[Faith-talk] Daily Thought for Thursday, July 25, 2013

[Paul]

Hello and good day to you all, whether that time of day be morning, afternoon or evening.  In some parts of our world it's already Friday, but in the majority of it today is still Thursday, hence the day of the week.  I hope and pray that, by God's matchless grace and His providential care, that your day is going well or went well.

I can somewhat relate to the main characters in this story, as I had a similar experience between the time I graduated from a local business college and my employment as a medical transcriptionist.  Basically in my case I was trying to "find myself," attempting to learn my identity in this world, considering the Vietnam conflict and related issues.  Of course, this was over 40 years ago and I didn't know the Lord at that time.  Anyway let's have Robert Gomoll, a writer from Iowa, tell his story entitled "Angels Unawares?" which is rendered as follows:

Just before my wife and I left for church to work on the altar, a man from the gas company showed up to to replace our meter.  We had to wait a half hour until he finished.  We weren't on a schedule; that's the beauty of being semiretired.

Arriving at the church, we noticed a young woman and man sitting on the ledge of the planter outside our doors.  They each had a large backpack attached to a metal frame.  "Homeless people," said my wife.  We passed them without saying anything and entered the foyer.  Homeless people are nothing new to our church, St. John's Lutheran; we have a Guest House where we shelter homeless men when the local rescue mission is full.  We often have people stop in for clothes from our Open Closet or for gas money to their next destination or for rent assistance.  Things like that are everyday occurrences.

"How much money do you have?" I asked Linda, my wife.

"Seven dollars."

I had ten.  "Seventeen dollars.  Well, that will buy them a couple of meals anyway.  I'll see if they need some warm clothes."  I went back outside.

"Can I give you a little traveling money?"  I said rather unceremoniously.  I was anxious to get back inside and get my altar work done.

"No."

"It's all right.  It's not much.  Take it."

"We can't take anything," said the young woman.  "God takes care of us." I noticed a European accent.

"Maybe God sent me with this money?" I said, thinking I was clever, proffering the bills.

"I can do work for it," said the man.  This time I distinctly detected a French accent.

"We don't have any work; we have a great custodian.  Where you bound?"

"Argentina," the man said matter-of-factly.

I was incredulous! "This is Dubuqe, Iowa.  How are you going to get to Argentina? Where do you stay? How do you eat?" I had a million questions; and as a father with children older than these two, I started creating all sorts of bad scenarios in my mind.  These were attractive young people.  They were obvious tourists.  They seemed so vulnerable and naive.  After seeing too many crime dramas on TV, I didn't like what I was thinking.

"We ate at the Chinese buffet up the street.  Five dollars apiece, and we had some leftovers to take with us." They had two Styrofoam containers.  I could tell they were proud and resourceful.  "We have tents.  We slept down by the river last night.  Only my nose got cold," said the woman, smiling.

They invited me to sit beside them.  It was nice in the sun, the cement was warm.  I was immediately comfortable with these two.  I told them my name.  The man said his name was Jean Pascal.  The woman said she was Felicitas.  "Can I get you some warm clothes?"

"No," said the woman.  "In fact, I need to get rid of some clothes.  My pack is too heavy now."

An idea struck me.  "Okay, you give us some clothes for the Closet, and I'll buy them with this." She accepted this compromise, and I shoved the few bills into her hand.

Although they had not heard of Thoreau, they were a page right out of _Walden.  They said they didn't want to be ruled by things and trusted God to provide their needs.  What they had with them was all they owned.  They weren't married; they were friends.  They seemed so natural, so open, and so free that I found myself envying them.  I was shackled like Marley's ghost with the usual debts and responsibilities.  I could tell that this wasn't some experiment when they could call Mom or Dad when things got too tough.  This was their life, for now anyway.  I invited them inside.

"I am Catholic," said the man.  "What church is this?"

"Lutheran.  Martin Luther? Reformer of the Catholic Church?" Hmmm, that might not have been the best thing to say.

"You have sacraments?"

"Yes, Baptism and Holy Communion.  We honor the others:  marriage, confirmation ..." Being Lutheran, I tried to recall the seven sacraments of the Catholic Church.

"Okay," he said. "I can come in."

Once inside, I showed them the sanctuary.  Our church was built 133 years ago.

"Mmm, I love the smell of old wood," said the woman.

"Where can I talk to God?" asked the man.

"Anywhere," I replied.  "The Holy Spirit is everywhere here, but we have our kneelers up for Communion."

I left them alone for some time while I thought about what else I could give them.  I found some bottled water and some hotel-sized shampoos.  When they came out of the sanctuary, I showed them the Closet.  The woman gave us three of her T-shirts.  I found our custodian, who is an experienced winter camper and hiker.  They talked shop for a while.  Then I found our pastor, Jay Ilten.  He was as amazed as I was:  they didn't _want anything.  They were so confident that they would be just fine on their long, long journey.

Jean Pascal left me a book entitled "The Russian Pilgrim." He left this message on the inside cover:

"I know the book is written in French, but I am sure you have to read it.  It is a great book.  Use _Google if you need to translate.  Never sale (Sic) this book.  When you have read it, give it for free.  God bless you."
Jean Pascal

I gave him a paperback copy of the life of Martin Luther.

Later, I looked up _The _Russian _Pilgrim, and I found out it begins this way:

By the grace of God I am a Christian man, by my actions a great sinner, and by calling a homeless wanderer of the humblest birth who roams from place to place.  My worldly goods are a knapsack, with some dried bread in it, on my back, and in my breast-pocket a Bible.  And that is all.

Just like the young man and woman I also learned the book is called "The Way of the Pilgrim" and was the source of the famous "Jesus "Prayer," which I had first read about in J.D. Sallinger's book "Franny and Zooey when I was in college:  "Lord Jesus, have mercy on me."

Before they left, my wife hugged them with the regret of a mother letting her innocent children go out into the world.  She gave them each a St. Raphael card.  (Though she is Lutheran, she is well supplied with saint cards, which she distributes to anyone she thinks needs extra protection).

Pastor Jay and I debriefed after they left.  They could have gone to another church up the block, but they chose ours.  If we had come when we originally intended, we would have missed them.  They didn't want anything; they had such faith.  And left us with "The Way of the Pilgrim" and "The Jesus Prayer."

Pastor reminded my wife and me of Hebrews 13:2, "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it."

We didn't look up the street to see if they just vanished into thin air.  I looked back into the sanctuary and said, "The candlesticks are still there."

"That's not funny," my wife said.

At that moment, I felt guilty that I could not trust and believe in what I saw, heard and experienced.

"Do you remember their names?" I asked.  "Jean Pascal and Felicitas.  Pascal, peace, and Felicitas, happiness." Peace and happiness visited our church this afternoon."

We were all silent, each lost in a private reverie of what might have occurred here.  "Being a Christian is sure an adventure, isn't it?" I said to Pastor Jay as we left.

And there you have Brother Robert's article.  Hope you enjoyed it, and that you perhaps learned the lesson that, just because someone looks homeless, indigent or, as they used to say in the 1930's, a "bum," doesn't mean that they are.  This is one area where my late mom and I disagreed.  Being old-fashioned in her ways, she insisted that, if you enter a church to worship, that you dress respectfully.  I pointed out that some people could dress respectfully on the outside, but that they could be thinking other thoughts instead of what the pastor was saying in his sermon.

As stated earlier, as a result of the Vietnam conflict, I was disillusioned and wanted to get away from home "to find myself." This was not rebellion against my parents, which they understood very well.  I knew I was taking a great risk as a totally blind guy hitchhiking alone, but God was with me all the way to Huntington, West Virginia.  Maybe sometime later I'll recount my adventures "on the road." Suffice it to say here that, for the most part, I ran into people who were sympathetic with my belief of not sending innocent men and women into a no-win war and, even worse, killing innocent civilians.  (For an example, look at the village of My Ly in 1968).

And that will do it for today.  Until tomorrow when, Lord willing another Daily Thought message will be presented, may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, individually and collectively, throughout this night or day and especially in these last days in which we live.  Your Christian friend and brother, Paul