The Things We Say
With the mercury already rising on another sultry Sunday morning, the runner stopped for a much-needed drink of water. The mammoth megachurch had always been a good wayside for such purposes. Situated approximately halfway through the run, one of the side doors was usually open by 7:00am, and there was a water fountain just a few feet inside; real water, and who knows, on a good day, maybe a little “living water” too.
The runner was not exactly dressed for church, but he rarely encountered anyone inside, and he would only be there for a few moments, so he didn’t see any harm. He entered the building, stooped by the fountain, and began to eagerly lap up the refreshing fluid. As he did so, he knew he was being watched. A Sunday School man, in a dark suit, white shirt and black tie, was eyeing him warily from around the corner at the end of the hall. He began to approach the runner slowly and cautiously, as one stalking wild prey. By the time the runner had drank his fill, Sunday School man had stopped only a few feet away.
“Well,” he suddenly declared, “thanks so much. And please do come again.”
The runner was startled, not so much by his sudden appearance (he knew he was coming) or by his words, which on the surface, were generous and inviting. It was the sarcastic edge in his voice that made him jump. At first the runner thought that he had misheard his tone, that went he looked up he would encounter a smiling visage, maybe even the face of an angel.
But as he turned and faced him, his worst fears were realized–Sunday School man meant business. The furrowed brow, the look of confusion commingled with a dash or two of suspicion and fear–the scowl–matched his tone of voice perfectly. Only the words themselves were out of synch.
The runner realized quickly that he had offended and perhaps even scared Sunday School man. Maybe it had been his disheveled “homeless” appearance or the fact that he was shedding drops of sweat all over the carpet, he wasn’t sure, but he smiled at Sunday School man, waved and said, “Thanks so much for the water. I really appreciate it.”
As he returned to his course and made his way down quiet neighborhood streets, the runner thought about what had just happened and imagined that Sunday School man would soon relate this story to the powers-that-be and that someday this upcoming week, yet another committee would convene to discuss this most recent security breach. He couldn’t help but wonder if the next time he stopped by to wet his parched lips, the door might be locked.
He made another turn and started up the long hill that leads toward home. Another man, wearing a t-shirt, jeans and slippers and nursing his morning coffee, was making his way down his driveway to retrieve his Sunday paper. He had the look of a man who was in no hurry, who most likely planned to wile away the morning poring over the business section, sports pages and the comics–and not necessarily in that order. If this man was going to church, it would be the very latest service available.
He had paused at the end of his driveway and was now watching the runner as he approached. His face was one of pure benevolence, his eyes alive with interest and curiosity. The corners of his mouth began to lift like the rising morning sun.
“Good morning to you,” he called out. “I hope you have a nice run.”
The runner smiled and returned his greeting. He really wanted to stop and give the man a hug, but he didn’t want to risk ruining the moment.
The runner finished his course, a little lighter in step now, and contemplated the lessons of the morning. He thought about that passage from the Good Book, the one about “wheat and tares” existing side-by-side, and he nodded his head silently in affirmation.
And then he had another thought: On the one hand, there are the things that we say. And on the other, there are the things we say without saying anything at all.
16 Comments
Comments are closed.
Jeff Slater
The man in the church really makes me sad.
If the story ended like it should, next Sunday when you stop in for a drink of water, he would be waiting at the door with a fresh towel and a bottle of Gatorade. As you towel off and enjoy your Gatorade, he would encourage you in your run and send you on your way with a spring in your step. Perhaps you would even add another few miles to your run.
Mike the Eyeguy
Jeff, I agree, but maybe the most startling revelation in all this is that Sunday School man could be (and at times probably has been) me.
I want to be more of an encourager–like Driveway man.
JRB
I seem to remember the radical Jewish rabbi teaching something about a cool glass of water to strangers. Probably, that was just a cultural allusion that is lost to us unless we know Aramaic.
My wife and I have been greatly blessed and transformed by a book called Radical Hospitality by a Benedictine monk from Detroit. We highly recommend it and hope that we all can be a little bit more like Driveway man.
Mike the Eyeguy
When it comes to hospitality, those Benedictines know their stuff. And those Trappists aren’t half bad either.
I’ve heard of that book but have yet to check it out. Thanks for the reminder.
Carolinagirl
ME – I get the impression that the only two people who appeared to be where they wanted to be were runner man and driveway man.
I’d have to agree with Jeff in that the Bible School man should greet you next Sunday with a bottle of Gatorade and a towel. Then again, I’m struggling with the “why” right now of why some people offer their assitance to others with no strings attached and others do so not at all or with a very short string attached.
Mike the Eyeguy
I don’t know, Sunday School man may be a pillar of that church for all I know, and a man of many gifts.
Hospitality, though is not one of them. He probably shouldn’t be put in charge of the greeting team. 🙂
Alan Gable
I can see Sunday school guy in my mind. Yikes, looks kinda like me. Conviction through short story. Thanks.
Mike the Eyeguy
I know what you mean. I probably shouldn’t be put in charge of the greeting team either.
I can pass those trays without spilling a drop, though.
Double vision
Have often wondered if a group of dirty, smelly, homeless men came to church and took a seat on the back row what would happen in most churches. Probably similar attitudes as when integration and civil rights were at the forefront. One could ponder the same question as well today with a group of illegal aliens entering and sitting on the back row in their work clothes of most southern churches. It is amazing what happens when our stated beliefs cross with the real world and we have to act out our beliefs. Far too many of us fail unfortunately…..Hospitality-It’s where we start.
Mike the Eyeguy
DV–Your hypothetical scenarios triggered a memory of just such a scene which I witnessed several years ago. Now I have an idea for another post–thanks!
And good observations, BTW.
Terri
Double vision… whoever it is better get there early if they’re going to sit on the back row!!!! …and if they get somebody’s seat – well, I don’t want to think about that!
Mike the Eyeguy
Terri, it’s funny who should say that, because the one time I saw a homeless person enter a CoC service unexpectedly, he had to walk all the way down the aisle and to the front pew because that’s the only place he could find a seat!
But that’s a story for another day…
Tarwater
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.
-Plato
Mike the Eyeguy
I like that–so true.
That Plato must be one smart bubba; bet he graduated from Bama.
Double vision
I always like to think about who is going to be in my seat….on the back row.
Mike the Eyeguy
I’m a balcony man myself.