured if the record didn’t play, he’d take it out. We bought Kenny a bus ticket to go see his folks in Tennessee but Kenny cashed in the ticket … took it all in dimes … that screen door kept a-bangin’ for months. 

Quoting Fred Craddock, a remarkable preacher, about giving our lives to Jesus: “We think that giving our all to the Lord is like taking a $1,000.00 bill and laying it on the table — “Here’s my life, Lord. I’m giving it all.” But the reality for most of us is that he sends us to the bank and has us cash in the $1,000 for quarters. We go through life putting out 25 cents here and 50 cents there … Usually giving our life to Christ isn’t glorious. It’s done in all those little acts of love, 25 cents at a time. Fred Craddock, cited in Leadership (Fall 1984) #47Quoted in New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol VIII, pg. 629

The man asked me for bus fare and I gave him every coin in my pocket. I laid them in his palm. He picked out the pennies, dropped them on the sidewalk and they rolled away. I’ve always picked up pennies. Pennies were lucky and five would buy a box of  Sun-Maid Raisins. I once found an Indian Head penny, quite the collectible. Now, I find pennies strewn about, run over, tarnished in road salt, weatherbeaten, abandoned, left for dead. Pennies are lowly, unworthy, the cast-aside, the unwanted, the least of the least … so I pick them up. 

Veronica and her late husband had a used kitchen appliance store. It’s closed now so Veronica started a ministry of refrigerators for families trying to get a leg up. Everyone needs a refrigerator. Too often that refrigerator needs work. Veronica fixes what they have or finds them one that does work. Veronica will scrub out an old ‘fridge, give it a shot of freon, fix the gaskets or anything else, then top it up with fresh produce, frozen food, whatever a struggling family might need. I asked her, “Why refrigerators?” Veronica answered, “Because I don’t know anything about stoves.”

Billy was a prisoner for 40 years. I visited him. We drank acrid coffee and gabbed for hours. Guards and prisoners generally liked Billy. He was affable but would bristle if he felt “disrespected.” One day, a man unrelated to Billy, but with Billy’s unusual surname, committed an unspeakable crime. Overnight, to guard and prisoner alike, Billy became an outcast. By happenstance, I discovered that there is also a well-known author with Billy’s surname. He even looked like Billy. I hit “Buy Now” several times. Billy himself could barely read but those books changed some thinking at the prison.

Driving along a treelined street, a boy, maybe twelve, stood by a tree with a hammer. I watched as he struck the tree again and again. I rolled down my window and asked, “What are you doing?” He shrugged and stood still. The tree had a large wound on the trunk, the bark gone. “Why did you do that? That’ll hurt the tree.” He shrugged again, said, “I’m bored,” and walked away. I expect the tree will be OK, but I felt low driving away. I thought about that boy and wondered what I might have better said or done.

I wrote to ask, “How are you?” I received this reply: “We are well, though the worries of the world weigh upon us. Troubles and grief, it would seem, remain the order of the day. Still, we believe that this too shall pass. … We are grateful always for the kind words and generous spirit of friends, family and strangers alike, without whose companionship we would be alone. … God provides us daily with simple pleasures. We sometimes fail to discern the gifts we have been given, but we awaken ourselves to see, to be glad, and to give thanks to God.” 

Supermarket checkout line, trouble ahead, lady’s card declined, she fishes through her purse for another. I wheel my cart around and make a break for a faster line. Another guy is headed for the same line. I pretend not to see him. That was wrong and I say something lame, “Go ahead.” He says, “No, man, we’re good.” No eye contact. I’m unhappy with me. I unload my cart, add a small, fancy chocolate bar to the pile and pay the cashier. Ready to go, I turn and hand the man the chocolate, “A gift for someone you care about.”

Early on, setting off to visit a prisoner, she told me to stop by, she wanted to give me something. I thought maybe a talisman or trinket for the prisoner. When I pulled up in front of her house, she was on the sidewalk with a rumpled paper bag in her hand. She gave it to me and said, “Open this when you’re a ways down the road.” I did. It was a sandwich. My favorite. It sustained me for that long day and those many miles and all these years later I’m still visiting prisoners. That was some sandwich.

Every year, as we enter the new Church Year, I turn back to the beginning pages of the book “Holy Women, Holy Men.”* This December 1st, I read yet again of Charles de Foucauld, French, born 1858, of the Cistercian Order of Strict Observance. In the Sahara, Charles ministered to people, “… furthest removed … most abandoned.” My mind wandered … yet another helpful mystic from long ago … then this sentence roused me from lifelessness: “Charles sought to live so that those who saw his life would ask, ‘If such is the servant, what must the Master be like?’” Now, there’s a concept! *Holy Women, Holy Men ~ Celebrating the Saints, Church Publishing Incorporated, NYC