Short Cut to Community

When I crave a new perspective on things, or even fresh insight into a vexing scripture passage, I will get out of my office to talk with people - at the local McDonald's, waiting to pick up the kids at school, at a coffee shop. And ... although it's risky... occasionally I will get my hair cut by someone new. While the stylist attempts to tame my unruly hair, I steer the conversation away from myself and my work to current events, the dilemmas working mothers face, or my theological troubles.

Recently, it was the anniversary of 9/11 and that Sunday's appointed gospel lesson on extravagant forgiveness that had me headed out of my office to the salon. The stylist was in ninth grade ten years ago when she and her classmates learned of the attacks on the World Trade Center. Teachers and students huddled together in stunned silence around televisions and computers, anxious about the breaking news and what it might mean for them.

The last period of her day was an art class in a basement studio. The art teacher was surprised when the class was reluctant to work on their projects and grew concerned about the serious expressions and even tears on the faces of the students. "Did something happen?" the teacher asked. Even though the attacks had occurred hours earlier, she had not heard the news. Class was canceled and the students joined hands as she saw the images of destruction for the first time on a television she pulled from the closet.

"Wait a minute. None of the other teachers sought her out to share the news?" I asked, clumps of hair falling onto my lap. "She didn't eat lunch with anyone? Run up to the office during the day? Bump into the custodian in the bathroom?" I was troubled by the isolation of this art teacher in a school full of mourning teenagers and distraught teachers. "She was always a little different," came the explanation. (This might also be true of pastors who go to hair salons for help with their sermons?)

For obvious reasons - including some really poor haircuts - I can't resort to this strategy often, but I appreciated this young woman's insights about our deep need for communities of care in a world where our differences can isolate us from our neighbors. Our conversation highlighted my own need to reach beyond the safe circles of people I know to learn from others.

I am so grateful to be part of a faith community in which we wrestle to love, to forgive, to serve. Together we help create the kind of hope-filled world God intends for all. Where do find places and people of encouragement and hope?

Thanks, Popcorn!

Our daughter discovered one of her guinea pigs dead in his cage this afternoon - a big bummer during an already emotional sliver of time between summer and sixth grade. Over the years we have loved and lost many hamsters, sometimes burying them behind the garage with prayers and tears, sometimes whisking them out of the house and into the garbage cart in a brown paper bag. One escape artist is living happily - we tell ourselves - somewhere in the walls of our house. This was different.

Popcorn vacationing at a friend's house

The guinea pig was a much-anticipated birthday gift several summers ago - a homemade coupon picturing a cartoon guinea pig was exchanged for the real thing, chosen with great care. The nocturnal, wheel-spinning hamsters paled in comparison to the lumbering, chattering, goofy, basil-loving poop factory that was Popcorn.

We sat together at the end of the sidewalk and cried, sharing stories about Popcorn and all those pets that had gone before. With geese flying overhead, we lamented the end of summer, the reality of death, our short-comings as pet owners, mosquitoes and the unrelenting passage of time. Between sobs, we laughed - and in that anxious sliver of time between summer and sixth grade - I was grateful for both.

Thanks, Popcorn, for bringing out something good in us.