Dismissals

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.

Sunday morning, black shirt and collar, standing in line to buy coffee, the man ahead took his change, turned to me and said, “Do something good with this.” He pressed a five dollar bill into my hand. That five has had me thinking. Should I buy a burger and fries for a hungry person? A Bible for a heathen? A toy for an orphan? Gas for a stranded motorist? All of this and more, I’ll do. But that particular five dollar bill? I’ll pass it along to someone in the next coffee line. I’ll say, “Do something good with this.” Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

Three dozen men and women, united by their strange and arcane work, were drawn together from the four corners to consider the benefits of meeting regularly. Around the table, each in turn, they spoke of why such gatherings might be valuable: “Promote our profession … Establish licensing … Set standard to discourage the unqualified … Pool our resources … Effect legislation.” So it went until the last. An old man, drawing on his pipe, took his time then spoke: “Fellowship! It is an unhappy business to work in solitude. I would meet again for the fellowship.” And so they did, and have ever since Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

The man told me what happened and at one point said, “I told her not to give that man the keys to her car, him being on a bender and all.” I listened right along. It was quite a story and I wanted to say this and wanted to say that but I am learning that it’s OK to hear someone’s troubles without offering a solution. Somewhere, way deep in telling the story, it happened. As if hearing the story for the first time, the man’s tone and posture changed. We sat for a few minutes, shook hands and went. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

A recluse died some years ago and the local newspaper delighted in reporting the worthless stock certificates found in his home, boxes full of risky investments that came to naught. What a fool this man had been! Yet who among us has not bet on the wrong horse, put a nickel in the wrong slot, turned left when we should have gone right, asked the wrong date to the dance or first attended a church we would one day leave for another? When the man’s will was read and his charitable gifts were known, no one recalled the worthless certificates. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

It happens. Walking along, minding my own business … Poof! My faith is gone! Just like that. Then I recall the words of Fred Craddock*: “Do not panic. In the interim between the lapse of faith and the return of faith, I suggest you do two things. First, let the church believe for you until your own faith returns. And second, remember that even when you are experiencing distance from God and feeling all alone, it is still better to be true than false, to be brave than cowardly, to be generous than selfish, and to be kind than cruel.” Amen. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh *Fred B. Craddock, Craddock on the Craft of Preaching…

My father frequently quoted the village butcher who, long ago, bamboozled my grandmother. She bought seven items at 7 cents apiece and presented them at the register. The butcher said, “7 times 7 is 77 but you, madame, may have them for 66!” I did not immediately understand but this was my father’s warning that the world is full of chicanery. Something for nothing. Bargains that aren’t. I am reading Bonhoeffer’s Cost of Discipleship: “Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ.” I am beginning to understand that there are no shortcuts. No discounts. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

In 1883, the volcano Krakatoa darkened the skies across all the earth. 96 years later I was 30, sailing on a dark night through the Sunda Strait of Indonesia. Krakatoa was still erupting, magma pressing out a fissure, red hot lava turning the sea below into steam. At the helm of the sailboat, standing on the listing deck, I reached for my old Zippo and lit a cigarette. As I pondered how I might mark the occasion, I chanced to contrast the cigarette lighter’s tiny flame with the volcano’s red plume. I crushed out that cigarette and never smoked another. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

At the kitchen table, baby in her highchair, children pulled close, the family offered a prayer. That day the roof leaked and a bill collector called. Dinner was last night’s leftovers. The children were tired. By the refrigerator, a framed wedding certificate: “Marriage of Edward and Marybeth.” Their vows were written out. Then the words, “We Will Be There When You Need Us.” Below, the signatures of all who had witnessed their marriage. As he did every night, Ed said to Marybeth, “Should we call them for help?” Every night Marybeth answered, “No. I believe we’re going to be alright.” Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

In 1979, I was a deckhand on a 52 foot ketch rig sailboat. We sailed from Singapore along the lee shore of Sumatra. Midnight watch, alone at the wheel, wind steady, sea calm, with binoculars I tried to identify the red glow ten miles off. The chart showed only a rocky island. Onward I sailed, closer to the light. At last, I woke the captain. “What is that light?” I asked. “It is nothing,” he said, “Only a volcano.” He went. I squinted at the chart. It was Krakatoa, off the starboard quarter, erupting still, lava running into the sea. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh

At the museum, moved by a painting of Jesus on the cross, I paused, moved on, then returned to stand in prayerful silence. Leaving, I chanced to see in the gift-shop a book titled Crucifixion. Paintings by the masters, frightening, tender, brutal, hopeful. I looked through the book and asked, “Have you a new copy? This one is worn.” Their other copies were just as shopworn so I ordered online, but this book, too, was threadbare, as if many had leafed through, breath bated, not sure what to make of it, then set the book aside for someone else. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord! Josh