British Bulldog

August 14, 2018

I had not thought this could happen inside my circle of friends and acquaintances.  In my recently retired trucking world it might have, but not here in my community!  I believe I am observing racism – out and out racism, not just a bit of prejudice.  And this not in the deep southern U.S. nor in a school playground somewhere, but right before my eyes among senior citizens in our city of Calgary!  It happens regularly three days a week in the locker room of one of our local swimming pools. 

Last fall I began deep water acquasize classes together with a friend of mine.  Our reason was camaraderie, he recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s and I in need of some routine morning discipline after retirement from my latest occupation.  The acquasize is excellent.  We do it together and we know we both benefit from the discipline three mornings a week. We need each other.

First day in the locker room I also met a little guy, with a scar from his yin yang down there all the way up to his throat, compliments of open-heart surgery some years back.  Kind of friendly, he engages in early small talk – weather, snow on the roof, water temp irregularities, etc.  The acquasize circle kind of waxes and wanes depending on holiday and snowbird wants and wishes.  After all, I am among respectable mostly well-heeled citizens.  Conversation is usually subdued, primary topic with several of us being to double check on commitment to stop at Tim Hortons on the way home. That’s where our freshly exercised fellowship really takes off!

Well, there is one other guy, big belly, clippy English accent, always late, and always haughty.  He will not look at me, and he will not talk to me!  I hear him make brief comments to the little guy and a few others, and then in the pool a group of ladies and a couple of men, also English accents – jokes, smiles, etc.  No attention to the instructor when they get going.  I know now that he is not deaf mute; he just has a well defined circle – or is it a harem?  

I have no need or desire to join that circle.  However, being a relational person I believe in the casual courtesies of hello, good bye, etc.  Double check with my friend Peter; he confirms no conversation also not yet with Mr. Proud.  Then another guy, a Scandinavian, shares he has yet to receive a hello from same.

One day a classroom of elementary students come in, most of them dark skinned, and a cheery articulate dark-skinned teacher supervising locker room instructions to the little boys as teachers are wont to.  Scowl from Mr. English!  A few days later another group of kids. This time a smile!  Kids all around, he almost looks cheery. The reason for persona turnabout?  These kids are white, and this time the teacher is a young Englishman.  A bit of further research confirms my growing suspicion. They are from one of Calgary’s elite private schools!

Then it strikes me; all my conversations to date have been with the Khams and the Jens and the Chows and John and Peter  – probably Dutch or German or Chinese or Mennonite or ...?   Mr Haughty speaks not to any of these - only to those he deems worthy.  Mr Little Guy qualifies kind of, probably because they recognize same accent from same town in the UK, so the occasional grunt is warranted.

Our daughter has a best friend, also English, and they attended the High School next door to this swimming pool.  From the stories I heard, Laura pushed against the edges of her parents’ and her grandmother's comfort zone and became best buds with this interesting good looking Metis girl who had been adopted by Mennonite parents.  By now, twenty-five years later, their friendship has weathered the social mores, the class wars, the wedding of one of them (maid of honour the other one), education, careers and the birth of Laura’s two children. Those two kids love their mom and their dad (also adopted in an interesting family situation) and Auntie Adrianne.  As the minister who officiated at their wedding, I delight to observe the possibilities when friendships blossom even through stereotypical fences.  Friendships can do amazing things.  This is how I grew up; this is the way my children have grown up.  We relate with people no matter who or where from.  Galatians 3:28 says it clearly,  There is no longer Jew or Greek, no longer slave or free, ... male and female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus (NRSV). This was practiced, even if not much preached in our home.  And I suppose this explains my indignation at this prude.

Very likely this man is stuck in the colonial mindset.  Maybe his bride is dead by now, or possibly PTSD or some war time trauma?  Maybe he thinks we are all Nazis.  Or maybe he just never learned that this country of Canada has room for more than our Commonwealth of Nations.  His day is coming.  He will soon die and the one who takes his place in this neighbourhood will likely not be from that English village, and may well be from Jordan, or Syria, or Russia, or maybe Baltimore, MD.  British exclusivity is over!

Accident

Many years ago, for a considerable portion of time, I was a long haul trucker.  Now in my retirement I am trying to give some attention to reading, re-reading, editing and organizing a whole bunch of incidents, thoughts, and stories I wrote during those wide open highway years.  I happened upon this one, amazingly similar in theme to the last blog I posted but a week ago (The Need to Die, April 23, 2020).  Written seventeen years ago, and a totally different occasion, it seems to me my thinker still processes things in a similar way. Similar theme, yes?

July 1, 2003

                                                   ACCIDENT

  

There are occasions that absolutely demand I pull laptop off the top shelf and use it to full convenience - like right now.  Trucking mostly means go go, keep that load-a-moving, no time for creative writing!  Now I have time!  Here I sit in a humongous highway back-up - apparently an accident up ahead.

What to do when you can't go!  I suppose I could pull the Bible out, but that would mean I’d need to give it some attention. Okay I'll just confess the commoners reason for lack of Bible reading. So often when I have a few minutes to read or write the beginning impetus is a magazine or newspaper which grabs your attention, or an idea percolating in your head which just must be written down right now; i.e. the momentary stimulus must be grabbed or at least recorded.  Seemingly that’s more important than starting with a blank mind which might be available for whatever the Bible might offer.  At any rate oft-times there is a reason why it simply is more important or opportune to do something else!  To whit this occasion.  Sorry Bible; I’ll read you tonight.

Now to the accident, the reason for my sitting here.  The CB rumor mill says 4 or 5 hours wait, a five car pile-up and apparently two dead.  This is grim information.  Fascinating though, the conversations start and then on and on about who or what type of idiot weekend driver probably caused it, how long it’s going to take, and whether or not there is parking space at a truck stop which just happens to be in proximity, just beyond the accident scene.  The thoughts about lives ended and likely personal trauma are not talked about (although each person in this line-up probably has some private thoughts about this).  We are a people of deflection.  Many times we talk about that which is superfluous.  Why is this the case, when in actual fact many of us would probably be relieved to enter into conversation about LIFE even with a stranger?

As the weekend travelers spill out of vehicles to stretch, chat, smoke or eat it must be noted that suddenly we are all people - big, little, fat, fit, pretty or ugly.  Suddenly we are all together standing at the roadside, rather than competing vehicles hurtling down the highway – very likely the cause of the accident which has brought about this occasion.

Without bringing this to any profound (or otherwise!) conclusion, I simply end this by noting; maybe we should think more respectfully at all times of the inhabitants of the thousands of vehicles we meet.  Then maybe, just maybe we would have fewer accidents.  I think it’s time to go read my Bible! 

 


 

The Need to Die

In a recent blog post ("Into my Room" March 27, 2020) I promised to present my ideas in a strident forthright manner.  I also made reference to a likely occasional critique of things around me.  Well, this is one of those occasions.  And just by way of further introduction to the subject at hand, please be assured I am not in a bad mood, just kind of thoughtfully indignant - concerned that we are not quite getting it yet.

Coronavirus social distancing is creating quite the posts, quite the rants, quite the tears, quite the laughs, quite the inspiration, quite the church services, quite the business and administrative changes, many government updates, etc.  On my daily walk (average about 10,000 steps) a few blocks from my house two days ago I read a hand-printed message in a living room window.  This post was slightly beyond the colloquial "We're in this together" hype.  It was kind of lengthy but catchy!  Enough to get me walking up their sidewalk for a nice read.  Once started it took me in.  We are reaping the consequence of lifestyle to date, it read, and therefore this pandemic.  Then in addition to the urge to stay two meters apart and to cooperate with officials it concluded with "Think healthy and think deeply in your home, and if you have a home, be glad".  It was not glitzy, not pessimistic, not religious - just neighborly!

Enter my opinion.  Many of us are doing what is required, yes, but in our minds still hiding in the thickets. If the weather is pleasant there's backyard work to do.  If we need groceries most of us have the means, if a break is needed we hop in car or pickup or SUV (gas is cheap) and just do it.  And of course we can encourage one another with Zoom meetings, WhatsApp messages, Zoom birthday parties, parking lot coffee times.  Our conversations are an adjustment of the normal and some acknowledgment that we seem to be into something new.  And then we go on and on and on about that, without addressing a little more.  We are such avoiders as we prattle on about lame over-used political or religious or whatever worn out points of view!


What is really on our minds?  I think some of us, perhaps many of us, are actually thinking about the possibility of dying.  Yes, you or I.  Is it perhaps a good thing for us to die in order for the earth to be healed?  I have mentioned it several times recently, and this usually met by shocked silence or a quick positive-thinking-type negation, "Oh no, we don't want to think that way".  Okay, but why not think that way?  News clippings of Wuhan, China, indicate that after that viral epidemic with many deaths, and dealt with by a total industrial shutdown, the sky is now clearing and the birds are singing.  Just saying, just asking,  "The grass withers, the flowers fade" so we read in Isaiah 40 and in the New Testament a further reflection, "All flesh is like grass" (1 Peter 1:24). We are but a part of this creation. Check the first chapter in your Bible.

Back to the message on my neighbor's window; what is wrong with saying it as it is and then an invitation to consider possibilities. Even if not religious on that window, I am led to reflect on the meaning of Life.  Why not, even as you say thank you to medical professionals and essential workers doing their absolute best to serve us, also think about the Giver and Receiver of Life?  I have Muslim and Christian and Indigenous friends, all of who are ready to say that even as we reap the consequences of our lifestyle, there is a larger vantage than the scientific or political.  I happen to know many professionals - and some of them essential workers  right now - who are the first to admit they do not have the tools to fix this one.  Prayers, and large considerations are welcomed.  My main point here?  It is indeed absolutely essential for human beings (apparently those who have dominion) to speak with other human beings residing on this planet earth.  Environment and health crises, politics, and religion, all required at the table.

These Kyoto-G7 United Nations type conversations of course are easier at international conventions and board meetings than at family dinners or church services or in small town watering holes or coffee shop talk.  In those circles (and I have tried it) if I broach the above perspective I feel the anxiety, "What?  Why does he consort with those 'others'? Why does he think things like that?  He's a preacher, does he still believe?"  In other words, in our habitat we are still inclined to the tried and true.  Do I still believe?  Yes, I believe.  I believe enough to appreciate my neighbor's post on his front window.  I believe enough to recognize the pain and horror of many a war fought for territory (read aboriginal or colonial history).  I believe enough to know that no country or ideology is strong or pure enough to force itself on a whole planet.  AND I also know the one Healer who 'pitched his tent among us' (John 1:14).  He walked the roads between Jerusalem and Galilee, teaching, proclaiming, praying and teaching to pray, enduring misunderstandings and ridicule, and well-meaning disciples who followed only partially understanding.  All this among the people's search for a messiah - political and/or religious.  This One died for his troubles, and then he lives again (read my post "Corona Easter", April 12, 2020).  This one is Jesus my Savior (Galatians 2:20).  This one is also Jesus my Lord.  In other words, I am a Jesus follower.  So what would Jesus do?  As his follower I need to pray about that.  I need to think quietly in my room, in my back yard, in my truck (social distancing of course).

About a year ago I was speaking with a good friend who at one time was chairperson of the congregation I was pastor of.  This conversation obviously before even a hint of Covid-19.  "Rudy, what's priority these days?  If I were to say heaven and earth will pass away, what would that mean to you?"  His response came in the same way I remember him many years ago.  "People are not going to survive," he says. "But the earth is.  So I like to honor the earth and our God for at least as long as I live."  And then he smiled.  And I smiled too!

The engineer and the preacher.  He was always ready to hear what the preacher might say, but not to the point of anxiety about my orthodoxy.  And then quite often I would listen to his unorthodoxy. 😀 I sought his common sense logic in many situations.  We enjoyed working together.  Today he offers a wisdom which helps my corona perspective.  And "whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's" (Romans 14:8).

Many thoughts from my room these days.  Indeed it's much more than just social distancing.  There's some good news to be nurtured in here!  Nothing morbid about a possibility of death.  I can live with that!  And if a vaccine is discovered soon, it will be well for a population to move forward having given some thought to this, and a little more ready to die. 

The Very Hairs

 I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from? 
 My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.  Psalm 121:1,2

 And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  Matthew 10:30

Here is an insight I would not have discovered, had it not been for Covid-19 and the opportunity (?) to stay in my house quite a bit.  I am learning to paint pictures - beautiful ones at that!  Take a look at these two samples.

I am awestruck by the almost majesty of this click-by-number mountain.  It took about two hours - approximately 1000 taps - to apply the 95 different colors on my iPhone.  Also required was an extra treatment of eyedrops to finally behold the finished product out there.  As my masterpiece appears my imagination takes me to the Kicking Horse Pass, westbound somewhere around Golden, BC.  I am back in my truck on one of those many trips on Highway 1 through the beautiful Rocky Mountains, ever changing, ever the same, always beautiful right there on the border between Alberta and British Columbia.  The view is so stunning I do not even mind the possibility of putting on tire chains on the way back.

Similarly, my delight with the other sample.  I love the warmth of grandma sitting in her chair while her little boy plays with blocks.  Those hair!  I marvel at the IT people who create software programs that respect the very hairs of the head.  A headful of grey is not grey, but mixtures of blue, green, grey, brown, white, red, black!  Similarly a boy's blond locks also not merely yellow.  Oh, and also I realize that whole mountainside would need different colors were it another time of day.  This must be art, and thanks to the ColorMe app I have become a creator!

Details. Details!  I could wax eloquent now perhaps about the Creator, or about our use of time, as I am inclined to, but this time I spare you my philosophizing or theologizing.   I close with some words from my daughter when she noticed I was getting satisfaction from this clicking.  Speaking to her mother she says,  "This is neat, dad has discovered color, the beauty of painting.  He likes colors; he's learning, just like you and me mom".  😊

Corona Easter

Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” John 20:17.

 Yesterday a friend sent me little attachment on Facebook Messenger.  "Don't Touch Grandma" (Youtube.com) is a goofy social distancing type song composed and performed by Jimmy Fallon and Adam Sandler.  Obviously recorded from separate locations (thanks to technicians who easily knit things together digitally) is a touching tribute to the grandmas who are an at-risk commodity in these days of corona pandemic  

This is apparently an issue of considerable import these days.  I say apparently because in the early days of Corona threat I had taken a slightly casual approach to being careful around the elderly.  Three weeks ago when our son and his family arrived from a world tour to quarantine in our home, my wife and I were elated, thrilled that we would have 14 days of uninterrupted quality time with our beloved who had been adventuring all winter!  We discovered immediately that an almost family spat had preceded this. There was some strong feeling between them and our other children about whether it was appropriate for them to land in our home and possibly expose us, their mom and dad, to whatever they might have caught abroad.  Needless to say my own light-heartedness continued, but it was more along the line of being willing to die for the sheer pleasure of having kids around!  As we listened to daily reports we all began to realize our love for one another cannot ignore a new reality about how to be with one another.

So, new attention to an often read and familiar scripture.  Mary Magdalene, the steadfast follower of Jesus has a full-on first time experience with the beloved ribbouni, or teacher.  The immediate response of Jesus upon her discovery of his risen presence is like "Hold off. Don't touch".  We have the sheer delight of resurrection, along with immediate introduction of a new way.  There is something here, something I probably would not have noticed, had it not been for the current pandemic.  There is a new restriction, a new caution, a new reality.  Do not resort to old lovey dovies, but accept a new way of love.

A new way of love.  Abby Norman, a pastor in Atlanta, GA in her Easter message, also agrees that the pandemic reveals a new breath on this scripture. She says she never much thought about that damper on the joyous reunion.  "Now,"  she says, "it is all I can think about.  This year, those details that someone is here ... but no you cannot touch him, have become so real to me." (Sojo,net).  We can leave notes on the sidewalk, she says, wave from car windows, we can call and we can text.  But we cannot physically hold on to one another.

A new way of love and new unknowns.  In a brief communique yesterday with the office secretary of our church I realize I had that awareness, "After this is over our church will never be the same", so I typed.  Old habits are dying hard of course. The smart alecks, the deflectors (in trucker language, read bullshitters), the know-it-alls, the coffee shop politicians now relegate binary opinions to social media.  Uneducated busybodies will always be there, as Jesus encountered every day of his life (see John 1:14). 

It will be different, yes, but also the old continues.  Jesus knows that Mary Magdalene is by far the best one to communicate with those wimpy disciples who are cowering in a room somewhere. "But go to my brothers" he says to her. Oh, and I also notice Jesus still appreciates those real conversations even with those failed disciples - note his conversation with Thomas just a bit later in this chapter (20:24-29  Sure read it right now).  Yup, praise God here is a message for all my failed friends here, there, and everywhere.  I think of trucker buddies who have cried with me bitter tears because of lost communication, failed marriages, daughters who will not speak to them, children in jail, etc. etc.  I think of cowering fellow church members who are ashamed of themselves but feel compelled to at least show up in church occasionally but cannot be honest with themselves (church version of the bullshitters).  Jesus lovingly instructs Mary Magdalene to go lightly with the touching, but also gives her the life-giving assignment to "go tell the others".   I see here the crystal clear invitation to speak humbly and modestly about this sacred learning that is unfolding right before us. 

People yearn for touch, yes, but clamor for a spoken Word.  Here is a huge challenge to the preachers of this day.  Even as you speak to an empty church building you are speaking to a world listening.  Please honor your sacred trust.  You must become reflective and open and there is nothing wrong with self-identity as one of those cowering disciples.  Lift up your eyes and see Mary Magdalene coming with the news. He lives! He lives!  So to all of us, whether we're entertainers like Jimmy Fallon or Adam Sandler, whether the profession is preacher or trucker or scientist or artist or carpenter, essential worker or freshly unemployed, whether indigenous, black, white or yellow, Muslim, Sikh, agnostic (yes you too my friend), Jewish or Christian  (diligent Mennonite or born again Bible thumper or ecumenical variety) it matters not!!  It's a new day, and as my straight talking dairy farmer sister just said, we may all croak soon. 😏  But I say Jesus has the same message for all of us.

Of course for a while now we can not shake hands and hug and greet in our gatherings.  However; there's Mary coming your way with that news about the resurrected Savior.

Holy Week Battle

Holy Week has a bit of a hold on me.  This week just before Easter with its ominous music and myriads of memories has also a tinge of celebrativeness to it.  A bit like Christmas, but in my mind even more important.  Not everybody seems to agree with me on this.  My perspective has its beginning probably because I grew up in the Old Colony Church where form and tradition was the reality.  Easter, Christmas, and Pentecost each had three days of celebration - first, second, and third heilgetag, all three complete with mandatory church services, except in our home my parents becoming a bit free thinking declared 'third holiday' was optional.  So three times a year we had three days of holiday!  You just knew something important had happened somewhere.  Easter was the heavy-weight in my mind because it was preceded by Stille Freitag - quiet Friday, when Jesus had died! Even our farmyard Easter Egg hunts in the cool spring mornings had an air of reverence about them.

Alongside these traditions there was also the exploration of large questions, at least for an inquisitive one like me, so said my dad.  I had questions like who is God and how does one become a Christian and why is this spoken about kind of differently in the various churches in our mostly Mennonite community?  Some of those churches gave greater attention to my personal faith experience than on how many holidays were deemed appropriate or necessary.  I soon opted for this more personalized approach, no surprise to my parents.  That of course became my mode operandi as I entered Bible College, University, summer jobs, ever since.

So it is that this ever-querying young adult student, needing summer employment, repeatedly got involved in the world of trucks and even after the eventual call to pastoral ministry, several extended periods in long-haul transportation.  In that secular world I would always make every effort to get Easter off.  Deep down in my soul this was important to me.  My faith then and now includes much thoughtfulness about Jesus in the Good Friday Easter event.  Many conversations with fellow evangelicals, in church or in trucking circles, would of course celebrate that God is available equally each and every day, no need for special days or times or seasons. It even says so in the Bible (Galatians 4:10).  Yes, true, but ... nonetheless. Nonetheless.

Looking back now, I can see that my faith journey, including the education years, the clinical training, the ministry positions and, yes the trucking years, has always had a need of the Church Year.  In my pastoral ministry I always preferred lectionary-based worship rather than sermon series, or even worse, pastors' hobby horses.  It is within the long distance truck trips - home away from home - that I realized my christian commitment has its source in Jesus and undeniably what was endured and accomplished during this week of all weeks.

Just yesterday, in Facebook conversation with a friend, I responded to her sharing of a link, "Largest Choir Ever to sing Hallelujah Chorus."  My thumbs-up response including comment  "He shall reign forever and ever!" was met with her suddenly au contraire reply, "Well if that's your paradigm, I guess so".  Shocked was I. Why forward a holy item like this and then disown it?  Needless to say that was followed with some exchange, and then dropped.  I realized she is unmoved by that which moves me.

This reminds me of another incident two months ago.  I had made application to a seminary to pursue some post-grad studies (Yes, this workaholic still having a little retirement problem).  Application submitted along with lots of supportive documents, and then 'Admittance Interview', which I bombed!  I was unable to engage the interviewers in the research project which I had envisioned - a study of Messiah Search in Judeo-Christian, Muslim, and Indigenous.  In hindsight I realize I was perhaps too enthused about the idea and also too grandiose.  However, in my mind the needed refinement and adjustments could commence with the help of a faculty advisor.  Instead they switched me off because it "sounded like a sermon".  Aah I'm still wondering whether they have listened to any sermons recently.

Religion and faith practice in today's society must be non-judgmental, open-minded and inclusive.  Inter faith education and dialogue is essential for civilized beings.  However, I also am learning that our dialogues or ecumenical events cannot merely be an agreement to be nice or academic and meet in the nether middle somewhere.  Nope!  Quality inter-relationships always depend on participants fully 'owning' what they believe.  I have Muslim friends who are shocked at our Santa Clauses and Easter Eggs and commercialized 'holy' weekends. My understanding of God-among-us religion hinges on an experience with the One who did Holy Week.  Not easily done away with!

My wife and I have disagreements, and sometimes even arguments, during our morning Bible read.  Apparently I get too excited about an insight or inspiration and then don't leave room for her pondering. This happens!  Different personalities, male - female, we encounter God in different ways, as do many denominations within the Christian faith.  At the same time, I believe it behooves us that it's not just a matter of discussing religion in a nice quiet manner.  Holy Week is case in point. Once upon a time Jesus walked the lonely Passion. To ignore that is to lose the essence.

I learned that in a very traditional church when I was a kid.  I still need Holy Week, and so do all my post-modern peers. 

Corona Community

I just returned from an early morning walk.  Walks have been a part of my daily routine these last several years.  So nothing new there, except that those excursions now seem to have an added dimension.  And when I return to the house those added dimensions become a part of the conversation.  "This time I met so and so, and I met these two women. One made a right angled turn off the walkway and avoided even eye contact, the other a friendly greeting even as we keep the two meter distance".  

These variations happen each day. A family walks by with three squirmy kids and I greet them all, and I get happy replies.  An old man walks with slow careful steps - no greeting; shortly thereafter another man and he comes complete with a full-face grin and a cheery greeting and tribute to the gorgeous morning.  Joggers come by either with athletic concentration or a cheery wave; same with the winter cyclists.  Nothing all that noteworthy here?  It is but par for the variety of my neighbors and their activity.  So what is it?  The difference, the added dimension, is probably me.  The difference seems to be that I am now making note.  Before this Corona awareness I also took walks - in addition to acquasize three times weekly.  Those walks included seemingly no people watching - at least not consciously so.  In the earlier walks my mind was occupied with other things -  happenings going on immediately before or after.  Now the 'walk in the park' is one of the distinctive and few things I do each day.  And now the smile or wave of fellow social distancers is a significant thing.

Similarly in our homes, I think.  For the past two weeks we have had our son and daughter-in-law and their two kids with us. My wife and I became the beneficiaries of the required 14 day quarantine after they returned home early from their trip around the world.  We have been delighted - no one with greater pleasure than grandma cooking and baking and feeding and talking and ...  also an awareness that this is different.  Each day includes considerable time in front of the TV getting the latest from our Prime Minister and the World Health Organization and some news updates.  Even while one of us is glued to the News several of us want a bit of break, so out comes Solitaire or Facebook or a game or a noisy discussion with grandkids about how much time on the device - except we have limited suggestions as to what else they might do.  Options, different ways of being at home with one another because this is after all, quarantine.

I am reminded of a topic I encountered myriads of times when making pastoral visits. After a significant telling of an incident - either happy or sad - there would be opportunity to reflect on what we might make of it (choices) - and often followed by the expected Bible references like Philippians 4: 4-9 or Matthew 6: 33-34 or maybe even an empathic reference to  Romans 7:15,  I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.  Within pastoral conversation there is usually acknowledgement that life is more than good choice or bad choice, but how to live in and among the circumstances, all things considered.

Choices are more than the decision I make.  Although decision-making is an important life skill, it is also important to see choices in context of others' choices or life circumstance.  I think I am learning this by osmosis as I walk in the park or spend time in quarantine with family members in my house.  Other people's choices have an impact on us. It behooves us to recognize and accept others for the choices they are making, very likely impacted by whatever circumstance they are in.  

As a Christian I continue to appreciate my faith community, the Anabaptists, who emphasize that faith is best practiced in community of believers. "No man is an island", said a trappist theologian Thomas Merton (in 1955, obviously before inclusive language was in vogue 😏).  It is more than the personal yin yang, good or bad, happy or sad.  Oh, and it's not just about me - a lesson which desperately needs learning by many in today's modern individualistic society.  

So, my walks these days require hospitality to fellow walkers dealing with circumstances in their particular situations, AND ALSO realize it's best if we all do what must be done.  It is about all of us!  Get some exercise and keep at least two meters apart y'all.