Dismissals

Occasionally, I read something that lands so close to home that I write out the words and keep them close. Some words I must hear more than once. Some words there are that I must take to heart before I run out the door to save the world … or even some minuscule piece of it. An Australian Aboriginal woman gave Jim Wallis* permission to quote, but only anonymously. Here are her words: “If you’re coming to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let’s work together.”  *Jim Wallis, Author, Preacher, Founder of Sojourners Magazine and spiritual advisor to President Barack Obama, from Soul of Politics,…

We were in a long line at the movie theater. It was opening day of a sequel to a blockbuster. My sons were excited … we were all excited! … but the man ahead of us, with four kids, had turned out his pockets and was counting his change. I asked and he said, “I had no idea the price … been so long since I’ve been … I don’t …” I said I’d stand him and his kids for the movie. The lady ahead of him said, “Popcorn’s on me!” I don’t remember that much about the movie, but it was a good day.

He asked me, “What’s your ministry?” I told him about going to this place and that place, doing this and doing that. I wouldn’t say his eyes glazed over but I get weary of reciting the same old list: “Over here on Tuesdays, over there alternate Mondays …” I’m learning that the best ministries may simply happen on their own. In the last few weeks I helped someone change a flat tire … helped a kid who looked lost in the CVS parking lot … bought a family a few comestibles. Sometimes ministry just shows up … and we help as we are able. 

Sitting in a kitchen with several youngsters at a family gathering, I listened to a lively discussion about the lives of the various Peanuts characters of Charles Schulz’s neighborhood: Charlie Brown, Lucy, Linus, Marcie, Pig Pen, Peppermint Patty, Woodstock, Schroeder and, of course, Snoopy. I was quite taken with the view held by a young lady of six or seven years. She asserted that Snoopy, of everyone in the neighborhood, knew God the best. I had to ask, “Why Snoopy?” She said, “Because Snoopy sleeps on the roof of his house and looks up at heaven where God is.” Amen. 

I received a gift, a pocket-sized book, “Prayers, New and Old.” I took it along to visit a man in trouble, some contretemps with housemates and a run-in with the law. He vented. I listened until he ran out of steam and looked at the floor. I asked, “Can we pray?” He nodded. I opened my hitherto unused prayer book to a random page. From that page, we shared these words: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

He asked, “What difference do you think your time and effort really make in this broken world?” I told him, “We do what we can with the time and tools available.” He wanted a metric, effort expended versus results achieved, cost-benefit and all that. We went back and forth, resolved nothing, and parted as friends. I didn’t say so, but I have my own notion about the workings of a ministry that lifts up the least among us and mends this broken world: We go where there’s need … we do the best we can … we thank God and carry on.

He didn’t have two nickels to rub together and he never did tell me how he ended up in that fix. Still, he was a man of considerable good cheer and possessed of an honest-to-goodness equanimity. I asked him what he expected of this life. He said, “I’d like to live in a peaceful world but it’s not worked out that way. I try and help others but I’m not always able. I don’t have much but, truth is, if there’s air in all four tires and enough jelly to go with the peanut butter, then there’s hope.” 

He talked. I listened. By his account, he’d had a lifetime of misery … born under a bad sign … and I began to think it might be true. Still, there had to be a spark of joy somewhere, so I asked him, “What makes you happy?” He was thoughtful, then said, “Well, I do like to fish … and I’m a pretty fair gardener … but I’d have to say to be with my grandkids would make me happy.” I thought to encourage him, fishing and gardening with his grandchildren … but he was already there with them … on the lake … in the garden. 

A block from my home, by a stop sign, a teddybear lay facedown in the street. I drove on by but returned after a few blocks. The little fella was still there, apparently unhurt. I cracked the door and hauled him into my car. He seemed a little sad but none the worse for wear. I set him on the dashboard so someone might see him and wave me down. Months passed. He no longer sits on the dash but in the copilot’s seat. Whenever I drive, I wonder about him and how he came to be in the street.

He was a handyman. He drove a rusty old station wagon, a ladder tied to the roof with clothes line. I’d see him around town, parked in front of houses with broken windows or a sagging porch. I had chores for a guy like that so one day I stopped where he was working and said, “Say there, I have a few things that need fixing at my place. What do you charge?” He took off his cap. He looked right at me and spoke softly, “I don’t charge anything. But when I see real need, I stop and help.” 

I was not enthusiastic but needed something at the big box store. I made my way down the aisle and saw her leaning on a walker, bending to pick up items that had fallen to the floor. I almost kept going but my better angels took over. We talked while I picked up stuff from the floor. She had a list on a bit of paper and we found what she needed. And we found her husband, a few aisles over, in a wheel chair. You might have thought they’d been apart for a month, the way they carried on. 

Twice a month I greet people at St. Luke’s Food Pantry. Anyone in need receives a big bag of fresh produce. Cars line up for blocks. A man, always alone in his car, told me of his estranged son, “When we are together we always end up yelling at each other.” I said, “Write your son a letter and send it to him. He can’t yell at a letter.” When I next saw the man in line at the Food Pantry, he told me that his son sent him a letter in reply … it was a good letter … a beginning.