(a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
Courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/circulating/2701670382/One of the interesting things I recall from my childhood is a period when my Dad worked on a riverboat. Now, this may seem remarkable to you, and it is, but not so much as you might think. When you grow up on a river, it is not so uncommon to find work on it.
The port of Paducah, Kentucky is a busy one. Sitting at the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers, the town, like so many river towns, owes it's very existence to these rivers. Everything orients on the rivers. People give directions saying things like, "Start at the foot of Broadway . . ." and "Drive to the flood wall and make a left onto First Street." How many streets do you know that have a foot? How many towns have a flood wall?
I have a lot of fond memories centered on those rivers. And one that still rankles a bit.
During the period Dad worked on the river, I have several memories of dropping him off at the spot on the river where the Hougland Barge Lines personnel came to begin their tour. Dad worked "30 on, 30 off"; which meant, since we were little kids and Mom couldn't leave us at home, we were there once each month to either put Dad ON the boat or pick him up FROM the boat.
It was on one of these occasions that Dad pointed out across the river to what I later came to know was Owens Island, and said, "You see that Island out there? That's the island Mark Twain had Huck and Jim hide out on." From that moment on, it was an article of faith that Owens Island was the physical reality put to good use by Mr. Clemens in his classic novel.
I told people (many, many people) that tidbit for . . . oh, about a decade; told them so with confidence. I did so regularly ... until that day my Senior Year, in the Paducah Tilghman High School Library, when my friend Bruce brought it all crashing down.
Bruce, upon hearing me state this juicy fact, took issue with me, insisting that not only was it NOT the island from Huckleberry Finn, but that it COULD NOT be that island. Bruce was smart; and he was a Boy Scout, something for which I had great personal reverence since I flunked Cub Scouts. So why I debated this with him for so long I can only ascribe to my faith in the words of my father. I stubbornly clung to my belief?
Gently, I now realize, Bruce led me to the Library where he spun the globe so we could look at the United States. He pointed to a spot on that map and asked me what it was. It was obviously the Mississippi River and I so stipulated. Then he asked me what river did Mark Twain grow up on and eventually work on. I readily admitted it was the very same river. And then he asked me on which river Huck and Jim had all their adventures. I was a little slower to answer that one, possibly, at least subconsciously, realizing where this was going. But, eventually, I agreed that, too, was the Mississippi River.
Moving his finger slightly to the right, he located Paducah and asked the names of those two rivers. Of course I knew their names as the Tennessee and the Ohio. I then saw where this was going and I quickly pointed out that Owens Island could STILL be the island in the book because Huck and Jim traveled DOWN river as they fled.
That was when he administered the coup de grâce.
Spinning the globe up so that we were looking directly down on the area including all three rivers, he pointed to where the two rivers which fronted our hometown ran a mile further SOUTH to join up with the Mississippi. Suddenly I saw it. There was never anything clearer. Owens Island could not be the island from the book. Huck and Jim floated DOWN the Mississippi, and could NEVER have come past Paducah. I realized that Dad had not told me the truth.
And that is the story of how I learned my father liked to tell tales. He didn't mean anything bad by doing so. It was all just a bit of fun to him, a way to exercise his imagination. The problem, of course, is that until confronted he never let on. A person could . . . *ahem* . . . remain ignorant of the truth for years . . . and years.
After that, I was no longer quite so naive about the things Dad told me. I usually sought verification from other, more dependable, sources; Mama or Granny (who had seen right through Dad from the moment he first showed up to date Mama). And, to be fair to Dad, I also learned to be a little skeptical about things in general; no longer just accepting EVERYTHING on face value, but applying a little scrutiny when anything seemed not quite right. So, in the long run (the very long run), I concede the experience had a positive result.
It also explains why I completely understand the skepticism expressed by the sneering doubters (in the Acts 2 passage from this week's Lectionary readings) upon encountering the polyglottal cacophony at Pentecost. They came to see what the fuss was all about and found a dozen men speaking what seemed, for the most part, to be gibberish. It's no surprise to me they thought the speakers were drunk.
Picture it: twelve people are speaking at the same time, each in a different language. To the average hearer, only one of the men would be making sense, the one speaking THEIR language; the rest would be an oral jumble of non-intelligible sounds all piled on top of one another.
And here is the point: it's OK to be a bit skeptical in unusual situations. If it is a REAL miracle, God will make it plain, just as He did in the Acts passage.
Trust me.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/
Day of Pentecost (May 27, 2012)
Acts 2:1-21 or Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 104:24-34, 35b
Romans 8:22-27 or Acts 2:1-21
John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15
We're getting together Friday morning at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse). If you're in Waco, join us for breakfast and discussions of the coming week's passages.
We're not EXPECTING any flaming tongues, but Cholula Hot Sauce is available on request ;-)
Enjoy the week!
Steve
