Dismissals

  • When Fred was a boy, his father caught him loafing on a Saturday. Fred was handed a paintbrush and a soup can half full of paint and sent street-side to paint the mailbox. That rusty mailbox began to look pretty good so Fred painted the neighbor’s mailbox. Fred became a professional painter but he’s retired now. No more high ladders for Fred. Now he leads parishioners into inner-city neighborhoods to help poor homeowners keep up their homes. Fred and the church crew paint porches, doors, windows, steps, railings and fences. If there’s a mailbox, Fred does that himself. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

  • The Magic of Thanksgiving: The table is set with crystal and silver, dessert on the sideboard, fixings and trimmings all in their place. A joyful family gives a hearty Amen! to the prayer offered by Grandpa. The kitchen door swings wide, Grandma enters holding a perfect turkey on a platter. Another step, her slipper catches on the rug and the turkey takes flight (they say it flew six feet!) and rolls several times across the carpet. Grandma, red-faced but unhurt, slides the turkey back onto the platter, stands and says, “I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the kitchen. Minutes pass. The hungry family looks at the kitchen door. At last it opens. Grandma, holding high a perfect turkey, says,…

  • Stone Soup: A traveler comes into a gathering of hungry people sitting around a fire. “Put water in a pot and I will make Stone Soup!” The water boils and the man adds the stone. “Good … but if only we had a few carrots, it would excel!” Someone has carrots and they are added. “Stone Soup is even tastier with a few potatoes!” Potatoes are found and put into the pot … so, too, vegetables, spices and finally a little meat. Everyone eats and marvels. My father told me this ancient story a thousand times and I see great promise in it. Try it! A small, smooth river-stone is ideal, but any stone will do. Begin with a prayer…

  • A father wanted to teach his young son to sail a boat. The boy sat in the little boat while his father, standing in the water, explained the workings. A gentle breeze came up, and, without a word, the father let go and the boat drifted off. The boy sat motionless. His father called to him, “Raise the sail, pull it up! … pull! … there! … now, push the tiller … the stick … push it over … there … more this way … hold it like that … no! the other way! … good! … good! … toward the beach! … good!” And so the boy sailed the small boat to the beach. His father waded out to…

  • A diva once, now old and poor, she went on Sundays to churches in the city, “I will sing at your service for a meal.” Rich churches turned her away, modest churches as well. Hungry, she came to a poor church on the far side of town, “Let me sing!” The people of that church welcomed her and hurried to feed her and gave her a place of honor in the choir. Her voice, still beautiful, filled the church and was heard in the city where people listened and said, “How wonderful! If only such an angel would visit us!”

  • I found a downtown hotel right around the corner from where I needed to be the next morning. The desk clerk put down his paper, “Help you?” The lobby wasn’t much: Stale cigarette smoke, sagging furniture, a fluorescent tube that flickered and died while I stood there. I asked the clerk, “Is this hotel safe?” He handed me my key and said, “Depends on what you mean by ‘safe.’” That evening I walked along the street. I saw transactions through car windows and couples holding hands. I heard loud music and quiet conversations. I heard music coming from stores and one man, walking alone, who could really sing. I bought a 45 rpm record from a second-hand store, dined at…

  • Mike called: “Erica’s missing! She doesn’t answer her phone for more’n a week.” I listen as every 30 seconds a pre-recorded message says, “This call is originating from an Ohio correctional facility and may be monitored or recorded.” Mike and Erica plan to marry when Mike gets out in 11 years. Right now, all Mike wants is for me to find Erica. I make some calls. I leave some messages. Eventually Erica calls me from a neighbor’s phone. It was hot. She went swimming to cool off and her phone fell in. “Phone’s soaked! And I don’t have anyone’s number!” I call Mike. He’s relieved and asks when I will visit him. That’s how it is at the cutting edge…

  • Sunday morning, another city, looking for a familiar and comfortable church, I saw two spires above the rooftops. It was an inner city church named for a saint I did not know. I was early. I admired the vaulted ceiling with painted angels, the colorful statues of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I watched as people came quietly, pausing at the narthex, crossing themselves with water, genuflecting at the pew, kneeling, praying. There was something in that church I wanted. Not something of the church itself, beautiful as it was, but something in the people, something to be found in the silence. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

  • Kenny carried a New Testament in his shirt pocket. It fit, now that Kenny quit smoking. Every month the mailman brought Kenny one of those booklets with daily lessons on scripture but that was too much for the shirt pocket. Kenny took to tearing a few pages out of the booklet and folded them into the Bible. Whenever a little time came available, Kenny would take out the page for that day and read along in the Bible then set the page somewhere for someone to find. Kenny was one of the early recyclers. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

  • A letter to a friend: “God is with me on the road. There are times I could use a hand up and God is standing by the side of the road watching, wondering, amused at the fix I have managed to get myself into. Seeing God standing by the road tells me there is great power at hand. It’s still up to me to get myself out of the scrape, and, with God nearby, I do. Then I sit quietly and listen, for in listening to God I will hear great things.” Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

  • In the 30 years it took to raise my three sons, I may have watched Bruce Lee’s classic Enter the Dragon about 600 times. My sons and I know every line of dialogue, every balletic kung fu move. It’s quite a spectacle. One scene in particular has carried me through some tough times. Bruce is pursued by villains from every side. They are relentless and they are legion. Bruce fights valiantly but, alas, exhausted and pressed against a wall, he sinks slowly to the ground and crosses his legs in a lotus position. This is not defeat or resignation, this is renewal and regeneration. Bruce is not done. The fight has only begun. I often recall that slow descent to…

  • When I was a boy, we traversed the Caribbean on a freighter, docking at islands to offload freight, then loading fruit and sugar for the mainland. The Captain said to my mother, “You are an artist. Draw for me in my book.” That evening, the Captain’s book open before her, India ink spilled across the page. My mother wept and from my bunk I shared her misery. When morning came, I saw in the book the perfect image of the freighter, sailing at night through black water, yellow stars piercing the midnight sky. The India ink had done its work.