Sleeping in Fresno

Tonight I met a new friend. He is a young man recently returned from a little adventure "pursuing dreams in California," as he put it. "And Corona brought him back," says his mother lovingly. "We're so glad he's here with us." There's a story there I can tell; later. Strange encounter, these people I met recently on one of my many walks in our community.  Yes, by now I know a fair number of people, most of us on the common topic of the things we do with ourselves while Corona does its thing. We seem to be a neighborhood in the making.

Anyway, about tonight's new friend, along with parents and siblings all out for an evening walk. And his father is a preacher! Later sitting at my computer there is something about that conversation which still has me thinking (Yes the thinker again 😏). I am reminded of another friend. This guy went to Fresno, CA to get some education. The locals in our church of course thinking that must be a good and a desirable place to get educated. Little did they know that in that California town interesting other things also have been happening, like an economy that was tanking! I am reminded of a pleasant summer evening in that very town, and even then (2010), this trucker already observed the big cities (eg L.A. and San Fran) coming to small towns. The face of the good life, the face of adventures, of education seemed to be changing even then.

September 28, 2010               

HE SLEEPS

There he slouches on a bench right beside front door of the restaurant.  Head tilted at a strange angle and mouth agape, this guy is gone to the world. He sleeps. Middle class customers walk by as they enter and exit, children make the giggly comments, hookers walk by on the street, waitresses take the occasional look at the ‘guy outside’.

It’s a fine autumn evening; the weather allows for activity like this.  Inside the restaurant my waiter’s comment, however, adds a bit of extra perspective. “Welcome to Fresno’s recession, up close and personal”, he says somewhat cheerfully as he brings my coffee.  His words are probably an accurate description of what’s going on in many places these days.  It seems as though the world of the unfortunates is coming closer.  Hookers are more daring and no longer stay in the dark back alleys, offering their wares almost at the front door of trendy even-if fast food restaurants. Even among the busy renovating restaurants and businesses there is also evidence of others standing empty or closed down. I’m straying.

This guy sleeping; what’s his story?  Is he married, divorced, or widowed?  Does he have children?  Do those children wonder where their daddy is?  Or I shudder at another possibility; do they maybe not care? Has he had a good life and lost it all? Or has ill health or addiction and lack of discipline caught him up in this compromised position? He is weary and beyond caring what he looks like tonight. Still, he does not appear to be a down and out tough guy.

This seems to be a new scene, beginning of a new trend? Undeniably it happened right before my eyes tonight. On the other hand, this is nothing new.  Martin Luther, a 16^th Century reformer, once saw a similar situation, and noting a tramp, said to the person beside him, “There but for the grace of God, go I”.  1 Cor 10:12 also comes to mind, and at the very least I confess it totally applies to me, “So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall”.  

Hmm, now that I think about it some more I realize I need some info, maybe even some fellowship, with that tramp.  Maybe he is also middle-class fallen on hard times. Stranger things than that have happened. Maybe he and I are/were almost in the same boat.  If he’s still hanging around there tomorrow morning, I shall strike up a conversation!  

Hmm, and now ten years later, from deep within a Corona crisis I realize I would still enjoy conversation with that front entrance sleeper. How you doing man? Is that one of your daughters out there? Or what's up? Me, I was a preacher and I needed some open road. And from thereon conversation would have been high quality. 😀 Last week even in this year 2021 I heard the perspective of a homeless guy in this my 'big city'. He is part of my life even as that California guy back there was part of my life. I find their stories usually a bit more interesting than the common menu of sports, politics or other bs coming from the paying customers. It's the other side of life.

And now back to my new young friend recently returned from his 'vision quest'. Next time our paths cross I shall yet ask him what he found in California.  And soon also I shall ask the studying one, my pastor, if he found anything else interesting in that California college town in transition.

Prayers in a Bowl

The twenty-four elders fell before the Lamb, each holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. (Revelation 5:8)

“God cherishes our prayers.”  It was said in a matter-of-fact way, obviously coming from a person who fully believes it.  And it was in response to another within our group wondering about the significance of that phrase, those golden bowls full of the prayers (Bowls of prayers. 😊 That image even caused some chuckles in our circle). These comments were our thoughts and reflections which we are privileged to share with one another after the scripture readings of the Daily Prayers.  As I have mentioned in several previous posts, this is a ‘Coronavirus program adjustment’ made in my Area Church – an opportunity to log in and hear a prerecorded hymn and hear some daily scriptures and then pray silently in a quiet orderly way.  That’s it! No bright theological theories, no discussions or speeches; just read and pray and be with one another.  No need to massage egos; just focus on God together with the others logged in. For myself this has become the most life-giving of routines I have adopted since the onslaught of Coronavirus.  In addition to my routine of walking and some online study courses, this opportunity for scripture reading and silent prayers is a lifeline for this retired workaholic.

So now this simple statement about us and our prayers.  In recent blogposts, both mine and several colleagues/friends, I note considerable written about insights that come from books read, family circumstances, coronavirus activities, and (at least in my case) interfaith political implications.  I read very little about how God might feel.  I admit that is an awkward topic for me also, because I know not much about it. So, I'd rather not expend too much energy trying to sort that out!  I emerged from seminary an historical theologian at best – one who only dares to speak of God as a God who Acts (cf. George Ernest Wright).  Mostly I pay heed to the things that seem to be evidence of God's presence and God's doing as revealed to us in the scriptures and in our community (Hermeneutic community, us Anabaptists call it).  Needless to say I have not heard many (?) sermons about God's feelings and none about prayers in a bowl! Perhaps my colleagues and I have shortchanged the people a bit.

According to some notes in my study Bible, these prayer bowls are thought of as being presented to God by angels, in mercy and grace. The imagery is both Greek and Hebrew, suggesting to me that the saints are not necessarily restricted to only one culture. And noticeably, these are prayers, not lectures. I'm afraid we are still quite addicted to the explainers rather than the pray-ers.  We engage academics and scholars to speak about what’s happening or not happening in the church – often complete with explanations about other periods in history when same thing happened. And so denominations get explained to us, environmentalist Christians explain the importance of honoring the earth along with our Creator God, social activists harbor about poverty even though the poor have always been with us, colonialists defend their right to land, dispensationalists explain how seasons unfold according to 'the plan', apocalypticists prattle about this pandemic which was predicted by so and so and the end is now, and atheists laugh at us poor souls just hanging on to straws. Each of these perspectives may drive us to many seminars and learning activities, protests or whatever, perhaps to help us feel better (or worse) about ourselves. But how about God? How about relationship with God?

In a recent devotional my wife and I read about the mighty Creator who “knows the names of each of us” … and rejoices with a remnant of the people of Israel returning …"will take great delight in you ... will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zephaniah 3:17). Rejoice! (Vol 56, No 3, 2021). It is at end of the Old Testament that God’s happiness is highlighted. This goes on to become the New Testament story; God in Jesus come among us (John 1:14) - the one who also knows the name of each of us (Matthew 10:30).  This is such very good news. 😑

God cherishes my prayers? This is probably consistent with a feeling God. And then there's the old adage we don't hear much about any more - personal relationship with God.  It bears thinking about in a new way; old thoughts, new contexts. I am becoming acquainted with many Muslims in this our urban abode. Muslims pray more than most of us Christians, but do not presume upon a personal relationship with Allah.  They have a master-servant works relationship, and depending upon the country of practice, they are subservient to the mullahs. While denying a possibility of relationship with Allah, much attention is given to the teachings of Jesus and other prophets. Religious experts study the Quran and explain the teachings, including the authority to enforce. In some countries (Iran for example) they are the Supreme authorities - Ayatollahs. As Christians we claim that a divine personal relationship with God is possible and available through none other than Jesus. When I committed my life to Jesus as an Old Colony Mennonite teenager the terminology was "personal savior;" no more works-righteousness as per my O.C. legalisms, but 'saved by grace.' Even though I did not feel an immediate change of persona, I began to claim a peacefulness about a public declaration made - and that followed shortly by baptism, and further learning and education on what that might mean for my life.  Differences and similarities about personal relationship with God (evangelical Christians) and the works - righteousness of the O.C. and Islam is not lost on me. I think about that even from my vantage as a born again Christian.

Today many years later, I find myself freshly attracted to that throne room Revelation image. Even this year, 2021, as I also listen daily to Prayercast, praying for Muslims during this month of Ramadan, I cannot but feel a kinship with them. It would be so good if only they could recognize the grace - Divine Grace - available in Jesus the Christ. Yet, there is a kinship with those who pray humbly and systematically, prayers much different but perhaps also similar to those prayers I memorized as a little Old Colony boy (Unser Vater in dem Himmel...). I'm wondering whether in God's great mercy their prayers may also be included in those bowls at the end of time. 

At the very least, I am a proponent for Daily Prayer, available two mornings and two evenings a week for anyone anywhere who cares to log in. mcab.ca/events.  No speeches; just prayers. 

Postscript which must be included after my participation tonight, May 4, 2021, in a very touching, inspiring, and enlightening Learning Event by Canadian Council of Churches on The Truth and Reconciliation Commission and Bill C-15.  My oversight, I should also have referenced the smudge bowl used whenever our Indigenous brothers and sisters begin sacred ceremonies praying God's holy infilling. May those prayers also be included in the bowls at the end of time.

Of Rants and Conversations

Yesterday afternoon while I was poking around in my backyard I received a phone call.  Unavoidably it was intended for me, given that the loud noise was coming from my jacket pocket - cell phones! Conversation begins with the old familiar; one of my in laws seeing a certain truck on the highway and it reminds him of me and the golden years I spent going up and down the highways and biways of Canada and U.S, often passing through his city of habitation providing many good stop-ins. He is even more sentimental about those years than I am.

Conversation moves into what obviously dominant on his mind, and which receiving considerable airtime in local circles here as well.  It's a plot. All this coronavirus crap is of the devil just trying to make a mess of our country, of our lives.  He cooperates with protocal when and where he must "but it's all a hoax, a scheme."  A scheme of whom?  He doesn't really know.  I agree with him it's important to not be reckless, but I push back against his validation-seeking rant. I tell him I cannot agree that somebody planned this whole pandemic. Then of course I offer my variation, that this present dilemma, this pandemic is a  consequence of our modern world-traveling lifestyle (which can get me into a rant too, but he wouldn't be interested in that).  Mercifully conversation moves beyond the binary rant to queries about family members and the good memories we share.

The memories we share. There was a time in my life where, with my own self worth seriously at risk, I hit the road.  The open highway became a life-saving chapter, an opportunity to reflect on my own perceived failures at my noble life calling. There he would be, eagerly answering his phone always ready for a rendezvous anywhere almost anytime in his busy days managing his Services company, always full of stories, images, and yes, probably a bit gossipy.  He of course affirmed my re-entry into the real world (his world 😉) and I appreciated his lively company. He was very much a part of my therapy, along with my youngest son who lives in another city but also amazingly ready to meet dad for dinner or coffee here there or... wherever!  The appearance of a long haul trucker has a certain romanticism attached which I was easily able to provide for friends and some family members during those years. Thinking about this now, I realize the memories we now share are indeed a lifeline, and those occasions of check-in back there probably also lifelines for him and others I encountered along the way.

Lifelines are pretty important actually. "Throw out the Lifeline" was a song I became aware of when I was a teenager. Although themed for struggling drifting sinners, the idea holds sway for me in these retirement corona days.  We need lifelines, and the lifelines may not necessarily be thrown by people of same age, interests, or intellectual ability.  Lifelines can come from surprising places and in surprising ways.  I am reminded of a somewhat traumatizing incident this past winter. Our son fell into a partially frozen lake trying to rescue his dog who had scampered out chasing some birds.  Seeing a bit of skirmish a passerby nonchalantly threw a piece of rope laying on the shoreline and my son grabbed it.  It was his son however, yes our 14 year-old grandson, who made all the difference.  He grabbed other end of the rope, anchored his feet on some rough surface and literally pulled his dad and their dog back onto the ice.  Kadin does not like hero accolades - "It was nothing" - but we tearfully still thank him for holding the lifeline for his dad! 

In a different vein but similarly, I am a participant in some men's breakfast groupings which provided some marvelous pre-corona fellowship for a number of us. Now during corona we try to mimic a bit of that on Zoom, "Not Breakfast Meetings" we call them.  The beauty is in the mixture of retired farmers, businessmen, university professors and preachers.  One "good morning", one smile easily communicates the value of these 'board meetings' of the morning. The guy with a grade nine education may speak sentences a bit differently than the university professor, but we all know he has a fantastic faith, or life perspective. Or who might be feeling down because of a recent bad luck or family incident?  And who has the best jokes? It may not always be the guy who tells them all the time. 😐  It may be the guy who speaks the deadpan truth.  Absolutely essential, these varied contributors. This of course stretches into our recognized christian need for one another in the household of faith (eg Acts 2:42; cf also my recent post "Angels Close to the Ground," March 18).

And so I am grateful when my cell phone rings and a family member wants to shoot the breeze (There are also others of my lineage who could not be bothered). Also there are new friends from many other cultures right here in my longtime urban neighborhood - Christians, Muslims, and some 'unbelievers' - who throw me some amazing lifelines.  So, come to think of it, some of us read and write blogposts, some just read them, and also many who would not be bothered. It is good for those who cannot be bothered to also consider the lifeline somebody may be holding for you in surprising ways or places.  And speaking to myself too, Why not just make a phone call some time. I know it's old fashioned, but after a moment we could probably adjust to a novel new idea reminiscent of an old habit!  As truckers we called it "shoot the bull," or ---- more colorful yet, but I'll keep it classy here! I know I still like to pretend I'm busy, but I know I'd quite appreciate it.

Before you know it, that Facebook rant may well be replaced by a conversation.

United Nations of Laredo

Those of you who read most of my posts already know about my reputation as a kid.  I was the nesheah, the kid who endlessly pommeled his dad with questions - about farming decisions, about farm chores, and why did this have to be done that way, etc. etc.  Lord have mercy, I have already apologized to dear old dad a number of times as he reposes in the neighborhood Saskatchewan graveyard. Now the adult version of that boy is simply 'the thinker'.  Yes, even at end of a certain blogpost, my thinker often gets another twist on it and the impulse is to keep going on that too. 😏  Even in retirement I still spend considerable time thinking about things happened during my working years - and yes, dear dad, now also wondering why I did it that way. 

Anyway, I suppose still in character as a 'thinker' I cannot but share an article I wrote in 2014 - already past retirement age even then, but still going.  This was an incident now serving as considerable grist for the mill in my post-retirement thinking, reminiscing - education actually. Physical retirement is a reality we need to comply with, but I'm quite convinced that education never needs to end. In fact, I have a number of questions I want to ask of God just as soon as I traverse to the other side. 😑 Interfaith encounters are my latest learning edge. Some of my recent posts have touched on that. The following 'incident' is as heartwarming to me in hindsight as it was then. "United Nations of Laredo," I entitled it then, and same title still. 

Texas is known for its independence of spirit, its 75 mph speed limit even on two-lane highways, its no nonsense judicial system regularly served by capital punishment, and a large complement of evangelical militaristic nationalistic churches who provide the philosophical/theological backdrop for all of this.

Recently, however, it was this Lone Star state which provided an exception to all the above.  I encountered an occasion of inspiration and inclusiveness. It was in the border town of Laredo that I was staged to pick up a load of Mangos. This fruit comes out of Mexico on Mexican trucks and then Canadian truckers transit the loads In-Bond through the U.S. up into Canada. Duly parked in the staging area of a Freight Forwarder, waiting to get loaded, another truck parked itself beside me.  I recognized it as Canadian, a Manitoba Carrier.  After brief introductory conversation with the driver on the pavement between our trucks I pushed my hunch based on his accent and slipped into Low German, the language of Old Colony Mennonites. Bingo, with a look of relief he slipped into high gear in the lingo which flowed so much easier because it was his mother tongue. That camaraderie was short-lived, however.  In short order we were joined by another Canadian trucker, this guy from Ontario, an immigrant from the Ukraine still struggling with a very thick accent, and then another, this guy very likely a Pakistani living in Montreal, and then one more, an East Indian this fellow from Toronto, complete with turban, young, handsome and spoke an excellent English. Intrigued by this new circle, I took some leadership in accommodating friendliness and some inclusive conversation – also enjoyed my Mennonite friend’s full participation! Obviously he recognized that on this occasion our new little bond needed to include others.  No more low German; at least not on this occasion.

Just as I was beginning to describe a mechanical problem which seemed to be threatening my reefer, my cell phone rings, and voila, it's the shipper! I am the first one to back up to the dock to get loaded! Young Mr Turban also gets to back in right beside me. In a couple minutes there we are backed in and loading side by side.  While the forklifts are bumping in back of each of our trailers, I query him seeking some further wisdom for my reefer situation.  He knows less than I do!  No problem, we enjoy some congenial conversation anyway.

Mercifully, then a miracle!  In the gathering darkness my indicator light begins to flash Green-Amber, green-amber like a beacon across the parking lot. My reefer is in trouble and it is for all to see! Then I can hardly believe my good fortune! Our three other new friends had continued conversation in mid parking lot. They see my reefer's distress and head right on over.  Corporate diagnosis rapidly ensues!  It is Mr Montreal, the guy with the oldest truck whom I had humored about extra skills he probably has because it takes that to know how to drive an old truck! Indeed he knows his way; asks for a hammer – which I promptly procure from my toolbox. He looks strategically at my battery, wiring, taps and wiggles a key connector and presto, green light solid, temperature settings stabilize and problem solved!  Cheers!  Right beside my truck there is laughter and chatter in all of our languages.  Our new exuberance cannot quite be contained in English, our common language. Happiness; I also think of tongues of fire as on the day of Pentecost (Acts chapter 2).

In addition to gratitude for a small mechanical problem fixed, I drive away from this Laredo shipper with a surge of goodwill and even inspiration.  In my mind there is more; there is an irony, given my Texas impressions above.  Border town Laredo, a so-called dangerous place for tourists, has provided a perfect opportunity for this bunch of Canadians, all hailing from other countries and all sporting different accents and mother tongues. Not only did we briefly enjoy each other’s company, but also we participated in some healthy problem solving!  All of us, in community fashion (dare I say Canadian style?) rise to the old-fashioned idea of being neighbors to one another. 

My mind goes on, like usual.  I chuckle a cynical thank you to all the American truck stop CB rambos, those cowboy know-it-alls who pollute the airwaves with their words, words, blah, blah, and nobody listens.  Right under their noses a few Canadians discovered that United Nations is still alive.