Reflections on Presidents Day

     It’s impossible for me to generate much enthusiasm for our presidents this year, having learned from writers like Ta-Nehisi Coates (Between the World and Me) and Randall Robinson (The Debt) how many of them have contributed to the plundering of African Americans (a story I’m embarrassed to have not learned long ago), but when it comes to certain groups being excluded from the full protections and benefits of citizenship it seems to me the really colossal failure lies with the church. Unbelievers are only being true to their creed when they win at all costs, when they step on other people to get to the top. They don’t expect Anyone to provide for them. For them, it’s every person for themselves. The church claims to be different, but where is the evidence? Western Christians simply amass wealth against the uncertainties of the future, living a life of fear, just like everyone else. The first thing we ought to do is take some of that wealth and buy groceries, and begin having dinner with the downtrodden and the marginalized. I don’t mean serving them dinner! That only maintains the clear delineation between the haves and the have-nots, makes the haves feel better and deepens the resignation of the have-nots. I mean sitting down with them, looking them in the eye and listening to their stories. When I have dinner with you and learn your name and the names of your children and what they’re studying in school, your welfare ceases to be a matter of indifference to me. I become aware of what has been true all along: you cannot suffer without me also suffering; you cannot benefit without me also benefiting. My well-being is integrally connected to yours. What marginalized people need is not money or food, it’s exactly the same thing all of us need to confront the exigencies of life: the personal resources – like courage, support and opportunity – that come from friendships with people who are integrated into the community. This is the work of the church!*

     I worked 3^rd shift last Saturday at Carriage Town Ministries, an emergency shelter, so I was there when the men got up. At breakfast a resident said the 2^nd-best thing anyone’s ever said to me:** “I love me again,” he proclaimed. “You guys have shown me the light.” I exalted. That’s the goal: to show people their reflection in light of God’s word, their reflection as the image and the beloved of God. “Therefore, as God’s chosen people (You’re chosen if you’ll just hearken unto the Shepherd’s voice (John 10:3)), holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” (Colossians 3:12).

      *This is what Serve the City has been doing in Lisbon, Portugal, and other European cities, since 2010. The City of Lisbon said years ago that it changed the way they deal with homeless people. (Video)

     **The best thing anyone’s ever said to me wasn’t actually said to me, it was said to my son-in-law when I happened to be over at his house: My daughter was modelling for him a new blouse she had bought for herself, wanting his opinion. “Did you show your father? What does he think?” he asked.
     “He’s my daddy,” she explained, in a tone indicating there was no sense asking. “He thinks I’m beautiful."
     Exactly.

Chickadees

     Last September I moved from South House to a house that belongs to my church, Joy Tabernacle, and is located two doors north of the church building. I share the house with four other men from the church and I rent a small – 10 feet x 11 feet – room. Like a good German, I’ve engineered the space for efficiency. There’s a loft bed; I think of it as an upstairs bedroom. Beneath the bed there’s a library, consisting of desk, chair, file cabinet and book shelves. The library is separated from the kitchen by a curtain my mother made me. Another curtain separates the kitchen from the dressing room/closet. Beneath the window sits a tiny round glass table and a chair. Here I take my meals.  

Outside the window chickadees light on the neighbor’s bushes as if to cheer, amuse and keep me company. Dozens of them. The other morning, sitting down to coffee, I was disappointed to find them missing, but within seconds the miniature maelstrom fluttered in, as if delayed by air traffic. They seem to respond to my movements. This afternoon I went over to the window to see if they were there. At first, it appeared they were not, but then they slowly emerged, blinking, from the bushes’ leafless interior. Oddly, they all faced forward, like a legion of tiny soldiers presenting arms, in little grey helmets with black visors and filigree chain mail bibs. I counted twenty-seven. We stood facing each other, rather than giving each other the side-eye, as we usually do, though presumably this meant they weren’t looking at me at all. They reminded me of my students, who sometimes appear attentive though their minds are far away. Other times, they appear distracted while gauging every move. Why attend to chickadees? “Nothing touches your life but it is the LORD God Himself speaking to you,” claims Oswald Chambers. “Upon the head of the righteous [Christ is our righteousness], blessings rain down,” says Solomon. Chickadees are a blessing.

     People ask me why I’m in Flint. The answer, first of all, is to be within chore-distance of my parents, who live 60 minutes away in Midland. Secondly, according to scripture, there’s much to be learned from the downtrodden (for example, Proverbs 28:11, Luke 6:20-21) and much to be gained in their service (Proverbs 19:17).

     People ask me how my parents are doing. They’re 82 and have been married 62 years. Last week, rather than enjoying our standing Tuesday dinner date at their place, we went to their church, St. John’s Episcopal in Midland, for their pancake supper. Afterwards, on our way back to their home, we all agreed the pancakes had been very tasty. “Yes,” opined my mother, “but all that frying makes your clothes smell.”

     “Well I would say to you,” returned my father, who moves with the speed of an energetic snail, “as soon as you walk in the house, throw off all your clothes.”