common ground

(Here begin more posts, based on my notes and experiences during June.)

I arrived in town in the early afternoon. It looked like it might rain later (which seems to be the weather report of every day, once I got past the extreme heat of the first few days). I decided to go to the park while it was still nice, and then find a place to get inside out of the rain later.

It was a lovely park. People were playing with their kids. Some were sitting and enjoying a little shade and a touch of a breeze. Others were busy setting up for an event that was to take place that evening.

I wandered into the park, only slightly self conscious anymore about the full pack on my back. (I had gotten used to the odd looks I often got, walking down busy sidewalks loaded as if I were in the woods somewhere.)

I headed across the park, looking for a likely place to put my pack down. I smiled at a couple as I passed them. She smiled back and commented, "Looks like you're out for a long walk."

They were sitting on the prime bench in the park - the place to see everything that was going on, and the one with the prettiest view as well. I stopped to chat. 45 minutes later, I was still standing there, chatting, with my pack still on my back. It was often thus - a good conversation starter, and then forgotten.

Ruth and Bill struck me as one of those easy, down-to-earth, couples. Maybe mid-60s. Ruth, with a twinkle in her eye. Bill with a quick smile, and a gentle laugh.

Although the conversation began with my pack and the fact of my walk, we easily moved into the 'why' of my walk.

I discovered that they are regular church-goers. They discovered that I was a pastor. For some reason, I kept the Episcopal church and the word "priest" out of the conversation. Instinct? I don't know. I just did, and instead listened and followed their lead in our conversation about our faith in God. Maybe there was something in the language cadences (especially from Ruth) that echoed my early church experiences. I discovered that they went to a Southern Baptist Church, and on that basis I continued to trust my instincts. I didn't want what issues might divide us to get in the way of a conversation about our shared faith.

So, instead of debating theological differences, we ended up talking about how hard it can be to let the world know that there is Good News. We talked about what that good news meant to each of us. We shared our experiences of how nice it is to gather with others in worship, and how dangerous it is to think that we have done our "God" thing when worship is over. I shared some stories from my journey. Some of the things I had heard and was thinking about. They wanted me to come and speak at their church. I pointed out to them that many Southern Baptist churches would have a real problem with a female pastor. They didn't seem to care. I declined, explaining that I wouldn't still be in town the next time their church gathered. We exchanged mailing addresses (they don't do email) because they wanted to try to get me back in town at another point. They really wanted me to come speak to their church.

I figured that after we had talked for quite a while, that maybe the time had come to connect the faith we shared with the denominations that so often seemed to keep us apart. They had already recognized the common ground we stood on in Jesus, to the point that they had wanted me to come to their church as evangelist. I wanted them to know that this was an Episcopalian who believed in Jesus. That Episcopalians aren't some crazy heretical bunch. That we had so much common ground.

But before I could get us there, Ruth suddenly changed the direction of our conversation - - to a woman who was approaching. "Oh, there's that woman! She came to our church a few times." And she calls out a greeting, "Hello! Hello! How are you doing?" As the woman tried to navigate all her stuff and her bicycle over towards us, Ruth explained to me, "She's homeless, and has been having some real health problems."

Ruth introduced me to Lisa, and then the two of them began to talk. We heard about Lisa's difficulties in accessing and navigating medical care when she had no address or phone to give. How excited she was that she finally had a date (the next week) for surgery for her cancer. How she had even gotten approval for a motel room for a week after she was discharged so she wouldn't have to go straight back to the shelter and the streets. How hard it has been since she got sick and had to quit working, and lost everything.

Ruth kept trying to interject that she just had to have faith in God. Ruth repeated that over and over. "But don't you agree, that it will all be alright if you only have faith in God? You've got to have faith in God. He'll take care of you."

Each time Ruth would say that, Lisa would pause, visibly clench her teeth, close her eyes, and then take a deep breath. She would let the irritation/anger pass, her jaw would relax again, her eyes would open, and then she'd pick up her story as if Ruth had said nothing. Another few sentences, and Ruth would interrupt again with the 'faith in God' line, and the whole scene would repeat itself.

I felt the common ground sliding out from under my feet. I wanted to let Lisa talk about what the clenched teeth meant. "Faith in God, and he'll take care of you" was obviously something of pain for her. Repeating it over and over didn't help. It seemed such a simplistic line, with lots of cultural prosperity baggage, and it didn't speak to this woman with no home, no prosperity. 'Faith in God, and he'll take care of you' has such gift in it, but not as she was hearing it at that time. She was more in the place of the cross, where a similar line was used as a jeer to Jesus - "If you believe in God, why doesn't he help you?" Rather than hearing hope in those words, she was much closer to feeling "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?"

After about 5 times of this happening, Ruth continued her 'faith in God' piece with, "But after all, that's why you came to our church isn't it?"

Lisa paused, and then pointed out to Ruth that she only came two times, and then never came back. It had been almost a year ago.

I expected this to be the end of this conversation. But it wasn't. Lisa talked about the arrangements for her surgery the next week. About the difficulties of finding a place to store her bicycle and her stuff while she was in there.

And then it happened. Ruth offered to visit her in the hospital.

Lisa jumped at this offer! "Oh, would you? Really??" She couldn't believe it. But I knew Ruth was serious. It was etched all over her face. "You've got to have someone at the hospital with you!"

And suddenly, we were back on common ground.

When I was sick, you visited me.

The bugs started getting bad, and Ruth and Bill got the details about when and where Lisa was going to be in the hospital, and then quickly departed to get away from the mosquitoes. Lisa and I talked some more (and yes, I asked about the clenched teeth, and we talked about how God understands, from the inside, that feeling of abandonment, even though the feeling is not the reality). I like to think that maybe I helped . . . but I know that the real help for Lisa came that day from a bumbling evangelist named Ruth who managed to get to Lisa's real hunger. "I'll come visit you."

Even if we really blow it when we try to be evangelists (like I stood there thinking Ruth was doing, and maybe she was doing it trying to impress me that she was an evangelist too?), God can still manage to step in and lead our hearts to a better place. Lisa will be visited this week. She will not be alone. That is truly good news to her at this time. And Ruth gets the opportunity to be the incarnation of good news.

Being the incarnation of good news is our common ground. Our common call. Our common gift.