I wrote this almost two years ago, but never shared it with anyone. I read it again today and thought it was a good reminder for me, and maybe there will be something in it for someone else.
It’s funny how simple, single moments can teach the greatest lessons and remind us of basic truths of life and faith that we so easily forget. I had been struggling with some thoughts on a Sunday School series that the elders were working on, dealing with, what we considered to be the essential elements expected of each member of our congregation. As I wrestled with the idea I realized how difficult it was going to be to deliver a series that was both interesting and concise and still captured those essential elements while inspiring each participant to embrace those elements and enthusiastically pledge to work towards establishing them in their lives. It is a tall order and a big expectation.
All this came on the heels of a chaotically busy couple of weeks, both with things at church and at my work. The previous week was one of those where it seemed all I did was run from one meeting to the next. When there wasn’t a meeting to go to I was trying to catch up on all the other work I wasn’t getting done because of the meetings. By the weekend my mind was fuzzy and I was not feeling much desire to be productive.
I was having no tremendous breakthroughs, so I decided to settle in for an afternoon of football. The rest of my family was off doing other things, so I had the house to myself to lounge and be lazy in front of the tube. Maybe it was some sort of sign, but my team started poorly and got worse. It was a miserable game for a Seahawks fan. Granted there are many such games for Seahawks fans, but this game was atrocious even by their standards. I started skipping through the recording at a heightened pace, anticipating the next game, knowing it had to be better because it would be nearly impossible for a game to be any worse.
That’s when I got the phone call. Thanksgiving had brought an early foot of snow and then was added to a couple inches at a time over the following days. But the recent days had brought a warming trend that turned the deep snow to slush. The call was from one of our thoughtful ladies who was concerned about another woman in our congregation who was having difficulty getting in and out of her long driveway because of the slush. Could I help her by clearing the slush from her driveway? I had no reason to say “no” other than being tired and feeling rather lazy, so I said that I would be happy to. Then I asked if there was anyone else that she had called that was headed over.
“No, you are the first one that has said yes. Everyone else I’ve called has said they were busy or had other plans.”
I don’t know how many others she called, but I sensed a great deal of relief that I had finally yielded a favorable answer for her, although inwardly I was confessing that I would rather skip to the next football game.
As I started looking for my boots and gloves I realized that I was home alone. In this case home alone meant I had no transportation. My son had one car and my wife the other. I wasn’t going to call my wife home from Christmas choir practice, so I called my son who was “hanging out” with friends. He had been through a relatively stressful week as well, so I was happy he had some friends to relax with and get his mind off the recent stresses thrown at him, so I was reluctant to demand he come help me. The reality was that the lady’s home was just a mile away and the walk would not have been unreasonable for me. So instead of demanding I asked my son if he would be willing to help, hoping he would muster some goodwill through his own aching.
“Hey, Colby, would you be interested in going with me to help shovel a driveway for a lady that needs some help?”
As I said it I realized how it must have sounded and I pictured myself on the other end of the question. How are you supposed to answer that?
There was silence followed by some sort of combination of vowels and consonants that were not really forming words. And then he was honest – just as I hoped he would be and just as I hoped he wouldn’t be.
“Dad, I kinda just want to hang out with my friends. Is that okay?”
I didn’t blame him, but I was disappointed and I know it came through in my response.
“Sure, that’s fine,” I said, but I know he could tell in my voice that it wasn’t.
I went back to getting my boots and gloves and before they were on, my phone rang again.
“Hi Dad, I changed my mind. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I want to help.”
Now we both felt guilty. I assured him that he didn’t need to. His time with some new friends was good for him after the week he had and I really wanted him to be encouraged and be able to relax. I must admit I was grateful for the help though, so I did not argue too profusely when he insisted that he would help.
“As soon as I hung up, I felt bad for saying ‘no,’" he said, "There was not really any good reason for me not to help. We weren’t really doing anything that I couldn’t stop to come help.”
Simple moments. He ditched his friends so he could come help his dad and help someone who had a simple need. He had the time and ability to help and so he did, even though I tried to give him a way out.
It was a simple moment that made me gush with pride.
As we threw the snow shovels in the car I said, half joking, but kind of serious, “I thought maybe you would have your friends come along and help!”
“I told them what I was doing,” he responded, “and they just said, ‘have fun with that', and kept playing their video game.”
Inside I thought it was quite a commentary on our younger generation, but I kept it to myself. I was still relishing my son’s decision and I didn’t want to do anything to spoil the moment.
As we walked up the driveway with shovels in hand, Rosa came out to greet us. She offered to work with us, but I assured her that we were okay doing this ourselves and we would get things cleared so she could get in and out without worry. Then Colby and I started shoveling and we started talking.
Maybe shoveling makes me introspective. Maybe I was still thinking about the Sunday School class. Maybe I was just hoping to make an impression on my son. But, for whatever reason, I blurted out an attempt at sharing wisdom. “You know, this is really what our faith is all about.”
My son was probably more confused than intrigued. “What?” he replied.
“This is really what our faith is all about,” I repeated. “Have you read much of James?’
“We are going through James in Sunday School.”
“Well, James talks about faith and deeds. He talks about faith without works to prove faith is really no faith at all, it is just empty words and useless knowledge. He also says that pure, undefiled religion is helping the widowed, the orphaned and the poor. That is what we are doing right now. We are helping someone in need. It’s exactly what we should be doing and what we should be doing more of.”
We talked a bit more about James and then the conversations faded as he made his way farther down the driveway and I paused my old body to breath and wipe the sweat off my head. I wondered how much of what we talked about impacted him and I wondered if I said all that stuff more for myself than for him. It made me wonder about the Sunday School class and I thought that if I could just bottle this moment and take it to class it would make a whole lot more sense than any combination of words that I could spill out onto paper. I thought about how much time I spend in busying myself with “church” stuff and forget the very words I had just shared with my son about “pure and undefiled religion.” I couldn’t help but think that I too often I lose my way in the myriad of words and rituals that we rehearse and call faith. I thought about Rosa and how often I had failed to see her needs because I was too busy doing “church” and being busy with the stuff I thought was important for me to do as an elder. I wondered how much of all of this made sense to my son and if I showed him enough of this.
So much packed into such a simple moment. And isn’t that how our faith should be? – a continuous series of simple moments packed with great meaning.
We finished the driveway and Rosa came back out with a beautiful smile on her face (there is something special about a genuine smile of gratitude). She thanked us for our work and asked if we liked tamales. We really expected nothing for our work, but I couldn’t hide my enthusiasm for her gracious offer. She went back to the house and returned with a large bag of tamales and many more thanks. As I accepted her gift I realized what a small sacrifice my son and I had just made. It really didn’t take us long, working together. I told Rosa that we would come back when it snowed again to make sure her driveway would stay clear, not just because of the tamales, but because I realized keeping one more driveway clear was not much to ask of myself. I also found myself appreciating this new friendship with Rosa and I didn’t want it to end with one simple gesture. I wanted her to understand that this was more than “one and done.” I wanted her to know that the widowed of our community of believers were cared for and I wanted to be part of that. Even more I wanted to know, for myself and for my son, that my faith was more than words and rituals, and I hoped and prayed that he would feel the same.
