Dismissals

I see her on my way to work. She walks slowly, hunched over, trundling plastic grocery bags full of dear-knows-what. A few days ago, we arrived together at the crosswalk. It was a slow walk cross. Then she spoke, so quietly I bent to hear, “I want to ask a favor.” I thought she’d ask for money or a meal but I was wrong. “Do you have a place to store a few of these bags?” That morning, I gave the wrong answer but I expect, one day before too long, she and I will cross over again.

I had written that lately each day seemed a battle royal. She wrote in reply: “Each day is a mash-up of chance, mischief and opportunity so take care to sort out which is which. Work at a goodly pace, keep things moving, make things happen, but don’t make each day a grand project. Over-planning invites depletion. Take time for a catnap, or a few minutes to refresh. Don’t fret, the ‘to do’ list will still be there. Seek joy in unexpected places, embrace the small pleasures as they may present themselves, for joy and pleasure are from God.” 

He lived alone a few doors down … kept to himself and seldom went out … except Saturdays … he’d start up that 1970 Corvette and not return until sundown. People talked and said he must be a drug dealer or in witness protection. One Saturday, entirely by chance, I saw that Corvette parked at a restaurant thirty miles from home. I couldn’t help myself. He invited me to sit and we had a fine time. Phil spent 26 years in the military then retired from the U.S. foreign service. He liked our town OK but found the people a little standoffish. 

My wife’s friend was recently divorced and needed help moving so we offered our time. I was not enthusiastic, but an hour wouldn’t kill me. Arriving at her old home, I saw stuff scattered about, piles of clothes, unboxed books and knick-knacks on the floor, dishes stacked on the dining room table … a vision of a life dismantled, a life turned topsy-turvy. My heart did a u-turn. I packed and toted boxes for quite a spell, recalling the people who had bailed me out of some mess and carried me to higher ground … thanks be to God.

My waving “Hey!” started with neighborhood kids riding bikes up and down the street and sidewalk. When I pull into my driveway, I watch them closely to be sure we were all safe. They would look back at me but seemed wary. Now, I make sure that I wave to each kid. Not an effusive wave but a friendly, gestured, “Hey!” Roughly translated, my “Hey!” means “Hello! I am here and I see you there. Be careful, stay safe, and good luck until I see you again!” I seldom fail to receive a wave or even a smile in return. 

Baptized with a sprinkle of water, I once received communion at a church basement potluck. Other than that, I had steered clear of church, believing that church would cramp my style. Just to test my theory, I committed myself to attend an Episcopal church during Lent and sit in on every activity for the duration: Ash Wednesday, Sunday services, Bible study, community meals, Palm Sunday, Maundy this and Friday that … everything. They even had a special class to prepare folks for Confirmation. In for a dime, in for a dollar, I went to the classes and was confirmed that Eastertide.

My father was a storyteller. He was born before radio, much less TV. He grew up when many homes had pianos and parlors, when there was time after the evening meal to listen to stories. I recollect my father’s stories, told at our table after the dishes were cleared, with a little vino in each glass. One story started like this: “I remember an old sharecropper named Ned and his mule Alphonse.” To this day, I might give that story a fair rendering but that was then. The times have changed. Anyway, it wouldn’t be the same without the vino.

On NPR, a story of doctors who play together as the National Virtual Medical Orchestra. Dr. Erica Hardy, an infectious disease specialist, is an accomplished violinist, having played since she was four. Of playing in that orchestra she said, “It gives us an outlet. We use a different part of our brain; it’s a time to do something else and take our minds off medicine. We try to play all the notes, but if we hit the wrong one, it’s not life or death.” Whether it’s life or death or humble work, we will learn to hear the wrong notes.

I saw him most Sundays in church, though he made no claim to the Christian faith. He called himself an agnostic, having neither belief nor disbelief in God. I asked him, “Why church?” He said, “Because it’s the one place where all manner of questions can be asked. And, in this church at least, there are few wrong answers.” That being true, I asked him, “What, then, do you believe happens when we die?” I will not forgot his answer: “I don’t know, but I do believe that the questions we’ve been asking all these years will finally be answered.”

Pandemic notwithstanding, I go twice a month to greet people who come to the Food Pantry. People remain in their cars until a bag of fresh produce can be loaded into the trunk. As they wait, I walk along the line of cars. With mask and social distancing, my words are muffled and my expression unseen. I am learning new ways. To some I wave and offer words never meant to be heard … or put my palms together, eyes at level … or open my arms wide in distant embrace and then clasp my hands … a new language for a different time. 

I park in the same lot every day. There’s a trash can handy for candy wrappers, but someone stuffed it with a bag of household trash. Most of it was on the ground. I sighed. I tried not to notice but, alas, there it was. Not everyone travels with the tools to pick up chicken bones and mushy paper plates. As it happens, I do. I went to work. I gave it a good ten minutes and the place looked halfway decent. I stowed my equipment and bought myself a newspaper. I felt I’d already done a good day’s work.

It happens to every Christian … on some occasion we are called upon to offer a succinct explanation of who Jesus was and what he did. This happened to Peter, at the home of Cornelius the Centurion, himself a Christian. Asked to address the assembled people, Peter said these words: “God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power [and Jesus] went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil for God was with him.”[Acts10:38]  Peter said more words, but the crux was short and sweet … that Jesus “went about doing good.”