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. 

 

Hey What's Your Name?

The poor you will always have with you, Mark 14:7

 

I have a new job. This is the latest in my retirement voluntary involvements. I hand out gift cards to homeless and other needy persons in our suburban community. Who gets these surprises? Those whom I perceive to be the appropriate recipients of the many many gift cards as donated by people in churches and mosques in this corner of our city. 

I got the job just by opening my mouth.  A group from a local chapter of this city's Interfaith Council, to which I have been recently appointed, was considering a local service project which might be coronavirus-doable and useful in our neighborhood.  With awareness of encroaching suburban poverty especially in this pandemic season it was decided a "Seasonal Collection"of certain used items and groceries and toiletries and gift cards to be forwarded to Salvation Army and a Veterans Centre, would be taken.  And also there are homeless among us. Who knows some of those homeless?  "I do," said I, thanks to my endless daily walks all over our community. Where do they come from?  Downtown, most of them because of good C-Train service, and some of them sleep here maybe in some of our backyards or garages! 😊 It's true; I have had conversations with a few of them. I became the instant expert and promptly my committee entrusted me with hundreds of dollars of donated loot.

Now with one week's experience on said subject here are my findings, not at all in order of importance:  1) Some are hungry and grateful to the extent that they almost fall before your feet; 2) One guy was seemingly so gratified he forgot to say thank you, dropped his 'poor me' homeless sign, abandoned his post and purposely entered front door of the fast food place; 3) Several of my gifting transactions made under the watchful eye of local police; 4) Several have cried the blues because local shop owners keep chasing them away from their posts; 5) One elder gentleman is available out and about sitting in choice sunny spots because he can only stand his nursing home about two hours at a time; 6) One morning at 6:00 a.m. my heart ached for a young indigenous guy who had walked around all night; 7) Several times I perceived recipients very likely hailing from good homes, as evidenced by recent make up and okay clothing - very young and possibly kicked out of the house for whatever reason; 8) Several have been quick to ask my name, and usually followed by their name - good mutual introduction; 9) And one local guy I have known at least a year, will not be caught dead going to one of the downtown shelters, very articulate and likeable, speaks with conviction and obvious knowledge.  He is my local resident homeless, my friend, also friend of the police and a number of others.

These impressions may simply be repeated over and over in the next weeks, or a whole new batch of experiences, impressions, may yet descend upon this freebie guy. At this point I simply share a bit of perspective, yes from this strident slightly opinionated preacher trucker whom many of you recognize from day one of my blogging! I says it as I sees it. I share from the vantage of but one week at this new 'job', but also of one who's been around the block a few times.  

 

Firstly the scripture above. Neither I nor my ministry colleagues are under any illusion of solving the poverty situation. In fact we know we may be contributing to it by handing out freebies; but also we know we are staving off the discomfort of hunger pangs and offering a gentle human touch to some who need it. Jesus offers this very perspective interestingly already present in the Old Testament, There will always be poor people in the land (Deuteronomy 15:11) and the O.T. advice of attitude to the poor is almost identical to what Jesus teaches in the Gospels. Tightfistedness or hardheartedness is inappropriate, whether by Law or Gospel or Quran, or Book of Mormon or whatever sacred text one lives by. 

Secondly, relationships. I was pleasantly surprised by the donations coming from my church. Our people responded from their hearts to an identified need.  My cynical side might say, it is an easy contribution to make. Indeed it is; almost with no effort they are able to provide from their affluence enough resources for some of us to do some good. My grateful side, however, hastens to add, if they would not share, then even those of us involved with some of 'the least of these' would not have even the wherewithall for a quick fix. This is where cheerful giving comes in.  Relationships of grace and generosity are absolutely essential, and they are life giving in a faith community. 

Relationships with the recipients, the poor, also is proving to be life giving. Who of us are the needy?  All of us; in fact some of us 'givers' are very needy! These corona days as people are stuck with one another I hear many comments from fellow Christians, from relatives and friends, that sickness and death and family stresses more than ever are facing us, regardless of financial status. Relationships are relationships! Some of the homeless are out there because of breakdown in relationships with partners, with parents, friends, enemies, drug abuse, mental illness, etc. Some are out there because of a choice to get away from a hell-hole relationship. Many rich people pay $ thousands and hundreds of thousands also to get out of hell-hole marriages. Some in our affluent homes wish they could die or even commit suicide because relationships are so bad. I also hear touching stories about kind-hearted homeless individuals helping out others in similar circumstance. So, generosity is a good remedy -  good for us whether rich or poor. Humility about our give-away is good cheerful giving (2 Cor 9:7).  It is a good way to honor one another, and for me certainly a way of honoring God the giver of all.

And of course, I cannot but wax eloquent on at least one profound (or otherwise) learning. All of us are created beings, here for a reason.  Yes, huge topic I know, and I promise to be brief. As noted in the early impressions list above, I have already encountered "What's your name?" several times.  So far I have chosen to honor this with the simple first name; that always reciprocated with their first name. I shall continue to reflect on this as the weeks go by. I think there is a significant thing going on here.  It is good to identify ourselves; our name being a most basic and also sacred way of recognizing we have been created. I am reminded of a book which I will probably never mention in a Tim Horton's conversation, a very scholarly work by a longtime friend, The Challenge is in the Naming , Lydia Neufeld Harder (Winnipeg: CMU Press, 2018).  Writing for the academic community from her faith perspective as an Anabaptist, she goes through the gymnastics and rigor of quotes upon quotes (her endnotes and bibliography almost as thick as the text itself) to present a profound simple thesis; God is best named within the hermeneutic community. "What's that?" would say all my siblings including my colorful alcoholic brother, and all my gift card recipients and most fellow church members. My answer to all the non-academics is that the hermeneutic community is simply those of us who live by what we together understand God to be (check out  Matt 18:20). Yup, that's it. Touchingly familiar here, also our 'naming of God' not at all dissimilar to our given names. My two grandchildren were named by their maternal grandfather who was an Indigenous elder (R.I.P. Herb) who had received the names in a dream, and we have confirmed their names in a ceremony with family and church friends. 

 

"What's your name?" Now I have a fresh appreciation for my name, my wife and children's and extended family's names, as well as for my Creator, I AM. Hmm, also a new appreciation for my Muslim friends who get offended when us Christians mess around with our trinitarian descriptions of the Holy one. Our hermeneutic experience of God is a part of the naming, says Harder. I give thanks for a fresh new appreciation for names (and also why my brother insists the Higher Power of Alcoholics Anonymous meetings is adequate and also very essential).  Quite a topic brought on by the query of a few homeless. 😇

 

Indeed God is here in these holy exchanges I have happened upon in these last several days. These occasions of God are coming my way equally at the point of a smile, an exchange of first names, or giving or receiving of the gift card.  

Longing for Light

It is now two days after Easter.  I was inclined to begin this post immediately after morning worship at church, but something stopped me. I had enjoyed the celebrative verbal and Facebook posts by many who ventured “He is risen” and my natural response, “He is risen indeed” and the bright Easter morning sunshine, and the drive to church (yes drive) to sing on-site in our sanctuary behind our masks with a few others as we mimicked morning worship ‘congregational singing' coronavirus style. It was fun; a bright morning including our pastor’s sermon based on John 20:1-18 – good lectionary-based Easter text alongside some helpful interpretive scriptures. It was solid teaching for those of us who need that diet. It was a good morning.

So why not type away and get at it?  This morning I think I finally get why it needed a little time.  Even with the celebrative trimmings of day before yesterday, there is still a longing. The longing is not at all a denial of the miracle of the empty tomb resurrection Sunday. No, the longing is an honest admittance of ... that tune which has been my earworm yesterday and today!  “Longing for Light” even smack on the heels of that sunny Sunday.  After checking with my wife, the resident go-to musician in our house, she names the song in my ear and promptly sings me a verse or two.  Ah yes, thank you honey, now I can blog.

The longing is exactly as presented in Sing the Journey, number 54 (HWB: Supplement 1).  There it is, a beautiful testimony of transparency; honestly longing among some brooding thoughts, not quite confident, perhaps lacking hope (vs 2), some concerns alongside. Oh yes, longing. The Easter season actually can make us vulnerable to disappointment. In my mind it is the most significant holiday of the year. Ironically for me it became even more so during those 'latter day trucking years' just before my retirement. And not only because there was always a possibility of not making it home for Easter (long trips all over Canada and U.S.), but because my faith became more real to me during those trucking years than it had been during the 20 plus prior years of pastoring! It was indeed my living faith that made this trucker want to get home!    

Seasonal regularity can provide a dullness to preachers and worship ‘professionals’ which may rob especially the special seasons of the freshness which is life-giving, inspiring!  My personal mental yen for perfection at times robbed me of the joy and the actual experience of the very topic I was talking about – faith, exciting faith especially on those occasions! Needless to say a pastor’s family are often the first to observe the unfaith or the drag especially from the one trying to be excited on the whole church's behalf. Obligation definitely has a way of making a mess of spontaneity. 😏 Imagine my joy to experience a fresh new living faith among truckers and traffic on the highways and byways.  So with an enlivened faith – even more important to get home for Easter! In a new way the preacher (trucker) needed to be with the assembled ones.  And also in a new way the familiar scripture, Hebrews 10:25 has become extra meaningful for me, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another.

So back to Easter 2021.  I think it is all of this which contributes to my bit of emotional tenderness especially on an Easter weekend.  I've been around the block a few times (2 million miles actually 😇). When I show up in church I need not splendiferous sermons, exhilarating choirs, or whatever, and it must be freely experientially preached.  If not, I can tell!  On Easter Sunday it is so good to be able to experience our risen Lord, knowing it has new meaning each year.  

Resurrection after all is a surprise, and sometimes it may take a few days to sink in. Longing for light … perfect for Easter Sunday this year! I like also the Refrain:

Christ be our light! Shine in our hearts. Shine through the darkness.  Christ be our light! Shine in your church gathered today.

Christ is Risen!  He is risen indeed! Yes, to the assembled ones, and now I also comprehend more fully why it is always so difficult for my wife - even with masks and social distancing - to quit visiting with all her friends after church.

Addendum four days later: [Yes my posts are never quite finished - apparently quite characteristic of this nesheah. Always something more to think about as noted in a number of previous posts. 😔]    

Reading my good old Bible, John 20:24ff, Jesus appears to the disciples including Thomas, not necessarily a doubter but one who has some unique needs to have the resurrection make sense to him.  Jesus does not give him a separate tutoring lesson to explain his resurrected appearance.  Nope, he just gives it a little more time. Jesus allows a whole week to elapse (:26) and this time Thomas gets the satisfaction of 'touch and see' while they are all assembled. Here is yet another illustration of the importance of experiencing resurrection together with others, the assembled ones.