Tomorrow morning will be our second Breakfast in January, the longest month.
For anyone dependent on any kind of social assistance, the cheque comes early in December which makes it a long, cold haul to the next one. The local St. Vincent de Paul group is providing the meal tomorrow. Which means we get to just show up.
What a wonderful phrase. Just show up. Aaaaahhh. Lovely. Except I'll be telling a story. I wasn't planning on it, but the guest hosts requested it. I'm very much in demand. Yes. I am.
After Dinner last week we went to the foodbank, 7 of us in 2 cars.
Aaaaand the Donation Of The Week award goes to..... 2 cans of Ackee fruit in salt water! How heartwarming to think of all those otherwise starving kids heading off to school on Monday morning, looking forward to their lunch of Ackee fruit sandwiches. Stay tuned for next week's winner.
On the way over, PT was a bit nervous. He was dreading running into a particular estranged family member who has no qualms about airing private grievances in public. He didn't get out of the car until we'd looked down the street to make sure she wasn't coming or going. Then he peeked through the glass in the food bank door to make sure she wasn't there. Small town life.
While PT was standing in line, M limped out with his groceries and we asked him to look out as he was heading for the car and let us know if she was coming. He laughed and said that would be funny. Then he opened the door, quickly closed it to a crack and whispered, "Oh, she is there! Over by the car! Look!" As soon as he'd checked to see that we looked sufficiently alarmed, he laughed, threw the door open and headed out. Ha.
On the way back to the Motel, the three of us got into a discussion of sailing and canoeing. One prefers sailing, two prefer canoeing, except for when motor boaters race by without slowing down. (You're on vacation! What are you late for?! I hope your motor falls off and sinks.) (At least I would if I weren't a good Christian.) We talked about wearing life jackets. Two of us said we always wear them, one said he never does. And he can't swim.
We said, what if you get knocked over and knocked out? He said, well, the preachers say it's better over there anyway, so why not?
Now, if I'd been a better evangelist, I would have known what to say to that. As it was I had to choose between, "No, you misunderstood." or "No, the preacher was wrong."
Or I could pretend to be focusing on the road and say nothing.
Guess.
I know the Bible says we're supposed to "do the work of an evangelist" but sometimes I think I'd probably just make things worse. The people at the Motel, on the whole, have heard the gospel message over and over. Some have been led in a prayer of salvation, of sorts. They all have an understanding of Jesus and his death and resurrection. They're all intelligent and shrewd and their beliefs are a combination of Christianity, reincarnation, spiritualism. Most started out in church-going families and grew up through Sunday School and then life started happening and what they heard on Sunday mornings didn't work with the everyday world.
So they started thinking about what else might be true and just kinda went from there. They read, they watched, they listened, they talked, they thought and they formed their own very individualized faiths. All quite different, but all something that works.
Something that gives them hope, that promises that things will get better and that in the end, everything will make sense. They believe that "Everything happens for a reason", which most think is in the Bible somewhere. They believe that "God will never give you more than you can handle", also in the Bible somewhere. Somebody who loves them is in Heaven and waiting for them there. Jesus, Mom, Dad, son or daughter. They don't really care whether Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene. So what if he was? He was still good and loving and strong. He's still looking out for them, like he looked out for Johnny Cash.
It's far easier to preach to strangers than it is to preach to friends and I just can't imagine that one more sermon (from me, anyway) on original sin and redemption is going to shake loose the extra layers that they've piled on top of Jesus. And I don't understand how someone can smoothly segue from a natural friendly conversation to 'preaching the gospel'. Anything I think of seems clumsy.
There is, I think, a language that I haven't learned yet. May never learn. Maybe my language is stories and songs that give people something to think about, that oil the hinges on things rusted shut and held tight. I just know that, even now, days later with lots of time to think back on it, I can't put something together in my head that's 'preaching the gospel' that sounds like my voice. When I try, it always seems forced.
There are a few of us on the team whose gifts lay more in that direction.
I don't seem to be one of them.
r
For anyone dependent on any kind of social assistance, the cheque comes early in December which makes it a long, cold haul to the next one. The local St. Vincent de Paul group is providing the meal tomorrow. Which means we get to just show up.
What a wonderful phrase. Just show up. Aaaaahhh. Lovely. Except I'll be telling a story. I wasn't planning on it, but the guest hosts requested it. I'm very much in demand. Yes. I am.
After Dinner last week we went to the foodbank, 7 of us in 2 cars.
Aaaaand the Donation Of The Week award goes to..... 2 cans of Ackee fruit in salt water! How heartwarming to think of all those otherwise starving kids heading off to school on Monday morning, looking forward to their lunch of Ackee fruit sandwiches. Stay tuned for next week's winner.
On the way over, PT was a bit nervous. He was dreading running into a particular estranged family member who has no qualms about airing private grievances in public. He didn't get out of the car until we'd looked down the street to make sure she wasn't coming or going. Then he peeked through the glass in the food bank door to make sure she wasn't there. Small town life.
While PT was standing in line, M limped out with his groceries and we asked him to look out as he was heading for the car and let us know if she was coming. He laughed and said that would be funny. Then he opened the door, quickly closed it to a crack and whispered, "Oh, she is there! Over by the car! Look!" As soon as he'd checked to see that we looked sufficiently alarmed, he laughed, threw the door open and headed out. Ha.
On the way back to the Motel, the three of us got into a discussion of sailing and canoeing. One prefers sailing, two prefer canoeing, except for when motor boaters race by without slowing down. (You're on vacation! What are you late for?! I hope your motor falls off and sinks.) (At least I would if I weren't a good Christian.) We talked about wearing life jackets. Two of us said we always wear them, one said he never does. And he can't swim.
We said, what if you get knocked over and knocked out? He said, well, the preachers say it's better over there anyway, so why not?
Now, if I'd been a better evangelist, I would have known what to say to that. As it was I had to choose between, "No, you misunderstood." or "No, the preacher was wrong."
Or I could pretend to be focusing on the road and say nothing.
Guess.
I know the Bible says we're supposed to "do the work of an evangelist" but sometimes I think I'd probably just make things worse. The people at the Motel, on the whole, have heard the gospel message over and over. Some have been led in a prayer of salvation, of sorts. They all have an understanding of Jesus and his death and resurrection. They're all intelligent and shrewd and their beliefs are a combination of Christianity, reincarnation, spiritualism. Most started out in church-going families and grew up through Sunday School and then life started happening and what they heard on Sunday mornings didn't work with the everyday world.
So they started thinking about what else might be true and just kinda went from there. They read, they watched, they listened, they talked, they thought and they formed their own very individualized faiths. All quite different, but all something that works.
Something that gives them hope, that promises that things will get better and that in the end, everything will make sense. They believe that "Everything happens for a reason", which most think is in the Bible somewhere. They believe that "God will never give you more than you can handle", also in the Bible somewhere. Somebody who loves them is in Heaven and waiting for them there. Jesus, Mom, Dad, son or daughter. They don't really care whether Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene. So what if he was? He was still good and loving and strong. He's still looking out for them, like he looked out for Johnny Cash.
It's far easier to preach to strangers than it is to preach to friends and I just can't imagine that one more sermon (from me, anyway) on original sin and redemption is going to shake loose the extra layers that they've piled on top of Jesus. And I don't understand how someone can smoothly segue from a natural friendly conversation to 'preaching the gospel'. Anything I think of seems clumsy.
There is, I think, a language that I haven't learned yet. May never learn. Maybe my language is stories and songs that give people something to think about, that oil the hinges on things rusted shut and held tight. I just know that, even now, days later with lots of time to think back on it, I can't put something together in my head that's 'preaching the gospel' that sounds like my voice. When I try, it always seems forced.
There are a few of us on the team whose gifts lay more in that direction.
I don't seem to be one of them.
r
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