Mid-week and being stretched thin means that I am lacking on the creative side. My friend's funeral continues to be planned, the moon-walk towards Friday puts a little edge on my nerves. The viewing, internment, the reception planned and organized, down to the color of the flowers. She would love this, if she were coming in on her own funeral, she'd be proud of those ironing their one and only suit, dress or "dress pants" to where that afternoon. She would smile at the pictures displayed, her childhood, her wedding (which I was reminded I was one of the four bridesmaids), coffee houses, holding her master angler fish, relaxing with her husband.
Not surprisingly, there isn't alot of photos after her health started to deteriorate. Hip problems, knees and calves and the loss of her job at McDonald's (where the staff loved and treasured her), because she couldn't stand for hours anymore. She learned to sit, to wait for help, to invite children to sit with her, her movement was slow and labored and finally almost too painful to continue going down the stairs of her apartment to a waiting vehicle or to go to church.
The saving fact of her life was knowing that she was loved, by her husband, her Christian community, by Christ. So many like her are forgotten, told they are unloved, useless, boring or a deteriment to family and society. A God-child, pushed aside because they are not educated in the right college (or any college), live in the right neighborhood, have read the latest books or gone to the block buster hit at Silver City.
After potluck one night, I was walking Cyclone around the block, getting some fresh air, thinking. As I walked through our neighborhood park, someone called out, "Hey! How are you doing?". I looked closer in the dark, and it was our young friend, her two children and boyfriend sitting on the park bench. "Hey! How are you?" She said, "Fine....actually not good, I just spent the last night in jail. I got into a fight, defending myself and stabbed someone." "Oh...what happened to the kids? Who took care of them?" I asked (here I try not to look and act all shocked...wasn't sure if this was the whole story!) "My boyfriend here". And she introduced him to me and told him I was the God-person of the neighborhood. I told her we are all God-people. She said, "then why isn't he listening to me?"
What a question! "Why isn't he listening to me?" I was all ready to give her a quick answer, but I knew it wasn't that easy. How about, "you don't knife people, God may listen to a non-violent person" but I know that isn't true. How about, "Go to church on Sunday, He will tell you through the preacher what to do". Nope, not helpful and not always true. I listened to her, I pray for her (she knows that) and God listens. Since I've decided to be next to her chatting away, Jesus is sitting beside her too, He talks her language, He lives in her neighborhood. He is not her enemy, he will be one day, her Everything.
Vanier says in another part of his section of his writing, "Two Worlds";
"The poor man is a danger to the rich man. The black man (or asian, native) is a danger to the white man enfolded in his pride and sense of superiority. The handicapped and the weak are a danger to the able-bodied. The person in need is a danger to the one who has the goods of this world. So too the rich man is the enemy of the poor man. Yet Jesus said, "Love your enemy". We must cross over to the other world and look at Him and touch Him.
But Jesus
I can't love my enemy
I must defend myself from him
He is a danger to me
his way of life throws mine
into question
So I attack
it's my defence
Or I ignore her
I refuse to listen or go near
Aggression rises
in me
Or I flee
I refuse to meet
the enemy
And yet
"Love your enemy, make peace"
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