Dismissals

Cindy was salt of the earth … did chores for my mom and others … waxed floors, washed windows and such … anything to put beans on the table for her kids. Their dad was a trucker … went south one day with load of scrap-metal and never came back. When my mom died, Cindy asked could she come to the funeral? I said I hoped she would but the funeral came and went without Cindy. When next I saw her, I asked about it. Cindy said she’d started out but couldn’t find her way, what with not being able to read roadsigns.

Randall is a Public Defender. When a man is sentenced to death, years of appeals necessarily follow. Randall’s work is to keep these men alive. From time to time, Randall asks me to write to one of his clients, to engage and encourage them, to help them live and not give up. I’ve been doing this for 20 years. I take some grief from people who have other ideas about how I ought to spend my time … yet I remain mindful of that difficult instruction … page 305 … Book of Common Prayer … that I “Respect the dignity of every human being.” 

Somewhere, in some desolate and dismal landfill, there is a nondescript cardboard box. It’s taped up and it’s heavy. The box is full of used envelopes, their backs covered with the scratchy, indecipherable scrawl of an overused ballpoint pen. Each envelope bears yet another plan for my life … carefully bullet-pointed, sometimes elaborate, each life plan was hopeful and ambitious. Few of these jottings ever came to pass and I began to realize, in the nick of time, that I had overlooked important bits of my life plan entirely … bits about having fun … resting … visiting friends … chilling … and encouraging others.  

I’ve told about Pete … born, raised and died in Texas … Pete was my mentor in many ways. Pete had two master’s degrees and was a high school principal. He had a sixty acre farm … and Pete was a petroleum geologist. Back then, you could rent a rig and drill for oil pretty much on your own. Pete never made much money drilling for oil but he learned a few things. Pete passed on some wisdom garnered in the oilfield: “If, after a spell, you don’t find oil, pack up and move on. Don’t ever get to believing your own geology.”

Twice a week I go to 2100, the Lutheran Metropolitan Ministry Men’s Shelter in Cleveland. On Wednesdays, my mother-in-law goes with me. She brings a big batch of homemade cookies and sets them on an overturned milk crate. Men walk by … take a cookie … some remark on the cookies they had when they had a home. Something there is about the gift of food … that a chocolate chip cookie can bring back recollections of better days … better times … of family, home and kids. It may be only a cookie … but there is great possibility in a homemade cookie.

At Sunday coffee hour, I was asked about my ministry at 2100, the Cleveland men’s shelter. Our church had discussed sending volunteers to 2100 once a month to help prepare a meal for the men. The idea never caught on. I never knew why. One parishioner at the table remained quiet, lips pursed. When she could hold it no longer, she said that the men’s shelter is a vicious den of violence and depravity … or something to that effect. I’ve never seen any such thing at 2100 … though now I better understand why some ideas take flight … and others don’t.   *Lutheran Metropolitan Ministry’s Men’s Shelter at 2100 Lakeside Avenue in Cleveland. Known as “2100” it is…

He asked me, “What do you do?” That can be a complicated question. We all have many claims upon our time … family, work, leisure, survival … varied calls and responsibilities. I puzzled over the question. Not wishing to overthink the matter, I said what then seemed true: “I am a student of the human condition.” My interrogator was looking for something less esoteric, something that would fit neatly into a common box. My words did not. He frowned and went on his way. It is often true, when we engage with others, that we arrive at some better understanding of ourselves.

Richard Milhous Nixon was running for President of the United States in 1968. He campaigned in New Hampshire where I was a student and a stringer for an FM radio station. I was determined to interview Nixon as he glad-handed in a crowded diner. Microphone at the ready, I made my way through the throng until Nixon and I were face-to-face. Assertively as I could, I asked Nixon about the Vietnam War. He didn’t miss a beat. Nixon took my hand, shook it with an impressive grip, and said at full volume, “Thank you for your vote!”

“Life is short. We do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who walk this way with us. So, be swift to love and make haste to be kind. And, the blessings of God, who made us, who loves us, and who travels with us be with you now and forever.”  Henri-Frédéric Amiel, Swiss philosopher and poet, 1821 – 1881

Long ago, Christmas morning, we drove through snow to see great aunt Emily. Ninety years old, she sat in a rocker, Bible close by, sewing basket in her lap. Christmas cards covered the mantel and hung on ribbons all about the room. I stood before her. “Bring me a card,” she said. I picked one I could reach, a jolly St. Nick, and gave it to her. With sewing scissors, quick and precise, she cut around the picture of Santa and held it out to me. It was a small gift to a small boy, but a gift never forgotten. 

The service ends … “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord!” We go into the streets and byways, into the homes of friends and neighbors, and to the dwellings of “the other.” Where there is need, there we will be … with a bit of nourishment, a small gift, a kind word, a listening ear, a prayer upon our lips. Together, we work to make this world as God would have it … a Peaceable Kingdom … we are called to be God’s Kingdom-builders, peace-bringers, healers, preachers, prophets, theologians, caregivers, activists, servants, God’s helpers … working to bring about the Kingdom.