Focusing on divine things, in this case Marie, rather than human things . . .

     I learned later that she called herself Marie.  Before I get to Marie and a bit of her story, such as I know it, I should probably set the scene.  As most of you know, we were in Daytona Beach visiting Karen’s sister and her family.  The retirement party for Karen’s mom had been re-scheduled last year because of Irma.  And yes, Florence was off the coast barreling toward the Carolina coast.  Karen’s parents had evacuated when the island was still under a mandatory evacuation.  It was lifted after they got to their daughter’s house, but they needed to be at the retirement party Thursday night, too, so . . . Karen’s parents had brought their cats because of the potential storm surge.  So there we were.  1 fish, 2 birds, three cats, nine grandchildren, and six “adults.”  The cousins were squealing because they were finally playing together.  That noise, of course, helped the animals relax.  And the adults were paying close attention to Florence.

     The morning after the models changed and began to show Florence making a southwesterly move, perhaps a second landfall as far south as Savanah, I went out to get gas.  You all know me.  I never win the lottery or any good things.  There was an outlier path on the “spaghetti models” that showed Florence stalling just south of the Outer Banks, curving south, and coming ashore somewhere between Savanah and Jacksonville on the Georgia Coast.  I don’t win good lotteries, but I knew which model would prove the most accurate if I were not prepared.  So, to save the folks on the Georgia coast, I went out that morning to fill up my tank.  I figured if the storm headed our way, we’d be able to take off quick.

     So, as I was filling up the car, I started getting the nudge.  Y’all know me well now.  I have the discernment of a slug.  I am often grateful that Jesus was a carpenter and thinks to crack boards over my thick head from time to time to get through to me.  But this was a nudge that I have become better a recognizing.  Somewhat near the entrance to the handimart, though off to the side, was a woman who appeared homeless.  I was too far away to read her sign, but it was a sight that is all too familiar here in Nashville.  Anyway, the wrestling match began with the nudge.  It was hot and humid, as Florida is during the summer.  It was a long walk to go speak to the woman.  But, where she was was not conducive for driving over.  This was going to be a pain.  Couldn’t someone else do it?  I needed to get back to the noisy ark where we were all staying.

     Recognizing the nudge and the futility of arguing, I drove over.  After a couple dodges of various obstacles, I pulled up beside her.  Can I help you?  She just wanted money, but I told her I had no cash on me.  Plus, y’all know I’m not big on giving cash.  I try to meet the need rather than just give cash.  The only other thing she needed would be a real pain for me.  I asked what it was.  She wanted a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant and a cold, sweet iced-tea from the Dunkin Donuts there.  She apologized for being picky in her mind by showing me her lack of teeth which made chewing harder things nigh impossible.  She also showed me her hands.  They were dirty.  She did not like to pull her food apart to eat because, well, she could not wash her hands.  I told her I’d be back in a few.  Before I moved the car, she asked if she could ask a question.  I told her she could ask two, but the humor was lost on her.  Why did you do this?  I asked what she meant.  She explained that she stood a bit out of the way to keep the coins from hurting so much.  People would fling coins at her as they drove out.  When you’re too close, they hurt.  So, if I stand over here, they don’t hurt so bad, plus, I can hear them when they hit the concrete when they miss.  I told her I was not sure yet.  God intended something here.  Maybe it was just to feed her?  Maybe it was a lesson for me?  Maybe it was for someone else?  I’d just have to see.  She asked if I was a preacher man, and I told her I was.  And she laughed that I kinda had to do stuff like that, didn’t I.  I laughed with her and agreed.  I got my car out of the maze and back into the real part of the parking lot.

     I went into the Dunkin Donuts and ordered her croissant and extra-large sweet iced tea.  As I was waiting on them to finish her meal, I had the thought or nudge to get her some water.  I headed back over to the handimart, where Dasani was on sale BOGO, and got her two bottles of water.  As I was checking out, the clerk said “That’s for Marie, isn’t?”  I begged her pardon.  I saw you over there talking to her.  You know she’s there every day until she leaves, waiting on suckers like you to help her out.  Now that I knew her name, I asked the clerk about Marie’s story.  She shrugged and said she rightly did not know.  The guy standing to my right perked up and asked what we were talking about.  The clerk told him I was Marie’s newest sucker.  The guy proceeded to rant for 30-45 seconds how the damn tourists keep folks like her around.  In many ways, their attitude toward her was like that of people toward stray animals.  The locals all know she’s lazy.  There’s jobs to be had if anyone wants one.  She just stands out there asking for handouts.  The people in line with me nodded their heads and murmured their own thoughts on his statement.

     I took my opening and asked how he or they knew she was lazy, making eye contact with those who had the most conviction about Marie’s supposed laziness.  Another guy behind me answered that there were tons of jobs.  The only reason anyone doesn’t work is cause they don’t want to.  Again, more nodding and murmuring.  So I opined.  I shared that in all the years I had worked with the homeless, I had met very few lazy folks.  Many were dogged by mental illness.  Many were dealing with addiction.  Few were what I considered lazy.  Even those who could do no other jobs took pride in their work of begging.  I’d even met a few that declared and paid their taxes.  Heck, how lazy could Marie really be if she was standing there all day in this heat and humidity asking for help?  Another voice behind me asked if I was a preacher man.  I said that I was.  Another voice said that God helps those who helps themselves.  That statement brought lots of agreement.  You got the right of that!  Amen!  He sure do!  I asked if He really said that.  At first, they were all certain He did.  When I pressed for book and verse, though, no one seemed able to think of it.  I told them I was fairly certain it was either a Ben Franklin saying or an Algernon Sydney saying.

     I know.  Y’all are wondering how I know that stupid bit of trivia and still forget names so easily.  Where did I go to school?  Hampden-Sydney.  Does that last name sound familiar now?  We were steeped in a great deal of the history, philosophy, and writings of our Founding Fathers.  The mission of the college is, after all, to create Good Men and Good Citizens.  There’s a bit of a fight among historians as to who said it first, but it’s not something that is in Scripture or even expresses the mind and character of God.  But that’s a different sermon.

     They were certain it was biblical.  I told them I just needed chapter and verse.  While some were looking, one guy asked what Bible I used.  I asked why that mattered.  He said that some folks refused to use the King James version nowadays.  I told the group I have several different translations, plus the original Greek texts upon which their favorite translations were based.  I encouraged him to check his KJV online and give me the verse.  One by one, those who were googling or checking their favorite Bible App wondered if it was broken.  Amazingly to them, not so much to me, it did not appear in any of their Bibles.  One guy was incredulous and figured there was a problem with the Bible on his phone—he knew it was in print at home!

     I told him I was willing to bet he could not find that verse in his Bible at home.  The others, of course, laughed because they assumed that I could quote every verse in the Bible.  After all, I was preaching to them that midweek morning, so I clearly took the Bible seriously—I was not the typical hired hand.

     I thanked them for the intended compliment and told them they sounded to me like they took tried to take their faith seriously.  Everyone nodded assent and murmured their agreement.  So I took a chance.  I asked them if they’d ever thought about that pithy statement they were so sure existed in Scripture.  I got the predictable confused looks and statements, so I pressed ahead.  Whom does God like to help in Scripture?  Several answered widows and orphans, and a couple loudly answered His people.  I asked if any of them had ever heard their pastors about God helping those on the margins of society.  All of them nodded.  We talked a few seconds about the life of orphans and widows in the ANE.  In response to a comment from one of the His people answerers, I had to get them to see that His people are always the faithful remnant.  Except maybe when Solomon first ascended the throne, those doing God’s will in the world around them were really small in number.

     I asked if any went to churches that used the lectionary.  I ended up having to explain the lectionary, but a couple folks did.  I told them that if they went to a church using the lectionary, they would read the confession by Peter in the Gospel of Mark that Jesus is the Messiah.  Those that disagreed with the use of a lectionary thought it was a good reading.  I asked how Peter responds to Jesus’ instruction about suffering and death and the Resurrection, and the whole handimart congregation knew the “Get behind me Satan!” rebuke.  So I asked what followed.  To their credit, there were a couple men and women who knew the rest of today’s reading, even though they did not go to lectionary churches.  But it provided the local flavor to enter into a serious discussion about “divine things.”

     What does it mean to lose one’s life for the sake of the Gospel?  What does it mean to be ashamed of Jesus’ teaching?  Does Jesus really expect us to hold others, particularly those down on their luck like Marie, to the standard of “God helps those who help themselves.”?  In fact, how does God often help folks on the margins?  That’s right!  Through the Church, His other sons and other daughters—put more directly, through you and me!  You all, of course, know the answers to those questions.  Some of us have been struggling with those questions.  There are some of us who are worried about this immigrant and refugee focus that other members seem to have.  There are some of us who are uncomfortable with hungry folks coming by church to get food.  Me being the jerk pastor/good pastor (take your pick) that I am, ask you to wrestle with those questions.  Is it possible that we are mis-discerning a corporate ministry?  Absolutely.  Do I think God is happier with us mis-discerning by feeding or teaching or ministering to those on the margins of our society than He is with those who refuse to help lazy beggars?  Yes!  One group is expressing a circumcised heart; the other is still hard-hearted.  My guess is that we will figure out His will for us in this community rather quickly, so long as those hearts seek Him.  Time, and the Holy Spirit, will tell.

     But what of those of us who like to treat the other as other?  How are we honoring and glorifying God?  It’s easy to see us dishonoring God when we chuck coins at a homeless person, when we disparage their work ethic when we really do not know them, when we think ourselves able to sit in judgment about another person made in the similar image of God.  We claim to serve a God who made all things.  How quickly are we, though, to think there is a limit to our resources?  Our time?  Our energy?  Our compassion?  And when we live, as a body or as individuals, who feels limited, what is our testimony about the God we serve?

     Much like I suspect many of us today, judging by the holy silence, those questions resonated in that handimart.  Those folks weren’t evil, at least in the sense that we like to think.  They were normal, hard-working American Protestants.  They had simply forgotten the distinction between divine things and human things.  They had forgotten that our Lord Christ died on that Cross so that all, they and we and Marie and others, could come within the reach of God’s saving embrace.  You might say, like some of us, they had forgotten the basics and needed a refresher course.  Clearly, tourists were preaching the message.  They simply had ears and could not hear.  Thankfully, and mercifully, God used an itinerant preacher, a lectionary, and a homeless woman named Marie, not accidentally I think, to rebirth understanding of His will in all our lives.

     Our conversation ran its natural course.  Some were worried they had really screwed up in their attitudes.   I reminded them that all God demands is repentance and an effort to try and do better—that is one of the blessings of the Gospel, after all. A couple wanted to speak with their pastors and try and figure out if what I was saying was really true.  I get it.  They did not know me and wanted to talk to a pastor they trusted.  My friend who thinks Jesus spoke in King James English was still arguing with his stupid phone and with me that the “God helps those who helps themselves” statement had to be in Proverbs or Ecclesiastes or one of those books we don’t read too much.  I figured I had food ready and cold by now, and I worried that Marie figured I had set her up by promising food and not delivering—probably worse than flinging coins at her.  So I went back to DD to get her food and headed out.

     I made my way back over to Marie.  I handed her the croissant and gigantic ice tea and the bag with water.  She squealed in pleasure at the sugar in the Dunkin Donuts bag and at the extra water.  I told her it was BOGO.  If she wanted to use the water to wash, wash.  If she wanted to save it to drink, save it to drink.  It was hers to do with as she pleased.  She thanked me and asked if they were really busy in there.  I laughed and told her I was not sure—I had no standard of comparison.  She chewed that over a second and then commented that she noticed people going in the handimart, but nobody really coming out.  I confessed it was my fault, but a bit of the Holy Spirit’s, too, I thought.  She asked why.

     I told her that I had been warned off against helping her in the beginning.  She nodded that did not surprise her.  I told her it was then I figured out why I was helping her.  She asked what I meant by that.  I shared that I had had the opportunity to refocus a number of Christians on the things of God, like her.  She snorted at the idea that she was a thing of God.  I smiled and agreed.  She was not a thing of God, but possibly a daughter.  She snorted again.  And the light-heartedness left my voice and face.  I reminded her again that God loved her dearly, that He had created her in His image.  I was sorry for what she had suffered in this life.  I wished I could do more than get her a croissant and couple cold drinks.  But I had helped her because I felt His nudge or push as I was pumping gas.  I was pretty sure, I told her, that God was doing several things with that nudge.  He was giving me an opportunity to speak to my congregation about this week’s Gospel reading in a powerful way, were I obedient.  He was giving me an opportunity to do some serious preaching to a group of people claiming to be Christian but blind to suffering in their midst.  And He was reminding her that He loved her and knew her suffering in ways none of us around here ever would.  And that was just for starters.  Who knew what else He was about this hot, muggy morning!

     You really believe all that?  I told her I did.  She dearly hoped I was right.  I told her I knew God loved her dearly and I hoped she never forgot it.  I know it’s tough when folks fling words that hurt way more than coins, especially those who claim to be Christians, I understood that, but I knew He understood it even better than I ever could.

     There was a holy silence for some time.  It was probably 30-40 seconds, but it seemed far longer as she mulled my words and remembered what she had been taught about God and what she had experienced.  Then she smiled a glorious smile with broken and missing teeth and I heard real humor in her voice for the first time, not the self-deprecating that had been there up until this point.  You know.  You got a fair number of people to stop and listen to your sermon on their way to work.  That’s a pretty good miracle in these parts.  People are usually in too big a hurry to stop for anything.  It’s always rush, rush, rush!   Maybe God was at work today in ways we can’t see.

     Sensing our interaction nearing an end, I asked if there was anything else she needed.  She said I had helped enough.  I asked again.  She said 75 cents would be great.  I asked why just 75 cents?  She said she almost had enough money to ride the bus.  I questioned her with the words, “Air conditioning?”  She got excited and then dropped her eyes and then said I must work with homeless a lot.  I did, and I had lots of friends who did.  Her eyes said everything.  I dug around in our ash tray for the coins.  Me, who seldom gives out cash, gladly gave her from our stash of nickels and dimes and a quarter.  She thanked me, asked me the time, and then asked if I’d be mad if she waited to eat until she got on the bus.  I told her the food and drinks were hers to enjoy as she saw fit.  She said she wanted to enjoy her feast in the air conditioning and then maybe grab a nap until they kicked her off the bus.

     Some of you may have missed the significance of her excitement and then sadness and this ending.  Sometimes, the only relief that those who are homeless get from the elements are from bus rides on city busses.  The thoughts of hotel rooms are so far above their expectations that the best they can hope for are breaks on city buses.  In northern climates, heated busses are a relief from the bitter cold.  In places like Florida, the only respite from the heat and humidity are air conditioned busses.  Busses for homeless women also serve as a kind of protection against sexual assault and rape.  Society, more often than not, does not want homeless folk sleeping or hanging out in places we like to frequent.  That means they are forced into the shadows.  Guess what happens in the shadows, out of sight and too far from the sound of shouting voices to homeless women and children.  For Marie, the busses of Daytona Beach are a sanctuary, a respite from not just the heat and humidity, but from those who prey on women who are homeless.  By moving before God cracked me over the head with a 2 X 4, by engaging with the cashier and folks in the handimart, and by listening to Marie, what did we Adventers learn, we who live 9 hours to the north and west?

     Marie collects coins to ride the bus.  Only on the bus does she get a break from the heat and humidity.  More importantly, it’s only on the bus that she can let her guard down a bit.  Of course, standing before you this day in this pulpit, I wonder how much she can really let that guard down.  Folks in that handimart were sure she was lazy, that she could get a job if she wanted.  I wonder how she can ever break that cycle?  How can she get clean?  How can she get clothes?  Heck, how can she ever get a smile that will allow her to interview successfully for a “good” job?  Even more successfully, given her modest desires and obvious experiences, what damage has been done to her by her fellow human beings?  How many times has she been raped?  How many times has she been assaulted?  How many times has she been bruised or stung by folks flinging the very coins she needs to find respite?  Worst of all, what have their judgmental words done to her?  How many times have people demanded she be kicked off the bus?  How many times have people commented loudly how much she smelled?  How many folks have poked fun at her smile?  How many have done so smugly claiming to be sons and daughters of God?

     Brothers and sisters, there are lots of Marie’s and men like Marie in our community.  In fact, I know another lady named Marie that Donna and Ranger Steve, in particular, tried to help here in our community.  The “divine things” of God is how we do trying to minister to them.  The losing our life for His sake and the sake of the Gospel is how we minister to the Marie’s of our community in His name!  I know.  We are aging; we are shrinking; we have tons of worldly excuses for avoiding His call, His demands, upon our lives.  Standing against all those excuses, though, is His promise.  In dying to self, He promises abundant life; in our embrace of the Cross, He promises life beyond measure.  And in serving the Marie’s of the world He reminds us that we have served Him in ways far better than we will ever understand or appreciate on this side of the grave.  Every now and then, though, He tears that shroud for our sakes.  Every now and then, brothers and sisters, He gives us glorious insight into His redeeming work in the world around us.

     It would be easy to stand before you this morning and mock the hard-hearted churches of NE Florida this morning, churches that, as this story was told this morning, each of us no doubt thought should be doing better.  It would be easy to give each of you and “atta boy” or “atta girl” for your thankful gifts to the discretionary account y’all make possible.  After all, each of you who supports the church or gives thankfully to the Discretionary Fund has a share in that ministry to Marie.  As stupid as it sounds in your ears, I did not have the $11-12 to help her myself.  Heck, were it not for the stupid change in my ash tray, I would not have had the 75 cents to finish off the bus ride.  So you each had a hand in that ministry.  It would even be easy to point to the miracle that Marie noticed—that people rushing to work took time to wrestle with God in a handimart of all places.

     But in those efforts to focus, we would have lost the bigger picture, the bigger miracle.  How big is our God?  So big that He can use the change in your pastor’s ash tray and a couple pennies from each of you to provide meaningful relief to a marginalized daughter; so big that He can use a willful, slug-like discerning and vacationing priest like me to stop traffic in a handimart and force them to begin to re-focus on divine things in their community;  so big that this encounter, which happened 9 hours to the southeast of here, might actually teach us about our attitudes and about those whom we see in street corners or in our parish hall or in public spaces we wish we did not, and so big that He can use our embrace of His Cross to give us all glimpses of that Resurrected life to which He call all of humanity!  And, knowing it would not be Gospel were it not even better than we think, He gives you and me and all our brothers and sisters in the Church the privilege and responsibility of inviting all those we encounter, being those who look and sound like us or those who look like Marie or the folks on the corners in Nashville looking for help or the stranger in our favorite department store or even the staff that serves us food when we eat out.  It is so easy to fall into the siren song of the world, to focus on the world and events and people in our lives with our mind focused on human things.  Our Lord Christ, though, calls us to engage the world steeped in the wisdom and love and mercy of God.  When we do that, my brothers and sisters, when we truly engage others, consciously aware that they were gloriously fashioned as were we, that is when you and I begin to experience the barest glimpses of the eternal promises He offers.  Perhaps even more significantly than that, though, others get to see Him, our Savior and our Redeemer, alive and working through us!

In Christ’s Peace,

Brian†