Sacred and the Profane

Years ago, during the trucking chapter of my life, I recall a fascinating conversation with a number of my good buddies of the trade, several mechanics and a pair of fellow truckers, each of us draped over the back tires of a truck in one of the repair bays of our Winnipeg shop. There we were, I think also with a few cups of coffee in hand. The topic was the latest movie several of us had just seen on the big screen, Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ (2004). The pertinent memory for me is the thoughtfulness and uncharacteristic non-belligerence of each person in that circle.  Even as I knew a bit of the antisemitism touted in the media aftermath, that gained almost no traction in this group of truckers. The sentiment in this huddle was thoughtfulness; one of my friends, Glen, even saying, "Imagine the lickin and kickin he took for me".  Nobody poo pooed his religious tone.  Seemingly the conclusion of this conversation circle was affirmation; thank you Jesus.

That particular repair shop conversation, unbeknownst to any of us at the time, became memorialized a short while later.  About six months later all truckers and other employees of this company received a satellite message from one of the Fleet Managers. Glen had died in the sleeper of his truck. If any of us wished to submit a condolence, he would facilitate.  I was shook up - very moved at the sudden passing of this fellow-christian friend who had struggled with a number of issues; a cardiac condition, and some considerable family pain.  

I submitted a greeting, which it turned out, was read in full at the memorial service.  To my surprise I also learned that my condolences had become part of the eulogy! I had written something about the above conversation, and also Glen's thoughtfulness on several occasions, including one time he had recognized my name on a shaving kit at a truck stop in Missouri, rescued it and returned it to me, thereby preventing its unceremonious demise into some American landfill!  It was kind of hilarious. The week after funeral I received various appreciative replies from relatives of Glen, from our trucking company managers, from the pastor who had conducted the service, from his latest lover, and a few fellow truckers.  Needless to say my ego was bolstered a bit in the next while as I drove my miles, kind of reflecting on the occasional serendipity of things. Funny how good things to think about always make for straighter highways and lower hills.  😊  Hmm, Luke 1:35 comes to mind,  Every valley shall be filled in, every mountain and hill made low. The crooked roads shall become straight, the rough ways smooth.

Anyway, what is it that brought this to mind?  I think it is this Advent season and last Sunday's scriptures about John the Baptist.  J the B is my favorite Bible character, that wilderness preacher minimally clad with camel's hair garment, eating locusts and wild honey, divinely appointed to announce the one, "the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie" (Mark 1:7). The good feelings and the camaraderie of that truckers' conversation reminds me of the Baptist's wilderness more than of church services and liturgies.  And it reminds me of that LARGE theme, that Jesus theme, cried out by John in the wilderness and which the people were clamoring to hear, and which Glen so heartfeltedly had testified to in our trucker huddle. 

This blog post is another contribution to that theme which seems to have emerged in the last while.  I have been writing about dying, about things accumulated or accomplished or not accomplished in lifetimes, about interpersonal relationships, hurt feelings, about other religions, about spiritual search even in (especially in) our contemporary inter-faith society.  Strident, I have called it; perhaps a little morbid and slightly beyond the comfort level of what my friends and acquaintances like to read, but I have no problem occasionally afflicting the comfortable!  And then I have the nerve to suggest that the church is not as important as many still wish it to be. John the Baptist of similar mindset, not at all concerned about the conventions of his Jewishness nor about the Jewishness of the One he was foretelling.  I must say that my recall of that spontaneous truckers repair-shop Bible study was as sacred as any encounter I've had in myriads of studies in comfortable chairs in church sanctuaries or Sunday school classrooms. 

In these retirement years I am still immersed in that world which I am a little critical of.  Church.  It's that world you can't quite retire out of.  It's what I'm trained in and know how to do, and it is a healthy involvement, volunteering my time in Zoom consultations, in online committee meetings and church services, and hundreds of related emails and telephone conversations (mostly on my cell phone of course)!  Although I am 'thusly' involved I am not sure it is the best use of my time.  Perhaps my relationship with God would be better nurtured if I focused more on my grandchildren than on church committees.  Furthermore, and even moreso in this corona environment, I feel the worry and an increasing silence from church leaders almost akin to politicians - institutional people not quite sure of their truth.  Even within the effort to proclaim the eternal everlasting presence of God it seems waning of conviction.

Which makes me glad for memories of that holy huddle back there in the workaday world - the sacred and the profane side by side.  On this Second Advent 2020, my comfort is with the wilderness preacher, perhaps the trucker preacher, or perhaps the neighbor who needs her snow shoveled.  God is not done with us yet.