Divine appointments - yarn

I'm attracted by the concept of divine appointments. Encountering someone whose heart is primed to hear what you want to say. Being in the right place and time to partner with the Kingdom of God.

I have to admit that I have mixed emotions about the feel-good suggestion to practice random acts of kindness. As a believer, I want to tune my heart to the Holy Spirit, and follow his leading. In theory, I'll end up by doing uniquely targeted acts, rather than just random ones. If I'm to be perfectly honest, however, it often seems like too much trouble to be kind, in any flavor.

I try to be kind, of course, but I'm aware of missed opportunities. I go through different phases about what to do with panhandlers, for example -- whether to resort to the tried and true NYC approach of totally ignoring them, or feeling vaguely guilty, and escalating to giving them a dollar, or an impersonal smile, or a referral to an organization that can help, or bringing them a cup of soup. No solution seems to be right for long, because people are individuals rather than stereotypes or projects. This is when I really want divine leading -- what is the right thing to do right now, with this individual?

And once in a while I realize that God has set up a divine appointment. Unfortunately, I often realize this only after the fact, which can lead to kind of funny results. More on that later.

Actually, it reminds me of a study I read about the brain. They did an experiment with people who could not communicate between the different sides of their brain. They gave simple instructions (such as 'walk across the room' or 'drink a glass of water') to one side of the brain, then observed the people following the instructions, and then asked them why they had performed these actions. Because of the brain damage, they didn't know why they had done so. Here comes the fascinating part -- they made up answers. They weren't trying to lie, they were simply trying to come up with an answer that made sense.
'Why did you walk across the room?'
'I wanted to stretch my legs.'
'Why did you drink the water?'
'I was thirsty'.

A few weeks ago, on the way home from church, I suddenly went into the Yarn store. I ended up in a conversation with one of the ladies there. To make a long story short (if it's not already too late) she asked what church I go to, and then asked lots of follow-up questions about the style and beliefs of the church. She even wanted to know what the sermon was about that morning. When I told her the topic, she then wanted to know what he actually said about it. During the conversation, I was shopping for yarn. By the end, I had invited her to church, and had completed my purchase.

It was only afterwards, when wondering why in the world I had bought all that yarn, that I realized that I acted exactly like the brain damaged people in the experiment. I assumed that if I walked into the yarn store I must have done so because I wanted to buy yarn. I didn't realize that the Spirit was simply speaking to me and telling me to go into the store.

P.S. Does anyone need $42 worth of blue alpaca yarn?

know your audience

Another day at the nursing home.
As usual, I came with way too many ideas of covering way too much material. I wanted to talk about Believing God, and how many of us Believe in God, but don't always believe God. I told them the story of Abraham. They got interested when I related his travels to the modern day places -- Iraq, to Turkey, through Syria, to Israel. The recognizable place names drew them in. And when I told them that I myself had visited Haran, and related how dusty I got walking in Haran, they were really engrossed.

But the piece de resistance was when I [incorrectly] told them that Abraham was 80 years old when the Lord told him to travel to a different land (actually, the Bible says he was 75, but I remembered it wrong). Suddenly there was something they could identify with. They loved hearing that God had spoken to him at that age, and given him a big task to do.

Afterwards, they seemed more awake then usual. One lady in particular seemed excited and gleefully beckoned me over. I anticipated some comment about how inspiring my preaching was. She gestured for me to come closer, and proclaimed:

You have beautiful teeth!

All I could think of was "In the country of the blind the one eyed man is king”.

There's something on your forehead

Sitting at my desk today, I felt a real urge to celebrate Ash Wednesday. I know there are some churches near where I work, but most of them have signs in other languages. That raised the level of difficulty a little too high. I imagined myself ignorantly violating some religious custom, and not even being able to explain myself.

Lo and behold, one of my meetings was cancelled, and I suddenly realized I had time to run into New York, a daring thought, considering the fact that I usually eat at my desk. I decided to go to St. Bartholomew's, an Episcopal church I have visited before.

St. Bart's is a wonderful conglomeration of formal but friendly, and is liturgical but accessible. They reach out to the community in numerous ways, including serving breakfast to the hungry 3 days a week, and even running an 8-bed shelter. They actively encourage seekers, and have groups that meet on all different topics, some of which are explicitly Christian and some that are rather explicitly...not.

On 9/11, I was working a few blocks uptown when the news hit. At first, it was rather fragmentary. We didn't have a TV, our outgoing phone service didn't work, and the news websites had crashed. Finally a co-worker located upstate managed to call me to check on us, and he held his phone up to the TV, and that's how we heard the news. And then we started seeing people walk by on the sidewalk. Hundreds of stunned, exhausted, traumatized people. We realized as never before that Manhattan is an island, which was cut off from the rest of the world -- no bridges, tunnels or phones. So I decided to go to church.

I walked down to St Barts, wending my way through hundreds of people desperately plodding in the opposite direction. When I reached the church, I saw church members standing on the steps and sidewalk, handing out written prayers of comfort, selected for the tragedy of the day. And handing out water, I think. And there were big signs set up outside the church inviting people to come inside.

I entered the huge sanctuary (I think it seats 1200) and found that by chance I had arrived just as they were about to begin a service. People of all walks of life were there. Some were the normal celebrants, some were there like I was, looking for comfort, and some just wanted to rest their feet. All were made welcome. The priest addressed the uncertainty. He said that since no one yet understood the situation, they didn't know how to help, but that they would do whatever seemed helpful, including opening the church for people to sleep on the pews if that became necessary. I was grateful to have an option if need be. St. Bart's really came through in terms of stretching out an arm to the community.

Today, I went to get ashes, and found that I had arrived mid-way through the noon service. Even though I was peculiarly self-conscious I suddenly had an encounter with Grace. Suddenly I grasped the richness and beauty of the liturgy. Suddenly I felt overwhelmed with gratitude towards Jesus.

I'm not quite sure how this was possible, but I took a subway there and back, walked a few blocks, attended half of a service,laughed, cried, sang, prayed, received communion, went next-door to the chapel to receive my ashes, picked up some lunch at a cart next door, and took the subway back to work, in barely over an hour. And was touched by grace.

Back at work, I didn't notice anyone else with ashes. Most of the people on my floor are Hindu, a number are Jewish, and a handful are Muslim. Frankly speaking, it was my turn for forehead art. Most of my co-workers were too tactful to say anything, but M finally exclaimed: "Ann, you have something on your forehead!" I explained that it is a religious symbol, to show that God created us out of dust, and to remind us of Jesus' sacrifice for us. He was delighted to hear this, and said excitedly that they too put ashes on the forehead.

He was too polite to say that his tradition was better, but the subtext was clear. Rather than my measely once-a year ceremony, they get ashes "every time they visit the goddess". Oh well.

Pray that the true light that has come into the world would enlighten the hearts of M, and R, and A, and S, and B, and D, and H, and V, and S(another and another and another) and R(another one) and G, and K, and K(another) and N.