Turgenev’s novel wrestled with a different focus than my two stories of fathers and sons. I probably came away from Turgenev with a different idea that the pundits. Turgenev dealt with sin and redemption I suppose. He used the relation of fathers and sons to critique the loss of hope (nihilism) in society. My characters wrestle the obligation of love reflected by the dedication, or obligation, of sons to father and mother only within a world of redemption. Maybe this story does in a strained way follow Turgenev’s tact?
I met Hezekiah, Ruth and their son Joseph early last summer. Our case manager liaison had asked me to visit and determine what the state of the house was in order to determine if we could help. I found more than a house in pretty bad shape. I found a story of love and dedication.
There were photographs on the walls that hearkened back to the 1970’s. On the walls hung images of well dressed mother and father with children. Photographs of smiling, newly wed husband and wife. Another contained a fairly young man in military uniform. There were others of newly graduated high school students; some of grandchildren. All the photographs broadcast a fully lived, rich family life. There was a lot of double-knit leisure suits therefore the photographs surely date to the 1970’s.
The house now was darkened. The limited electric power barely allows a window air conditioning unit. There is an old screw-type fuse box with maybe 60 amp service. They have to use a gas stove and hot water heater because more electric appliances blow the fuses. How many of you remember a fuse box?
The walls and ceiling were water stained. Outside soffits had been repaired but only barely. I learned the water damage came from the severely wind damaged roof by Katrina. Insurance had allowed it to be replaced, but only after a deluge of a lot of water. Both Hezekiah and Ruth have had mold-related illness. Ruth and Hezekiah have had heart attacks.
I met Joseph the son that day. He is probably near my age, maybe ten years younger. He came down to help his parents right after Katrina. He gave up a nice business he had started in Chicago and holds two more menial jobs here in town to do it.
Ruth and Hezekiah had applied and been approved for grant application and were notified by the local long term recovery organization that they were qualified but subsequently they were denied funding by the funding agency. This roller coaster experience happened twice over the last three years. Ruth is beaten up by it. She has given up hope of ever seeing the home repaired, "Yes, Mr. Henry, I'll believe we are going to see this house fixed when its done. We've heard all this so many times before."
We went ahead and applied for grant funding. Our first application was almost denied due to questions about lack of enough income. Luckily we were able to add some critical pieces to the application about the commitment Joseph has towards his parents long term care. Thankfully the grant was approved. It was one of my more recently satisfying moments to call Joseph and tell him we had funding.
Our objective is to strip the walls and flooring, rewire, drywall and refurbish. We will have to cover some of the electrical and HVAC costs but it looks really good. We leaped into the work as fast as we could amass volunteers to the job; building piles of stripped interior out in the yard faster than the dumpster people could keep up. Ohio, Indiana, New York, Pennsylvania all helped.
When one spends a lot of time in a home doing this kind of renovation, one learns a lot about family in conversation with the homeowner. Grandparents raised Hezekiah. They lived in this old four room house built of heart pine eighty to one hundred years ago. When we stripped the interior of the house down to it studs, we revealed a double fireplace for living room and front bedroom and a second double chimney for what surely was a wood or coal burning kitchen stove and a potbellied stove in the rear bedroom.
The fireplaces had to be the sole source of heat; there is no central air. It is obvious that gas service was installed much later. The gas came because the only electrical service was an old screw-in fuse box with four circuits rated at about 40 or 60 amps total. They couldn’t run an air conditioner and an electric stove at the same time. Forget a washing machine and dryer.
I don’t know about Hezekiah’s parents. I haven’t been with Hezekiah or Joseph at a good time to ask about them. It is a mystery I hope I will resolve later and fill this detail in.
What image I have of the early years is from details from Hezekiah and Ruth, and later, almost accidentally, by Joseph. After we stripped the walls Hezekiah brought Mrs. Ruth by to see the progress. She says she hasn’t seen that old double fireplace since before she and Hezekiah were married. She insists we keep the fireplaces open.
When we began Joseph said he wanted to enlarge the bathroom, to eliminate a short hallway to increase the size of the bath. The bathroom enlargement seemed difficult and unnecessary to us. We would have to change a lot of plumbing and do extra framing generally making the job a little more complicated.
We discussed this with Hezekiah he quickly agreed with us that this adding unnecessary complications. We left that discussion comfortable that we could revert to the old plan of recreating a better bathroom in the same space. That is, until Joseph dropped by after he got off work.
Joseph had a firm objection to our plan to just redo the existing floor plan. He had a clear objective. As he described his ideas his carried a long-range concept for what this home needed to be was obvious.
He talked about how Hezekiah had taken care of his grandparents when they were very ill and not capable of caring for themselves. He said the bathroom had to be bigger with tub/shower separated from sink and vanity so there was room to maneuver. Maneuver what?
“When my grandparents got really sick, my dad took care of them. He had to bathe them when they got so sick they couldn’t do it by themselves."
I realized he was saying that his grandparents lived in their home well after they could manage daily life, after the time when incontinence soiled both bed and parent. They lived into the time where the gentle hands cleansed both parent and child, one physically and the other spiritually.
Joseph talked about this in such a matter-of-fact way. He wanted that bathroom big enough so it could manage a wheelchair and allow him to clean a parent who probably was still enough in control of faculties to be mortified by the events but so thankfully grateful for a loving son to spare them embarrassment of strangers doing the task. They are a close, loving family and the loving intimacy required to do this was so evidently a natural commitment to parents in need present for both Joseph and Hezekiah in their own times.
I realized there is a profound love and commitment in this African-American family; a truly committed love between son and father and mother. I cannot walk away except to feel daunted by this love. A love that I know is absent in some families of of my protégés; a love that cannot but tear at my own insecurity about facing this eventual difficult fate. Will I have the strength to match this love between this son and parents?
Joseph makes me remember my own pain. I remember sitting in a hospital waiting room of an ICU unit, of sitting with my mother and brother; all of talking with my daddy’s brother about an irreversible decision we faced. I remember hearing my voice distantly agreeing with the others, “Yes I agree. We need to do this.”
I remember subsequently sitting on my father’s bedside in the hospital looking at the ventilator tube taped to his mouth, at the bruise and bandage on his head where he had fallen in the hospital room the night before causing an irreversible hemorrhage; of placing my hand on his startlingly cold skin wondering where the blanket was because he had to be cold; of hearing the doctor say there was no hope due to the hemorrhage; of talking to him telling him through tears of how much I loved him hoping he would hear and hoping for some reaction from him, of memories of all the times we all spent together. All these things washed over me while I talked to him in a low voice because I was inexplicably embarrassed by the near presence of the ICU nursing station. I remember that long goodbye as clearly as if it were happening today.
Joseph, a brother in arms stronger than I am. Joseph is an aspiration for us all and an object lesson in the love of father and son.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Day 202 - Tipping points
How long does a couple live together to get to the point that their common history usurps their past. The point where more of life has been spent in the past than in the future? How long does it take for each little glory, each little intimacy, each little spat and argument to edge out slowly, slowly a step at a time into a common conscious?
Do these little instances draw from some personal, emotional change purse only to grow with interest as they fill a common experience? There must be a tipping point where the past has filled the common cup so much that the rest of life together is as much a reflection of the past as the future.
For the lucky it is only remembered small glories that fill the cup, for the less fortunate it is the spats and arguments that shape the future. For the blessed, they possess a humor that glues all those glories and arguments together in a common treasured experience greater than their separate lives.
Pauline and Larry Brady, a sixty-ish couple, survived Katrina. It looks probably so did their marriage.
Years ago Larry found this house nestled on a high ground near the Pearl River. The house has to be over a hundred years old. Since it was so old and free of any obvious past flood damage, Larry convinced Pauline to buy it. They never worried about hurricanes since the house had this history. They build an addition to it and enjoyed the quiet, pastoral existence of Pearlington until late August 2005.
When we came upon the house it stood unused except to hold boxes and boxes of floor-ravaged possessions of Pauline, Larry and daughter; and that musty smell. Everything was moldy or decaying. When one looks through the boxes there are old paperback books, childhood books, certificates of accomplishment, photographs, rusty tools, toys, almost anything a family might collect over twenty or thirty years of living together.
Our job is to clean out the house and assist Larry and Pauline to refurbish the house into a new home. The first step is work with the homeowner to remove all the unnecessary contents and strip damaged walls.
While we cleaned it out Larry would say, “Let’s get this done before Pauline gets over here. Save that box, put those books over here so we can put them in that storage shed out back.”
Larry agonized over every piece of life we picked up to toss into the pile out on the lawn to wait on the delivery of the dumpster. Larry's decisions were agonizing; each one seemed to erase or save a piece of life.
On other occasions while we cleaned it out Pauline would say, “Let’s get this done before Larry gets over here. Toss that box, put those books over there in your wheel barrow so we can put them in the dumpster pile out front.”
Pauline never thought twice about her decision, her directives to toss those pieces of the past into the pile on the lawn to wait on the delivery of the dumpster had the surety of the mind of an Islamic prince swinging a raised scimitar to decapitate an infidel.
After our crew finished this labor last week, I visited the home today with my two wonderful new work site managers, Jessie and Michael.
“We better call Larry and Pauline before we drop by.”
I fished my cell phone out of its holster and dialed.
A woman’s voice answered, “Hello?”
“Hello Mrs. Brady. This is Henry, we are in the area and wondered if we could drop by and see how the cleanup is going?”
“Who?”
“Henry Paris with PDA. Remember, I came by a few weeks ago.”
“Oh yes. Yes, come on over.”
We were only about a half-mile from the house.
“OK, we will be there is a few minutes.”
As I pulled into their driveway, Larry was walking out beside a newly stacked pile of firewood. He waved hello and walked with a spry step towards us. Larry is the kind of guy who has probably ten or twenty unfinished projects, each a magnificent dream, each easily achievable because the fellow is an engineer, but his list grows far faster than his hands and feet can manage. He plans to redo this house himself. Our job is to keep him from self-destruction and do much of it for him.
He leads us to the house and unlocks the front door. I walk in and am quite impressed. The house is emptied of most of the things that filled every room the last time I was here. We walk through remarking and discussing all the little architectural oddities. The firebrick pad in the rear bedroom and the cutout in the wood wall paneling that indicate an old pot bellied stove must have stood there. We note the fireplace hidden in the wall in the kitchen.
The house itself built of old rough-cut heartwood, even the interior wall paneling. This paneling and the massive cypress girders and joists withstood Katrina’s soaking quite well. There are a few spots of mold to manage, but in Larry’s view, and one I do not entirely oppose, many of the rooms can be salvaged. Pauline on the other hand is on record as saying “Strip it all and put drywall up!”
Again, the questions, over three years old, still lurk below the surface of conversation. As usuaI I ask, “Mr. Brady, did you and Pauline stay behind? How high did the water get in here?”
Mr. Brady points towards the ceiling in the side room that we are standing and states, “Well the house is sort of warped out of level,” and walks into the dining room for a better display.
He extends his arm and touches the wall about 3 or 4 inches below the ceiling. “The water came up about here,” pointing towards the remains of an electrical box in the ceiling of the room. He continues, “It beat the dickens out of the chandelier that used to be here.”
“So, you and your wife decided to wait out the storm and not leave?”
“Yes. This place had never been flooded as long as anyone can remember, I thought we’d be safe.”
“What did you do when the water started rising?”
“When the extension I built on the rear of the house began to shift as water rose up to about the floor level, I started to worry that this might be bad.” He pointed to the empty patio behind the house. Karina floated the extension to the house away to some other part of the neighborhood.
“We went up into the attic.”
“What would you have done had the water risen even higher?”
“We might have found ourselves swimming in the neighborhood. I’d have broken out the louvers in the attic vent in the end of roof to get out.”
I stood here imaging this situation of Larry and Pauline crouching on that old dirty attic over ten feet of swirling salty floodwater.
“Larry, I’ll bet your wife was screaming, ‘I can’t believe you convinced me to stay. We should have gotten out of Pearlington when they told us to leave; we are both going to die. I can’t believe I agreed to let you buy this house.’ ”
“Yes, you are pretty much right, that’s about what she said. Thank goodness we can laugh about it now," he said with a hint on uncertainty in his voice.
Do these little instances draw from some personal, emotional change purse only to grow with interest as they fill a common experience? There must be a tipping point where the past has filled the common cup so much that the rest of life together is as much a reflection of the past as the future.
For the lucky it is only remembered small glories that fill the cup, for the less fortunate it is the spats and arguments that shape the future. For the blessed, they possess a humor that glues all those glories and arguments together in a common treasured experience greater than their separate lives.
Pauline and Larry Brady, a sixty-ish couple, survived Katrina. It looks probably so did their marriage.
Years ago Larry found this house nestled on a high ground near the Pearl River. The house has to be over a hundred years old. Since it was so old and free of any obvious past flood damage, Larry convinced Pauline to buy it. They never worried about hurricanes since the house had this history. They build an addition to it and enjoyed the quiet, pastoral existence of Pearlington until late August 2005.
When we came upon the house it stood unused except to hold boxes and boxes of floor-ravaged possessions of Pauline, Larry and daughter; and that musty smell. Everything was moldy or decaying. When one looks through the boxes there are old paperback books, childhood books, certificates of accomplishment, photographs, rusty tools, toys, almost anything a family might collect over twenty or thirty years of living together.
Our job is to clean out the house and assist Larry and Pauline to refurbish the house into a new home. The first step is work with the homeowner to remove all the unnecessary contents and strip damaged walls.
While we cleaned it out Larry would say, “Let’s get this done before Pauline gets over here. Save that box, put those books over here so we can put them in that storage shed out back.”
Larry agonized over every piece of life we picked up to toss into the pile out on the lawn to wait on the delivery of the dumpster. Larry's decisions were agonizing; each one seemed to erase or save a piece of life.
On other occasions while we cleaned it out Pauline would say, “Let’s get this done before Larry gets over here. Toss that box, put those books over there in your wheel barrow so we can put them in the dumpster pile out front.”
Pauline never thought twice about her decision, her directives to toss those pieces of the past into the pile on the lawn to wait on the delivery of the dumpster had the surety of the mind of an Islamic prince swinging a raised scimitar to decapitate an infidel.
After our crew finished this labor last week, I visited the home today with my two wonderful new work site managers, Jessie and Michael.
“We better call Larry and Pauline before we drop by.”
I fished my cell phone out of its holster and dialed.
A woman’s voice answered, “Hello?”
“Hello Mrs. Brady. This is Henry, we are in the area and wondered if we could drop by and see how the cleanup is going?”
“Who?”
“Henry Paris with PDA. Remember, I came by a few weeks ago.”
“Oh yes. Yes, come on over.”
We were only about a half-mile from the house.
“OK, we will be there is a few minutes.”
As I pulled into their driveway, Larry was walking out beside a newly stacked pile of firewood. He waved hello and walked with a spry step towards us. Larry is the kind of guy who has probably ten or twenty unfinished projects, each a magnificent dream, each easily achievable because the fellow is an engineer, but his list grows far faster than his hands and feet can manage. He plans to redo this house himself. Our job is to keep him from self-destruction and do much of it for him.
He leads us to the house and unlocks the front door. I walk in and am quite impressed. The house is emptied of most of the things that filled every room the last time I was here. We walk through remarking and discussing all the little architectural oddities. The firebrick pad in the rear bedroom and the cutout in the wood wall paneling that indicate an old pot bellied stove must have stood there. We note the fireplace hidden in the wall in the kitchen.
The house itself built of old rough-cut heartwood, even the interior wall paneling. This paneling and the massive cypress girders and joists withstood Katrina’s soaking quite well. There are a few spots of mold to manage, but in Larry’s view, and one I do not entirely oppose, many of the rooms can be salvaged. Pauline on the other hand is on record as saying “Strip it all and put drywall up!”
Again, the questions, over three years old, still lurk below the surface of conversation. As usuaI I ask, “Mr. Brady, did you and Pauline stay behind? How high did the water get in here?”
Mr. Brady points towards the ceiling in the side room that we are standing and states, “Well the house is sort of warped out of level,” and walks into the dining room for a better display.
He extends his arm and touches the wall about 3 or 4 inches below the ceiling. “The water came up about here,” pointing towards the remains of an electrical box in the ceiling of the room. He continues, “It beat the dickens out of the chandelier that used to be here.”
“So, you and your wife decided to wait out the storm and not leave?”
“Yes. This place had never been flooded as long as anyone can remember, I thought we’d be safe.”
“What did you do when the water started rising?”
“When the extension I built on the rear of the house began to shift as water rose up to about the floor level, I started to worry that this might be bad.” He pointed to the empty patio behind the house. Karina floated the extension to the house away to some other part of the neighborhood.
“We went up into the attic.”
“What would you have done had the water risen even higher?”
“We might have found ourselves swimming in the neighborhood. I’d have broken out the louvers in the attic vent in the end of roof to get out.”
I stood here imaging this situation of Larry and Pauline crouching on that old dirty attic over ten feet of swirling salty floodwater.
“Larry, I’ll bet your wife was screaming, ‘I can’t believe you convinced me to stay. We should have gotten out of Pearlington when they told us to leave; we are both going to die. I can’t believe I agreed to let you buy this house.’ ”
“Yes, you are pretty much right, that’s about what she said. Thank goodness we can laugh about it now," he said with a hint on uncertainty in his voice.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Day 194 - The Fire in My Bosom Burns My Clothes
The crowd is restive. The building is full. It is hot, the light is not very good and everyone is sweaty and uncomfortable. A series of speakers have previously mounted the stage and warmed up the crowd. Great men stood and proclaimed great hope for the future and woe to the crowd for its behavior. One notable man, Jeremiah, quoted THE LORD, “I am sick of your sacrifices, your burnt offerings; why are you not caring for the poor, freeing the captives and honoring the stranger in your land? Circumcise your heart to me lest my wrath go forth like fire!”
He had hardly finished speaking when a voice shouted from the other side of the hall, “Thou art my King and my God who ordained victories for Jacob, through you we push down our foes, for in our own strength we cannot trust and we continually give thanks to you; yet you have cast us off and abased us, made us a laughingstock among the peoples of the world. Why do you hide your face? Why do you forget our oppression? Rise up and come to our help in the name of your steadfast love!”
Then another voice from the rear of the auditorium shouted back, “Can a man carry fire in his bosom and his clothes not get burned? Wise men lay up knowledge, but the babbling fool brings ruin near.”
After the final speaker harangues the crowd, many faces among them are red with anger and frustration. Shaking fists are raised. The ring of shouts of “Blasphemy! Blasphemy!” rain about this final speaker, the insane one named Ezekiel, as he steps down from the stage towards his seat in the front row.
Now, as the crowd’s shouting diminishes suddenly a deafening sound from nowhere and everywhere as if it were a whirlwind proclaims, “I thought I would pour out my wrath upon you and spend my anger against you in the wilderness. But, I withheld my hand and acted for the sake of my name, that I would not be profaned in the sight of the nations in whose sight I brought you out. Moreover, I gave you statutes that were not good and ordinances by which you could not live; and I defiled you through your own gifts by demanding you offer to the fire all your first born so I might horrify you, so you will know I AM THE LORD.”
The organizers panic. They try to keep control of the proceedings by hurrying the announcer of the fight onto the stage with microphone in hand. He begins, "Ladies and Gentlemen, in one corner we will have The Innocent standing in for the goodness and kindness of God and human virtue. In the other corner we will have his Adversary standing in defense of the Psalms (especially the 44th), and wisdom of Proverbs. The noise of the crowd increases. Out in the seats a heckler with “King Lear” written across the front of his baseball hat sputters at this spectacle and shouts in a strong bass voice, “As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport."
In the wings off stage-right, The One called God smiles with a self-satisfied knowledge and casts his gamble with The Adversary who is standing on stage-left. The Innocent, who in actuality is a stranger from another land, has learned of this God and has come to love and honor Him more greatly than the people in this audience. The Innocent stands on the street at the entrance to the auditorium listening to the noise and hurrah within but is not quite able to make out what is said. He enters and stands at the top of the central aisle that leads down to the stage. One of the organizers recognizes the man and bids his fellows to drag him to the stage, now converted to a ring for the fight.
Satan considers his wager, ”Of what value is faith if practiced only for reward?” He leaves the building, smiling with a self-satisfied knowledge.
Thirty-seven (24) rounds later the Innocent is no more an innocent but a beaten, defeated man who still fights to deny his newly found knowledge that there can be no assurance of reward for the loyal servant; that this God can do ill to a good man. Yet he still clings to his faith in God, even with the knowledge that the crowd has splayed and killed his family and burnt his home and possessions at God’s instigation by a wager with…can it be Himself? Cowering and fearful, the Innocent clings to that Faith in Him even though his Adversary has broken his body.
Now carried by the organizers from the ring into the wings, he lies bloodied and diseased. He has only shouted to God that this cannot be without cause and demands of the Adversary to explain what ill the Innocent has done to merit this defeat.
Unaware a nearby microphone is still turned on, The Gambler still stands in the wings of stage-right, stunned that he has allowed this horribly cruel and capricious thing of his Own to unfold. A tear rolls down the cheek of The Gambler as the Innocent demands this explanation; but as fast as the tear forms, an impulse of unbounded fury rises in his chest. He shouts,” It is so because I wanted it so!”
This final fury cows the Innocent. He is too terrified and too devastated to speak boldly hearing that this ill-made reward for goodness only results from capriciousness. He is determined however to dare a very quietly and a very carefully crafted acknowledgement, “I now see You for who You are and can only fear for us all.”
The crowd staring at the empty stage is stunned and staggered by this argument coming from the PA system. People stand up uneasily. Finally those towards the rear begin to file out. As they leave, a woman turns to her husband and whispers, “This can’t be it. It can’t be all there is, can it? Is this it?” The husband struggles for words, finally muttering under his breath, “No, it can’t be. There must be hope for reward.” Another fellow in the departing crowd who hears the man’s reply to his wife says, “Hey, don’t be too zealous, or too rowdy, find the middle ground. Don’t rock the boat or you’ll get stepped on.”
There in the wings the Innocent struggles to his feet and the Gambler stands in silence. Both are too uncomfortable to look at each other, for their misery is great. Both are devastated by what has unfolded. They squirm in the pain of self-acknowledgement, the Gambler in recognition of who He is, the Innocent in submissive recognition of who God is. Finally The Gambler turns to leave. As He passes the Innocent Man, he speaks tenderly, “I stand by my Word. I will not restore your family but I remember Second Isaiah’s words, today you shall receive double compensation for My sin. Now, I must go away to think of what we have done here today.” He bows his head and his anger is kindled against the words of the crowd, but he repents.
He will be heard no more for 500 years, when at last he will decide finally enough is enough. He will come to say, “I do love these people as I love Myself. I do forgive and I do repent for you are a part of me.”
Amen
Henry Paris, copyright October 6, 2006
He had hardly finished speaking when a voice shouted from the other side of the hall, “Thou art my King and my God who ordained victories for Jacob, through you we push down our foes, for in our own strength we cannot trust and we continually give thanks to you; yet you have cast us off and abased us, made us a laughingstock among the peoples of the world. Why do you hide your face? Why do you forget our oppression? Rise up and come to our help in the name of your steadfast love!”
Then another voice from the rear of the auditorium shouted back, “Can a man carry fire in his bosom and his clothes not get burned? Wise men lay up knowledge, but the babbling fool brings ruin near.”
After the final speaker harangues the crowd, many faces among them are red with anger and frustration. Shaking fists are raised. The ring of shouts of “Blasphemy! Blasphemy!” rain about this final speaker, the insane one named Ezekiel, as he steps down from the stage towards his seat in the front row.
Now, as the crowd’s shouting diminishes suddenly a deafening sound from nowhere and everywhere as if it were a whirlwind proclaims, “I thought I would pour out my wrath upon you and spend my anger against you in the wilderness. But, I withheld my hand and acted for the sake of my name, that I would not be profaned in the sight of the nations in whose sight I brought you out. Moreover, I gave you statutes that were not good and ordinances by which you could not live; and I defiled you through your own gifts by demanding you offer to the fire all your first born so I might horrify you, so you will know I AM THE LORD.”
The organizers panic. They try to keep control of the proceedings by hurrying the announcer of the fight onto the stage with microphone in hand. He begins, "Ladies and Gentlemen, in one corner we will have The Innocent standing in for the goodness and kindness of God and human virtue. In the other corner we will have his Adversary standing in defense of the Psalms (especially the 44th), and wisdom of Proverbs. The noise of the crowd increases. Out in the seats a heckler with “King Lear” written across the front of his baseball hat sputters at this spectacle and shouts in a strong bass voice, “As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport."
In the wings off stage-right, The One called God smiles with a self-satisfied knowledge and casts his gamble with The Adversary who is standing on stage-left. The Innocent, who in actuality is a stranger from another land, has learned of this God and has come to love and honor Him more greatly than the people in this audience. The Innocent stands on the street at the entrance to the auditorium listening to the noise and hurrah within but is not quite able to make out what is said. He enters and stands at the top of the central aisle that leads down to the stage. One of the organizers recognizes the man and bids his fellows to drag him to the stage, now converted to a ring for the fight.
Satan considers his wager, ”Of what value is faith if practiced only for reward?” He leaves the building, smiling with a self-satisfied knowledge.
Thirty-seven (24) rounds later the Innocent is no more an innocent but a beaten, defeated man who still fights to deny his newly found knowledge that there can be no assurance of reward for the loyal servant; that this God can do ill to a good man. Yet he still clings to his faith in God, even with the knowledge that the crowd has splayed and killed his family and burnt his home and possessions at God’s instigation by a wager with…can it be Himself? Cowering and fearful, the Innocent clings to that Faith in Him even though his Adversary has broken his body.
Now carried by the organizers from the ring into the wings, he lies bloodied and diseased. He has only shouted to God that this cannot be without cause and demands of the Adversary to explain what ill the Innocent has done to merit this defeat.
Unaware a nearby microphone is still turned on, The Gambler still stands in the wings of stage-right, stunned that he has allowed this horribly cruel and capricious thing of his Own to unfold. A tear rolls down the cheek of The Gambler as the Innocent demands this explanation; but as fast as the tear forms, an impulse of unbounded fury rises in his chest. He shouts,” It is so because I wanted it so!”
This final fury cows the Innocent. He is too terrified and too devastated to speak boldly hearing that this ill-made reward for goodness only results from capriciousness. He is determined however to dare a very quietly and a very carefully crafted acknowledgement, “I now see You for who You are and can only fear for us all.”
The crowd staring at the empty stage is stunned and staggered by this argument coming from the PA system. People stand up uneasily. Finally those towards the rear begin to file out. As they leave, a woman turns to her husband and whispers, “This can’t be it. It can’t be all there is, can it? Is this it?” The husband struggles for words, finally muttering under his breath, “No, it can’t be. There must be hope for reward.” Another fellow in the departing crowd who hears the man’s reply to his wife says, “Hey, don’t be too zealous, or too rowdy, find the middle ground. Don’t rock the boat or you’ll get stepped on.”
There in the wings the Innocent struggles to his feet and the Gambler stands in silence. Both are too uncomfortable to look at each other, for their misery is great. Both are devastated by what has unfolded. They squirm in the pain of self-acknowledgement, the Gambler in recognition of who He is, the Innocent in submissive recognition of who God is. Finally The Gambler turns to leave. As He passes the Innocent Man, he speaks tenderly, “I stand by my Word. I will not restore your family but I remember Second Isaiah’s words, today you shall receive double compensation for My sin. Now, I must go away to think of what we have done here today.” He bows his head and his anger is kindled against the words of the crowd, but he repents.
He will be heard no more for 500 years, when at last he will decide finally enough is enough. He will come to say, “I do love these people as I love Myself. I do forgive and I do repent for you are a part of me.”
Amen
Henry Paris, copyright October 6, 2006
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Day 193 - Affliction and Atonement
I was standing by my truck fumbling for my keys when an unrecognized pickup came up from the rear of our village. The truck came to a halt beside me and an older fellow hopped out of the drivers’ side and walked over to me.
“I came by here yesterday looking for someone in charge, but couldn’t find anyone. Do you know who I might talk to?”
I said while leaning over across my drivers seat to reach in to put down my clipboard, “Well, I guess I’m as good a person as any to start with. What can I do for you?”
“I used to be a member of this church a few years ago, but something happened and I left. You don’t know Janie Upshaw do you? Boy! She was the reason I left, she's a hard woman to talk to.”
“Janie Upshaw?” I temporized. “Yes I know her, she is a member here.”
I didn’t continue that on occasion I sit next to her and her husband on Sunday, or that she has recently suffered a severe, life-threatening illness.
“Yes, I got along with Herb, her husband pretty well, but I could never seem to find peace with Janie. That’s why I left.”
He continued, “But I found a really good church now, it’s a Mennonite church.”
“You don’t say?”
“I heard they are going to close this church. When they started using the fellowship hall, I gave them a refrigerator. I don’t particularly want it back; I guess they can do what they want with it."
After a short pause he continued, ”But I sure want the bell back.”
“The bell? You mean the little one on the porch they ring Sunday morning, or the one in the steeple?”
“The one in the steeple. I gave them that bell with the understanding if the church closed I wanted it back. It belonged to my father-in-law. I can probably get one of previous members to support me on that.”
“I think the best place to start is with the pastor. His name is Scott Zachariah, do you know him?”
“No I don’t know the name.”
“If you give me your name and number I’ll give it to him, and I’m sure they will find a good resolution to the problem.”
I took his information and I’ll give it to Scott. But, what is it about churches? They are supposed to be the place where we ought to get along but we fight until we cut the baby into halves, as if we were Solomon.
* * *
We worked hard last July to get a funding proposal for Sally Pringel. Sally is about 75 and her husband just died. She lives in an old mobile home out on the northeast side of town. I went out to survey the storm damage.
I got out of my truck and walked to the front door. By the time I got to the steps already I was sweating profusely. The home sits on a nice piece of property, it looks like about 20 or so acres. There is nice house about a hundred yards from the mobile home. I learned her son lives in the other home; it is a converted barn, and a nice one at that.
I didn’t have to knock on the door; she was watching for me and came out onto the porch to invite me in as I neared it. When I entered I could see mold penetrating the ceiling around the front door. Touring the home, I found more growing out the ceiling in the bathroom. There was evidence of a leak in the roof over the dining room and the air conditioning unit was broken. A small window unit labored hard to keep the place below 80 degrees.
She lives a pretty destitute life, only having a widow’s social security to pay for everything. It looked like she would qualify for assistance but late in August just before Gustav hit us, I learned from the granting agency that she was turned down due to the age of the mobile home.
After we got back from Meridian where we evacuated during Gustav and before I could get back to her with the sad news, she began calling me.
“Mr. Paris, my home is even worse now. Have you heard anything?"
“Mrs. Pringel, I’d like to come out and talk about it all real soon.”
I didn’t want to give her the bad news over the phone because I thought if Christi, our new case manager liaison and I went out we might be able to figure out some alternative solution with her son.
A few days later she called back and Christi took the call and told her the bad news.
“Oh, no! What am I going to do? Can’t you help me, Gustav caved in my roof over the bathroom, and I can’t shower or go to the bathroom in it. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Well, Mrs. Pringel what about maybe we could find a way to add a room onto your son’s home? “
Mrs. Pringel told Christi, “I don’t think so, and I don’t think he can afford it.”
“Mrs. Pringel, can you give us permission to talk to your son about your situation, and give us his phone number?”
“Yes, you can do that, and I’ll give you his number.”
“Christi called the son.
“Mr. Pringel, are you aware of your mother’s situation? She doesn’t even have a bathroom to use to clean up?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Well yes, Mr. Pringel, she is in a pretty bad predicament. Can’t you help her?”
Well how would I do that?”
“I understand you have a house you made by converting your barn. Isn’t it possible we could add a small room onto it for your mother if we can find the resources?”
“I don’t think that would work, and I couldn’t afford to pay someone to build it.”
“Mr. Pringel, all you’d have to do is acquire the materials, we can provide the construction labor.”
“I could get the materials, I’m a contractor, but I don’t think it would work, it would be too hard to add a room to the house.”
“Well, you have a pretty big piece of property; could we maybe help you build a small 1 or 2 room house on it for your mother?
To tell you the truth, I’m trying to sell the property. I think putting a house on it there would hurt the sale.”
But Mr. Pringel she is your mother, don’t you think you should help her so?”
Grudgingly he replied, “I guess I could set aside an acre or so for her.”
“Can we come out and talk to you about it?”
“Sure thing. You know I am helping her. I’m letting her stay on the property and I’m not even charging her rent “
He continued, “Just call me the day before to remind me you are coming. Do you need directions? It might be kind of hard to find, I have three pieces of property there and the mailboxes all say “Pringel.”
Three pieces of property? A nicely converted barn? A contracting business? Her mother in a partially collapsed mobile home with no indoor plumbing or bathroom? Call to remind him we are coming to find a way to help?
Yom Kippur, the tenth and final day of the days atonement, was last weekend. There is much to learn from the reason for its existence as a Jewish ritual day. It arises from Moses’ presentation of The Law in Leviticus. God gives his people ten days to repent of the wrongs they have done to others and for to forgive others of their transgressions. Leviticus Lev. 23:23-29 states:
“…It shall be a time of holy convocation and you shall afflict yourselves and present an offering by fire…whoever I not afflicted on this same day shall be cut off from his people.”
Afflict ourselves. Afflict means to cause grievous physical or mental distress. So to afflict ourselves in this ordinnace means to cause ourself to suffer great emotional distress over our wrongs.
We learn much later in God’s story of the magnitude of this great conflict, even in God’s mind, this self- affliction over wrong, the internalized battle between vengeance and atonement.
In Jonah, God determined to exact vengeance on the people of Nineveh for their wickedness. Yet when Jonah made God’s proclamation of His intent, Nineveh’s people and king not only turned from their evil ways but also abased themselves in ashes and sackcloth, beseeching God’s repentance from his anger at their evil ways. And in the prophet’s words, “when God saw that they had turned from their evil ways, God repented of the evil which he had said he would do to them and he did not do it.”
And we have Job, not even a member of the chosen people but still a blameless, upright and God fearing man who turned away from all evil. In perhaps the climatic moment in God’s relationship with his creation, God in a seemingly churlish way, gambled with Satan over this goodly man Job, allowing terrible infliction of suffering on him for no apparent reason other than to argue with Satan.
At the end of Job’s story, we find both God and Job have suffered terrible emotional grief from these acts. Both have afflicted themselves, one over the inexplicable reason for his suffering, the other, perhaps, over the infliction of arbitrary suffering. Job, as some would translate the Hebrew, states “ I have seen You for what you are, and I fear for mortal clay.” (John Miles, A biography of God)
To Job’s “friends” who had counseled Job that surely he must have done something wrong or God would not have done this to him God, God says, “My wrath is kindled against you… for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.”
God then in the Jewish way of repentance described by Isaiah restores Job’s fortune twofold as his remaining family come to console him for all the evil God had brought on him.” (Job 42: 7-13)
And later, much later, finally God afflicts himself in the penultimate atonement for His whole people by coming to us as fully man that we were able to exact on him the evil of our own ways, to try to prove His mortality.
Can we more gravely afflict ourselves than by this act other than to find a bit of forgiveness for others? Can we find forgiveness in a church bell for a verbal dispute that split a church, or forgive an unrepentant son?
“I came by here yesterday looking for someone in charge, but couldn’t find anyone. Do you know who I might talk to?”
I said while leaning over across my drivers seat to reach in to put down my clipboard, “Well, I guess I’m as good a person as any to start with. What can I do for you?”
“I used to be a member of this church a few years ago, but something happened and I left. You don’t know Janie Upshaw do you? Boy! She was the reason I left, she's a hard woman to talk to.”
“Janie Upshaw?” I temporized. “Yes I know her, she is a member here.”
I didn’t continue that on occasion I sit next to her and her husband on Sunday, or that she has recently suffered a severe, life-threatening illness.
“Yes, I got along with Herb, her husband pretty well, but I could never seem to find peace with Janie. That’s why I left.”
He continued, “But I found a really good church now, it’s a Mennonite church.”
“You don’t say?”
“I heard they are going to close this church. When they started using the fellowship hall, I gave them a refrigerator. I don’t particularly want it back; I guess they can do what they want with it."
After a short pause he continued, ”But I sure want the bell back.”
“The bell? You mean the little one on the porch they ring Sunday morning, or the one in the steeple?”
“The one in the steeple. I gave them that bell with the understanding if the church closed I wanted it back. It belonged to my father-in-law. I can probably get one of previous members to support me on that.”
“I think the best place to start is with the pastor. His name is Scott Zachariah, do you know him?”
“No I don’t know the name.”
“If you give me your name and number I’ll give it to him, and I’m sure they will find a good resolution to the problem.”
I took his information and I’ll give it to Scott. But, what is it about churches? They are supposed to be the place where we ought to get along but we fight until we cut the baby into halves, as if we were Solomon.
* * *
We worked hard last July to get a funding proposal for Sally Pringel. Sally is about 75 and her husband just died. She lives in an old mobile home out on the northeast side of town. I went out to survey the storm damage.
I got out of my truck and walked to the front door. By the time I got to the steps already I was sweating profusely. The home sits on a nice piece of property, it looks like about 20 or so acres. There is nice house about a hundred yards from the mobile home. I learned her son lives in the other home; it is a converted barn, and a nice one at that.
I didn’t have to knock on the door; she was watching for me and came out onto the porch to invite me in as I neared it. When I entered I could see mold penetrating the ceiling around the front door. Touring the home, I found more growing out the ceiling in the bathroom. There was evidence of a leak in the roof over the dining room and the air conditioning unit was broken. A small window unit labored hard to keep the place below 80 degrees.
She lives a pretty destitute life, only having a widow’s social security to pay for everything. It looked like she would qualify for assistance but late in August just before Gustav hit us, I learned from the granting agency that she was turned down due to the age of the mobile home.
After we got back from Meridian where we evacuated during Gustav and before I could get back to her with the sad news, she began calling me.
“Mr. Paris, my home is even worse now. Have you heard anything?"
“Mrs. Pringel, I’d like to come out and talk about it all real soon.”
I didn’t want to give her the bad news over the phone because I thought if Christi, our new case manager liaison and I went out we might be able to figure out some alternative solution with her son.
A few days later she called back and Christi took the call and told her the bad news.
“Oh, no! What am I going to do? Can’t you help me, Gustav caved in my roof over the bathroom, and I can’t shower or go to the bathroom in it. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Well, Mrs. Pringel what about maybe we could find a way to add a room onto your son’s home? “
Mrs. Pringel told Christi, “I don’t think so, and I don’t think he can afford it.”
“Mrs. Pringel, can you give us permission to talk to your son about your situation, and give us his phone number?”
“Yes, you can do that, and I’ll give you his number.”
“Christi called the son.
“Mr. Pringel, are you aware of your mother’s situation? She doesn’t even have a bathroom to use to clean up?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Well yes, Mr. Pringel, she is in a pretty bad predicament. Can’t you help her?”
Well how would I do that?”
“I understand you have a house you made by converting your barn. Isn’t it possible we could add a small room onto it for your mother if we can find the resources?”
“I don’t think that would work, and I couldn’t afford to pay someone to build it.”
“Mr. Pringel, all you’d have to do is acquire the materials, we can provide the construction labor.”
“I could get the materials, I’m a contractor, but I don’t think it would work, it would be too hard to add a room to the house.”
“Well, you have a pretty big piece of property; could we maybe help you build a small 1 or 2 room house on it for your mother?
To tell you the truth, I’m trying to sell the property. I think putting a house on it there would hurt the sale.”
But Mr. Pringel she is your mother, don’t you think you should help her so?”
Grudgingly he replied, “I guess I could set aside an acre or so for her.”
“Can we come out and talk to you about it?”
“Sure thing. You know I am helping her. I’m letting her stay on the property and I’m not even charging her rent “
He continued, “Just call me the day before to remind me you are coming. Do you need directions? It might be kind of hard to find, I have three pieces of property there and the mailboxes all say “Pringel.”
Three pieces of property? A nicely converted barn? A contracting business? Her mother in a partially collapsed mobile home with no indoor plumbing or bathroom? Call to remind him we are coming to find a way to help?
Yom Kippur, the tenth and final day of the days atonement, was last weekend. There is much to learn from the reason for its existence as a Jewish ritual day. It arises from Moses’ presentation of The Law in Leviticus. God gives his people ten days to repent of the wrongs they have done to others and for to forgive others of their transgressions. Leviticus Lev. 23:23-29 states:
“…It shall be a time of holy convocation and you shall afflict yourselves and present an offering by fire…whoever I not afflicted on this same day shall be cut off from his people.”
Afflict ourselves. Afflict means to cause grievous physical or mental distress. So to afflict ourselves in this ordinnace means to cause ourself to suffer great emotional distress over our wrongs.
We learn much later in God’s story of the magnitude of this great conflict, even in God’s mind, this self- affliction over wrong, the internalized battle between vengeance and atonement.
In Jonah, God determined to exact vengeance on the people of Nineveh for their wickedness. Yet when Jonah made God’s proclamation of His intent, Nineveh’s people and king not only turned from their evil ways but also abased themselves in ashes and sackcloth, beseeching God’s repentance from his anger at their evil ways. And in the prophet’s words, “when God saw that they had turned from their evil ways, God repented of the evil which he had said he would do to them and he did not do it.”
And we have Job, not even a member of the chosen people but still a blameless, upright and God fearing man who turned away from all evil. In perhaps the climatic moment in God’s relationship with his creation, God in a seemingly churlish way, gambled with Satan over this goodly man Job, allowing terrible infliction of suffering on him for no apparent reason other than to argue with Satan.
At the end of Job’s story, we find both God and Job have suffered terrible emotional grief from these acts. Both have afflicted themselves, one over the inexplicable reason for his suffering, the other, perhaps, over the infliction of arbitrary suffering. Job, as some would translate the Hebrew, states “ I have seen You for what you are, and I fear for mortal clay.” (John Miles, A biography of God)
To Job’s “friends” who had counseled Job that surely he must have done something wrong or God would not have done this to him God, God says, “My wrath is kindled against you… for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.”
God then in the Jewish way of repentance described by Isaiah restores Job’s fortune twofold as his remaining family come to console him for all the evil God had brought on him.” (Job 42: 7-13)
And later, much later, finally God afflicts himself in the penultimate atonement for His whole people by coming to us as fully man that we were able to exact on him the evil of our own ways, to try to prove His mortality.
Can we more gravely afflict ourselves than by this act other than to find a bit of forgiveness for others? Can we find forgiveness in a church bell for a verbal dispute that split a church, or forgive an unrepentant son?
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Day 192 – Still Dreaming
I've had a pretty hectic time since the last post. We are having bigger teams, the rebuilding of Pearlington is very (painfully) slow and so we are doubling up at Orange Grove. I also am working with a family in Gulfport to remove moldy interior wall finishing and re-wire so that after over three years, they can have a livable home. more on that later. I also missed posting a reflection on Yom Kippur last weekend, and I'll try to get that out.
But I leave you with Henry's lament:
Still Dreaming
The first time, I could only stop my walk, awestruck,
a safe distance from the edge of that grand canyon of canyons.
Unconsciously a quiet gasp slipped free
as I beheld the walls changing color,
pink and red and yellow-tinted fading into indistinct haze
as I gazed further and further into it.
The expansiveness. A canyon so magnificent, so large
that its far walls seemed so near,
as if a canvas of pastels that I could reach out and touch,
but I realized only God’s arms could span its breadth and paint its beauty.
The last time, far below
I saw the bright glint of some small stream.
The raging river,
the lifeblood of myriad acres and people
who drain it to a trickle at its end, not even to the sea.
Standing there overcome by the thought
of how time and water made such a wonder,
I left. Dreaming, even now,
of what construction the future works on me.
That moment conjoined the sting of regret and the kiss of hope.
I recalled the mirthful celebration of cap and gown long ago,
of the fecund promise of the future’s work,
Of time that trickles relentlessly towards its end,
Eroding memories but not the past; leaving only the rue
of things I’ve done and have yet to do
H. Paris, © 2008
But I leave you with Henry's lament:
Still Dreaming
The first time, I could only stop my walk, awestruck,
a safe distance from the edge of that grand canyon of canyons.
Unconsciously a quiet gasp slipped free
as I beheld the walls changing color,
pink and red and yellow-tinted fading into indistinct haze
as I gazed further and further into it.
The expansiveness. A canyon so magnificent, so large
that its far walls seemed so near,
as if a canvas of pastels that I could reach out and touch,
but I realized only God’s arms could span its breadth and paint its beauty.
The last time, far below
I saw the bright glint of some small stream.
The raging river,
the lifeblood of myriad acres and people
who drain it to a trickle at its end, not even to the sea.
Standing there overcome by the thought
of how time and water made such a wonder,
I left. Dreaming, even now,
of what construction the future works on me.
That moment conjoined the sting of regret and the kiss of hope.
I recalled the mirthful celebration of cap and gown long ago,
of the fecund promise of the future’s work,
Of time that trickles relentlessly towards its end,
Eroding memories but not the past; leaving only the rue
of things I’ve done and have yet to do
H. Paris, © 2008
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