THE HELP

(a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

I was born and raised in the "Old South" during a time when racial segregation was the norm. However, I was not aware of all that. As a small child I was, of course, pretty oblivious to the inequities of the world. Life was just whatever I experienced. When I entered the first grade, my class was integrated. I had no way of knowing at the time that we were the first integrated class in the history of my little southern town.

Following the Supreme Court decision outlawing school segregation (Brown v. Board of Education), our little town had decided on what was called a "progressive plan"; we integrated the first grade and then continued to integrate behind that same class as it progressed through the years of public education. Finally, when my class entered the 7th grade the city fathers decided to end segregation throughout, the system. The last all black junior high school, all three grades, was closed and all the students came over to our junior high school. At the same time, the last all black high school in our town was closed, along with a second all white high school, with all students then attending the only remaining high school in town.

I'm sure there must have been resistance to this process, undoubtably at every stage (let's face it, we followers of Jesus can't even get through a church business meeting with everyone in agreement), but I never heard a single word of it. Somehow, my town accomplished integration while the rest of the south resisted it. But, that is not the point of this little reverie.

I only tell this little bit of my bio to help explain this next part: because I didn't experience it, a long time passed before I really began to understand how truly vast was the wrongness experienced by my brother and sister citizens of color prior to an including this period of time.

(One more brief story, and then I promise to get to the point) When I was about 7 or 8 years old, my family made a car trip to visit relatives in Florida (actually, this was the only way we ever took a vacation . . . with a relative at the other end of the trip). I recall stopping at one point to buy gas, go to the bathroom, etc. I was thirsty and rushed to the water fountain on the side of the service station. I saw a cup hanging from the side of the water fountain, tied to it with a string. I had filled it with water and was raising it to my lips when my mother stopped my rising arm and took the cup from my hand. She told me I couldn't use that cup because it was only for "coloreds." I clearly remember being puzzled by that information and asking her, "How come THEY get one?" I also clearly remember the strange look that came over my mother's face and her then saying, "I'll explain it in the car." By now you are probably wondering just how naive a child can be. Apparantly, pretty naive. That was a real eye opening Q&A session as we motored on through the south toward the sunny beaches of Florida. That was the beginning of my education about segregation.

Lately, I've been reading Kathryn Stockett's amazing novel, THE HELP; a story about the black women who worked in the homes of white people, raised their kids, cooked their meals, scrubbed their floors, polished their silver, washed their clothes . . . but were not allowed to drink from the same glassware, eat with the same utensils, drink from the same water fountains, use the same bathrooms, or live in the same part of town as whites. They were not paid a living wage; most could not afford to own a home, so they paid whatever rent the landlord decided was appropriate. Unlike a lot of other Americans, when southern blacks ran out of money before they ran out of month, it wasn't because they had splurged on some excess. It was because they had come to the point where they had to decide between eating and having a place to live. I don't plan to belabor this. You can easily find all sorts of historical descriptions of African American life in the early 1960's in the south. Or maybe you should just read THE HELP, a far more entertaining way to have your eyes opened.

What got me off onto this topic was a portion of one of this week's lectionary scriptures (Isaiah 1:16-18). Verse 18 is the more commonly known of this passage ("Come now, let us reason together, says the LORD: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be like snow..."). Reading it reminded me that President Lincoln borrowed from this passage in a speech advocating the end of slavery, and that others, including President Kennedy, borrowed from it as well. But, what is easy to overlook is the immediately preceding verses, the portion that addresses what it is the Lord wants us to reason with Him about: "Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow."

I don't know how anyone can read that passage without taking a moment to think about just exactly who they know that is so oppressed they need rescuing. For most of us, that seems like it must be someone from far away, certainly not anyone we know. And yet, if we will but look around, like He has always intended His people to do, I believe we will find it is our neighbor who needs rescuing; that the orphan is close by and the widow even closer.

Something to think about.

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This week's lectioanry passages:
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4
Psalm 119:137-144
Isaiah 1:10-18
Psalm 32:1-7
2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12
Luke 19:1-10

If you are in Waco on Friday, consider joining the group meeting at 8AM at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown of 6th) for great food and great discussion. And if you are not in Waco, consider forming your own discussion group to explore these scriptures and how they still can shape our lives if we allow it.

Enjoy!
Steve

Sinners Anonymous

Sinners Anonymous
(a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

The meeting would start something like this: I would walk to the front of the room.  I would step behind one of those metal lecterns that doesn't hide anything, place my hands on either side of the little tray that usually holds someone's lecture notes, and then look out at the small crowd.  I would say, "My name is Steve and I am a sinner."  And they would respond in unison, "Hi, Steve!"

Looking out at the group, I would recognize some of them.  Perhaps from other meetings, or perhaps from outside this room.  A few I would know, and they would know me.  We few would be more aware of each other's specific struggles; but we would certainly not be the only ones in that room with that kind of closer relationship. 

I would explain that I had fallen off the wagon since we last met; that I had been unkind, that I had on several occasions failed to love my neighbor as myself, that I had come THIS CLOSE to taking something that did not belong too me.  And they would listen, and thank me for my honesty.  And when I was done, I would sit and listen to each one share his/her burdens with the same caring and respect they had shown me. And when we were all done, we would come together to thank God for His mercy and grace. 

This reverie of mine is not a new concept.  It's been used as a metaphor for many years to describe one way church should work.  And it is one of those I choose to cling to as a vision of how we might be able to relate to one another.  I sometimes covet the liberty and honesty of the 12 Step programs on which it is based. Somehow I think if we could quit comparing ourselves to others (and regarding ourselves as better or worse than they), we could, like the Tax Collector in this week's lectionary reading (Luke 18:9-14), go to our homes justified.  Thinking we are somehow better because we only missed the target by a few feet when others missed it by yards or miles is really such poor reasoning as to be ludicrous.  If the objective is to hit the target, then the amounts we missed it by are distinctions without a difference. 

Something for us all to think on. 

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If you are in Waco on Friday, join the group at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th) at 8:00 a.m. for great food and even greater fellowship. Lots of good discussion of this week's scriptures.

This week's lectionary readings:
Joel 2:23-32
Psalm 65 or Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22
Psalm 84:1-7
2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18
Luke 18:9-14

Regrets? I've had a few . . . ((a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr))

There is so much I don't remember. 

 I don't remember asking her out. I don't remember where we went on our date. I don't remember driving to or from. I don't remember what we did. I don't even remember when ... Weekend? School night? Fall? Winter? Spring? 

There is so much I don't remember. 

 Here is what I do remember: walking her back to the her dorm. We are strolling along one of the campus walkways. It is fairly dark, but there are enough lights from nearby windows and from the mostly decorative pole lamps along the side of the distant library that we can see our way along the path. [Were we holding hands? There is SO much I don't remember.] 

 As we near her dormitory, I see there are two steps up and then more walkway. This little step-up is still a few yards from the lighted front porch of her dorm. When we get to these steps, she steps ahead of me and onto the first step. She turns. We are almost eye to eye. She smiles that wonderful smile, the one that made me want to ask her out in the first place. Her hair is long and wavy, framing her face perfectly, and so in tune with the times. I realize, perhaps for the very first time, that she is truly beautiful. We look at each other ... for what now seems like a very long time. I tell her I had a wonderful time; the truth. She tells me the same. We continue to look at each other. And ... 

 I don't kiss her. 

There is so much I don't remember. Why, I often wondered, is THIS what I do remember? ... this opportunity lost; this "Why didn't I?"; this little agony; this regret. Do you have one of these? A wish-it-was-different? The person you almost kissed, the job you wanted but never pursued, that place you always wanted to visit but didn't, the words you wished you had said. On and on. 

For some time after that date, I experienced an escalating disappointment; a growing obsession with the kiss-that-wasn't. I kept seeing that moment as a lost opportunity, an experience I wished I could go back and correct . . . no, not correct . . . complete. Do the follow-through. Kiss her. 

Now, though, looking back through the lens of several decades, I know I made the right choice that night. My choice was the road not taken, and absolutely the right one. Each of us moved off into diffent trajectories from that point. Each to another person, the right person; then children; then grandchildren. 

Months after that night, God gifted me one day with a sudden clarity about that moment. It was not "an almost kiss." It was a sweet and cherishable moment between two people, a couple who needed to not be a couple, at least not with each other. I have often thanked God for transforming that seeming regret into a wonderful memory for me. 

Do I have regrets? Yes. But, like the song says, too few to mention. And this is not one of them. My regrets are for things I did or said that hurt people; things we all should regret. We must not allow ourselves to be enslaved by these memories. The only power they have over us is the power we invest in them. If we can find a way to regard them differently, we can defuse them of their power over us. 

And that is exactly what God did for his people when they were long-time captives of King Nebuchadnezzar. In one of this week's lectionary scriptures (Jeremiah 29:1-7), we find they were spending way too much time longing for the way things used to be, for moments now lost to them. In fact, they spent so much time obsessing about the past, God stepped in and refocused them. "Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare." 

In other words, memories are fine, but not if they are the fodder for "woulda, shoulda, coulda." God wants us to "be here now". We really are expected to "bloom where we're planted." God has plans for us. An "almost kiss" (in fact, an almost anything) is not a reality, and thus not a real memory. It's just a longing for something that never was. 

 The readings this week: Proper 23 (28) (October 10, 2010) First reading and Psalm - Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7; Psalm 66:1-12 Alternate First reading and Psalm - 2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c; Psalm 111 Second reading - 2 Timothy 2:8-15 Gospel - Luke 17:11-19  

If you're in Waco on Friday morning, join the group at Cafe Cappuccino (on 6th, between Austin and Washington) at 8:00 for good food and thought-provoking discussions of this week's readings. Enjoy! Steve