The Word on the Street

Late this afternoon, I was traveling between home and church and noticed something new on busy Robert Street. Wearing a small stole around his shoulders and holding an open Bible in one hand, a young man was shouting scripture in the general direction of the Chinese buffet parking lot across the street. Now I enjoy the Chinese buffet and I love the Bible, but the combination left me feeling curious and a little uneasy. I wanted to ask the preacher about his methods, but the traffic forced me to hurry on. Although I admire his boldness, I wonder if barking scripture at someone has ever worked -- ever led to a relationship, ever sparked a curiosity that grew into a love for Jesus, ever turned someone away from sin. (And if eating Chinese food is problematic, I'm in trouble.)

A block later, I passed a more familiar but no less unusual figure in front of a local pizza joint. Normally dressed in a heavy toga costume with a big nose, he dances non-stop on the corner advertising the restaurant's dance-worthy specials. Dressed as a little Roman dictator, I've admired his energy and have sometimes even been convinced by his dance moves to purchase pizza. Without the costume on this hot day, he's a big sweaty guy with headphones, holding a rectangular dance partner, still dancing away. Being a pizza mascot is not a glamorous or lucrative job, but this guy puts his whole self into it - every day - and I admire that.


I encounter these two fellows as I contemplate the parable of wheat and weeds recorded in Matthew's gospel (Matthew 13:24-29). The workers are eager to rid the fields of choking, potentially deadly weeds masquerading as wheat but the owner says no – let them grow until harvest, when things will be sorted out.

Sometimes it’s difficult to tell the good plants from the weeds – in our gardens, in our communities, in our politicians, on our street corners. A preacher boldly quoting scripture could be using God’s Word to sow seeds of hate and fear. Wheat or weed? A big, sweaty guy dancing away on the street corner hopes to cash in on your hunger pangs. Wheat or weed?

God appears willing to live with the uncertainty of a field mixed with both weeds and wheat rather than risk pulling up any of the good stuff. In the meantime, we are called to be wheat - using our gifts to build up the body of Christ, to work for justice, to care for our neighbors in concrete ways. Maybe even to speak and to act more boldly for the things we care deeply about. Maybe even to dance. 

Please let me know if you see anything interesting while you are about and about! 

With purple fingers...

Yesterday in the 90+ degree heat with humidity, I was knee-deep in mystery weeds wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt - red-faced, sweaty and a little bloody - when I drew the attention of a park ranger. He thought I might need some assistance. Or that perhaps I was not in my right mind. Because my location would certainly be considered "off the path" in the park ranger manual, I was both a little nervous and a little amused when he inquired about my well-being. "You're not going to take away my berries, are you?" I asked him, rattling the two dozen tiny black raspberries rolling around in my bucket. Unimpressed, he allowed me to continue on my way without confiscating my loot.

I can't explain why I so love to pick berries, especially wild ones that don't necessarily belong to me - along the bike path, in a city park, by the river. This morning I got up early to meet an 82 year-old former firefighter from church at a berry patch I just discovered. After a stormy night, the thorny hill was slippery and I worried that one of us would need to be rescued by the other though I didn't know at the time which one was more daring or who had chosen the most sensible footwear.

I was the first to cry "uncle" when my muscles starting protesting and my shoes were uncomfortably soggy. Dumping my berries - all of them - into my surprised parishioner's bucket, I headed for work. Before going home, I suspect he went out of his way to check on the status of his "secret" berry patch - its whereabouts were not shared with me despite my goading and assurance of pastoral confidentiality.

Since his retirement, my partner in picking has taken on the canning and jelly making activities in his home. Legend has it that his black raspberry jelly is so delicious, one grandson eats it by the spoonful. I'm happy to do my part to keep that grandson coming around. Since there's still jam in our freezer from last year and I can (and should) only eat so much ice cream topped with berries, I gladly share. Turns out that's my favorite part.

Coming soon...

A side effect of our kids growing up -- we can't agree on one movie anymore. Though our teenage son is still willing to see a popular animated film about cars, he doesn't want to be seen seeing it with the rest of us. Popcorn in hand, we part ways at the concession stand with plans to meet up later - my daughter and I headed in one direction, the boys in another. However, last evening in the lobby we all paused in a common location, drawn to a poster advertising an upcoming movie featuring a willy nilly silly old bear and his odd group of friends - an exuberant tiger, a wise owl and a perpetually depressed donkey. "We have to see that!" the kids both agreed at once. I treasure memories of reading about Pooh's adventures together. I didn't realize the kids do too.

I confess to sleeping through half the movie about cars. I'll have to rest up for the one we've agreed "we have to see!" together - so I can watch the kids watching the movie, storing up treasures for another time.

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

When I visited our church kids (including my two) at camp last week, my quick check-the-hair glance in the bathroom mirror was denied - all of the mirrors on the campsite had been covered with butcher paper. Written on the paper were encouraging messages -- "I like your face." and "You're beautiful just the way you are." and "God loves you." My daughter explained later that the campers, boys and girls alike, were encouraged to forego makeup and hair products for the day, concentrating on inner beauty instead.

As a mother, I was grateful. Our society's obsession with outward appearance takes its toll - on tween girls who want to be unique but still fit in, teenage boys whose bodies are changing at an uncomfortable pace, on the college-age counselors hoping to catch someone's eye, on a middle aged mom who compares herself to seemingly flawless celebrities of the same age (who me?), on older adults who hesitate to come to worship when a new or aching joint necessitates a cane or walker. Our comparisons often lead to either negative self-talk or unkind judgments about others ... or both.

The kids all looked beautiful to me -- and I was freed from at least one disgruntled swipe at my own uncooperative hair and wrinkles. Believing we are beautiful, loved, valued, awesome -- what would we do with the extra time on our hands?

A fun-filled week

We've got lots of kids and volunteers in the building this week for Vacation Bible School. Although not for everyone, VBS has always been my idea of a good time. At the registration table today I witnessed two five-year olds  greeting each other with small excited waves while adults conducted the business of checking in. "She's my friend from Sunday School," one confided in me while waiting for her name tag. Properly registered, they joined hands and ran to find their group.

Relationships are so important - not just for our well-being but for understanding how our relational God has created us to negotiate in the world. At five and eighty-five -- taking turns, sharing, listening  -- these are the important building blocks to making and being a friend. They are also the foundation for being good stewards of the blessings God has shared with us.

Everyone enjoys the worship and singing!

I've been especially enthralled with the volunteers from our congregation and community who stepped forward this year to teach crafts, prepare snacks, bring the Bible stories alive, and shepherd groups of kids from room to room. There are the new helpers -- older youth and high school kids who have graduated to "crew leader" status. Some of these kids we know well - others are friends of friends already bored after two weeks of summer. Some were clearly volunteered against their will - grumpy and uncooperative after being awakened too early - physically present but letting the rest of us know they aren't happy about it.

Among this year's crop of volunteers are some long-retired Sunday School teachers and a dozen other older adults who have jumped in with the kind of contagious enthusiasm and joy I wish everyone had. They've egged each other on - playing games with the kids, singing and doing the hand motions - embracing the new(er) technology of mimicking the words and motions of enthusiastic kids on a DVD.

Relationships are vital to them also - both the lasting friendships they've developed over many years and the new relationships that may only last the few days of Vacation Bible School.

Learning about God's love through games and fun!

When one of the youngest kids came to the snack station on the first day, he asked for a hamburger and fries. Learning that they were not available, he was willing to settle for mac and cheese. We are not always able or willing to offer all of the bells and whistles (or mac and cheese) of a larger church. But we are certainly growing in our ability to welcome and build relationships with these young children, the eager and even reluctant teenagers, and with each other. We are excited to take turns so that others may shine, to share what we have - including our time and the treasure our faith. Come and see!

Bang! Bang!

Forced to do some triage by unexpected water in our basement, I've been going through bins of old toys and games the kids have enjoyed, outgrown and forgotten. It's been difficult for me to part with some of these treasures - each one holds memories of wonderful times when a single Hot Wheel car or a stuffed bear and its adventures could be the plan for a whole afternoon. A time when my own confidence as a parent was high - without the daily drama and missteps of today's tween and teen years.

Sorting through the toys, a forgotten parenting theme emerged. Examining a small spaceman I thought was broken, I remembered carefully sanding off the weapon in his hand before giving the toy to our son - thinking he would never notice (he did). The tiny black pistols from the Lego police officers "disappeared," and for years we resisted the pull of those enormous Super Soakers - squirt guns shaped like automatic weapons. Instead our kids had pink flamingo and zebra squirters which leaked down the arm and required frequent refilling. I would politely ask David to put his pretend finger gun away and redirect him to another activity. Right or wrong, I hated seeing my kids and their friends pointing weapons at each other or me.

I vividly remember the turning point. At a birthday party several years ago, David received a gigantic Nerf bazooka. As he unwrapped the gift, I thought to myself, "That's going back to Target. Today." Emerging out of a flurry of wrapping paper, the kids ran to the park across the street with some of his new toys. To my surprise, that Nerf gun had already been wrestled out of its packaging and was lifted high over the boys' heads like a trophy. Too late to take it back. Over time, his collection of Nerf guns has grown. On hot summer days, we've all enjoyed giant squirt fights with giant squirters. Currently, his room is overrun with a large and baffling assortment of Warhammer figures and weapons, a tabletop military strategy game he enjoys for hours with friends.

All of these memories run through my mind as I grudgingly purge the basement and consider the kind of parent I have become and the kind of people my children have grown into and will grow into. At some point, all of my parental hopes and dreams for them narrowed to just a handful  - to be kind and happy with faith in a God who loves them and the knowledge that they can make a difference in the world. This has meant clinging hard to some values and letting some other stuff go.  When I watch and listen to them, I give thanks. Most of the time. So far, so good.

Now... if I could just get rid of these cute little beanie babies.

Better than nothing? Part 2

As I was driving home today, I spotted Gary - last week's stranded, depressed, former church goer from a distant town. He was chatting with someone at a corner bus stop while I sat at the stoplight watching him and debating. A week ago I was taken in by his sad story and had felt at least a little superior about my generous and compassionate response. This afternoon, however, I sat through the long light, deflated and debating. Should I stop to talk with him? Wag an accusing finger at him? Ask for a refund? Call the cops?

Once a teen from church shared a similar story about helping someone he and friends had met, pooling together their money to give the stranger a few bucks for a night in a nearby shelter. Several days later, the young man was still stewing about whether he had done the right thing. (I know the feeling.) Stewing enough to come in and talk about it. What if the money was spent on alcohol or drugs? What if the stranger hadn't gone to the shelter? What if there wasn't even a shelter? Had he and his friends behaved foolishly by giving money? Could our faith make us fools? I guess the simple answer is "Yes."

The Bible has not-so-simple verses that could speak to this kind of human dilemma. For example, in the gospel of Luke Jesus urges us to "give to everyone who begs from you: and if anyone takes your goods, do not ask for them again." (Luke 6:30) That sounds wildly generous but also unwise and irresponsible and un-doable to me. Everyone? That guy on the corner who ripped me off? Responding to enemies with love, forgiving people, turning the other cheek, turning out my pockets? Doing these things, even grudgingly and imperfectly, can makes us look like such fools by the world's standards when we'd prefer to look powerful and generous and - in my case - oh so right.

So I sat at the stoplight, fuming and keeping score, thinking unkind thoughts about the man at the bus stop. Sometimes people (including me) behave in ways that are disappointing or mean or desperate or worse - for reasons that are more complicated than I can quickly comprehend.

Which is easier?  By refusing to respond to people in need, I could minimize the foolish factor and dole out my compassion and my pocket money to those I know with certainty are deserving.  Or I could stop trying to control the outcome.  Generosity should probably be freely offered or it turns into something else - something that generates as much joy and love and real relationship as paying the utility bill.

I'm still curious about his real story - which is probably every bit as layered and difficult as the fake one he sold to me a week ago. It has certainly been more interesting and challenging to have met and engaged this stranger than to have passed him by without even really seeing.

When you've been asked for help, when you've been surprised and disappointed - how have you responded?