A is for ANGELS

A few years ago angels were all the rage. (Do angels rage? I believe they do….) There was an over-abundance of angel pins, angel calendars, angel figurines, angel books, angel calendars…..you get the idea. During this Advent and Christmas season, angels are a major player in the familiar stories we tell once again and in the time honored holiday pageants featuring a roster of angelic clad ankle biters roaming up the aisles and to the altar areas.

The diner with the purple awning at the end of an alley in Harrisburg is no longer there. Seven years ago in the early part of the season of Advent on an early weekday morning I was served scrambled eggs, home fries, rye toast and coffee by an angel. That’s what I believe.
To quote the movie, MICHAEL, the waitress was “not that kind of angel” of which you may be thinking: halo, wings, harp, flies, and sings songs with lots of vowels. Nope….not that kind of angel.

The angel who served me breakfast was dumpy, wore too much blush, had a not-so-great permanent, loudly chewed and cracked her chewing gum and on her blue, button-up cardigan wore a nametag that said Harriet.

I was stressed, surly and solo and in Harrisburg for a meeting. Not wanting the hotel’s breakfast, I asked the lady at the front desk to recommend a good, local breakfast place. She told me to go out of the hotel, turn right, go down the alley and go to the place with the purple awning.

The place had counter seats which were mostly filled and several tables. People were smoking and drinking coffee and reading newspapers. The crowd was diverse and most, like I, appeared to be there alone. I took a table near the back and observed the community that had gathered in this place. This was a blue-collar diner where people wore blue jeans, worn sweaters with snowmen, sweatpants with boots and winter coats with the fur lined hoods and neon orange linings. They were a mix of old and young, Latino, Black, white, middle class and poor.
The person who led this community was the waitress who poured the coffee, flitted from table to table, cracked her gum, called you “honey,” wrote down the orders, brought the food, cleared the tables, talked with everyone and seemed to know the stories of each person there. I noticed that the persons at the counter seats knew one another and called the waitress Harriet….clearly, they were the regulars. They asked after one another’s well-being, volunteered to come by and fix what needed fixing at someone’s house and offered to take someone to the store tomorrow so she could get her groceries. They bantered and chided each other with the usual teasing about age as one remarked, “Herm, you’re so old your social security number is one!”

As I watched my fellow diner patrons, I was leafing through papers in a manila folder and jotting down notes in a hurried attempt to do some last minute prep before my meeting. I checked my phone, jostled more papers, wrote a few more lines and ate with my focus on my tasks at hand, not my toast and eggs.

“You in town for a meeting, hon?” asked the waitress.

“Yeah, I got in last night and I’ll be heading back home tomorrow afternoon, “I replied.

“Take your time and enjoy Harrisburg,” she said. “Will do,” I replied as my attention once again went to my papers and meeting preparation.
Several minutes passed and she was back with a pot of coffee asking if I needed a warm-up saying, “It’s a fresh pot, take your time and enjoy the diner’s finest,” Harriet joked as she filled my cup.

A little while later, Harriet was back with my bill and as she placed it face down on the table said, “No rush. Take your time.”
I finished my coffee, put my folders and notepad in order, grabbed my book, took out my wallet and prepared to leave and Harriet came over with a wrapped present. “Here you go! Merry Christmas!”

I wasn’t expecting to receive a wrapped present. Some places give each patron a candy cane or chocolate marshmallow Santa, yet, a wrapped gift?!! I was pleasantly surprised.

I walked to the counter, set down my folders, notepad and books, handed Harriet my bill as I opened my wallet for some money she said, “No rush. Take your time.” I paid the bill, went back to my table to leave a few bucks for a tip, thanked Harriet and exchanged holiday greetings as I left the diner.

I hurried along the streets of Harrisburg at a fast pace carrying my folders, note pad, book and a wrapped present from a waitress I didn’t know. I balanced my stack of stuff as I weaved around and past the slower pedestrians. At one point someone bumped into me nearly upsetting my seemingly well-balanced stack of “important” documents with the wrapped gift on top.

Hours later, after a day of meetings and back in my hotel room I opened my present. It was a midnight blue, with white fringe hand towel with the word “PEACE” embroidered upon it.

Slow down. Take your time. Peace.

The word angel comes from the Greek word “angelos” meaning messenger. Harriet, the busy waitress in a downtown diner gave me the message I most needed to hear….peace…..slow down…take your time… peace.

The Advent season asks us to slow down, pause, ponder, prepare; to listen, look, learn; to give and to receive.

Pay attention to the persons you encounter, the strangers in your path who give you an unexpected gift you most need to receive and to open.

Often we have entertained angels unaware.

sj;
kitetails©

France

When the first you hear of the news is on a local pop music station, you know it’s going to be bad. Driving to Erie last evening, I first heard of the terrorist attacks in Paris, France. Tweets, television coverage and newspaper articles confirm the horror of the attacks at a concert, hotel and soccer match.

Fear. A typical Friday evening ripped apart by gunfire, bombs, blood, carnage. The random killing of civilians out for a drink, a sporting event, a concert. The randomness of it is chilling because we know it could easily be any one of us, anywhere, anytime. Such is the world we live in.

How do we live? How do we respond?

Some seek to attack --- doing so with blaming, fueling-the-fire postings about Syrian refugees and a larger plot to destroy “our way of life.” Fear so easily removes our heart, our sensibilities, our compassion.

In such chaos, life becomes reduced to the simplest and the smallest details. I turn to the wisdom of Fred Rogers.

Mr. Rogers would often recount the story of when he was a little boy and a tragedy would occur and in his fear his mother counseled, “Look for the Helpers, son. Look for the Helpers, they are there.” Friends stemming the blood of strangers with their t-shirts; doctors staying and helping, offering a calming presence; first responders and police rushing to the scene. Look for the helpers.

Today happens to be the birthday of the renowned Impressionist painter, Claude Monet. The first artist to present and excel in this manner of painting, it was said that Monet saw and painted “life as it felt rather than as it was.” There are no stark, definitive lines in his paintings --- everything is fluid and able to change. Today, we feel frightened, angry, sorrowful; nothing is as it used to be. What is left is how we will respond.

Sj;
Kitetails_sjs©

Dorothy and Margaret

I always enjoy the bits on the radio and in the newspaper that highlight who was born on this day. I think each of us checks to see who is born on one’s birthday in hopes of drawing inspiration and seeking similarities from the stars in those who share your date of birth. Alas, my birthday, January 9, is shared with Richard Nixon…..

For those who have a birthday today it is shared with Dorothy Day and Margaret Mitchell ---- two amazing women: one convicts and one challenges.

Dorothy Day was a bohemian, an activist, a pacifist and one who lived with persons whom are poor offering a shared home for the impoverished in New York City.

Pope Francis lifted up the name of Dorothy Day in his address before Congress stating, "In these times when social concerns are so important, I cannot fail to mention the Servant of God Dorothy Day, who founded the Catholic Worker Movement. Her social activism, her passion for justice and for the cause of the oppressed, were inspired by the Gospel, her faith, and the example of the saints."

She is an example and she convicts me to my core every time I hurriedly walk past a person on East Ohio Street asking for money or whenever I fall to the temptation of writing a check and placing it in the plate instead of being in community with persons who are poor, knowing their names and listening and hearing and responding to their stories.

Margaret Mitchell wrote the Pulitzer Prize winning novel, GONE WITH THE WIND --- it was the only novel she ever wrote. Talk about a one-hit wonder! She started it while recovering from an ankle injury and it took her several years to finish. A fun-fact about the novel is that the original name for the female protagonist was Pansy (!) not Scarlet ---- great save there by the editor!

Mitchell challenges me to commit to opening and fully using my gifts.

When I was pastor of a congregation in Erie in an early sermon I shared about my fondness for M&M’s. That disclosure elicited a slew of M&M themed dispensers, phones and toys from my congregants. So many, in fact, that many of them remained in their packaging sitting on the shelves in my office. One day, Dennis, a parishioner said to me, “Gifts are meant to be opened and played with and used. Seems a shame to both the giver and the receiver to just let a gift sit there.”

A bullseye truth both literally and metaphorically.

Happy Birthday, Dorothy and Margaret ---

SJ;
kitetails©